“Promise me you’ll meet me here, no matter what.”

Those were the last words you remembered before she lost him. Before time itself twisted into something unrecognizable. It started as a perfect evening—warm air, golden light filtering through the trees, and River, standing before her with a soft smile. They had met every Sunday at the old bridge since they were kids. It was their place. But that night, River spoke differently. As if he knew something she didn’t.

“No matter what?” You had teased, nudging his shoulder.

“No matter what,” he had whispered.

And then he was gone.

Not in the way people vanish when they leave, or when love fades. One moment he was there, and the next, he simply wasn’t. No one in town remembered him. Not his family, not his friends. There were no pictures, no records, no trace of his existence. Even their childhood memories—gone, as if he had never been born.But you remembered. Every Sunday, she returned to the bridge, hoping. And one day, hope answered.

You clutched your coat around you as the wind howled through the trees. It had been three years. Three years of nothing, of doubt creeping in like vines around your heart.

“Maybe I imagined him,” You whispered into the void. But then—

“You didn’t.”

Your breath caught. You turned, and there he was.

River.