The seasons shifted as they always did, time moving forward even when Sol felt like he hadn't. Winter gave way to spring, the city slowly shedding its gray.

The river still called to him, though not as often as before. He went out of habit, more than anything else, standing in the same spot where the weight of the world had once seemed unbearable. Now, it was quieter there, the memories lingering like a fading echo.

He didn't know what he was looking for. Maybe nothing. Maybe everything.

That evening, as the sky faded from gold to gray, Sol stood at the railing and let his gaze drift over the water. The sound of the river was steady, its rhythm almost comforting now.

And then something caught his eye.

Near the base of the railing, half-hidden in the grass, was a piece of chalk.

It was small and worn, the edges smoothed by time. He bent down, hesitating, his fingers brushing over it.

A strange stillness settled over him as he held it. The chalk felt impossibly familiar, as though it had been waiting for him.

Sol straightened, turning it over in his hand, his thoughts racing but offering no answers. He glanced at the ground, searching for some sign of her, but there was nothing.

Nothing but the quiet.

As the wind picked up, carrying the faint scent of wildflowers, he slipped the chalk into his pocket and began to walk away, his steps slower than usual.

For the first time in months, he felt something stir in his chest.

A question.

The kind that didn't demand an answer but made him wonder if there was one.

The riverbank was empty once more, the evening settling into darkness. But for just a moment, barely visible in the fading light, a faint outline lingered against the trees—a figure wrapped in a scarf, her gaze fixed on the water.

And then she was gone.