A lone willow bends by the silent river, its branches tracing secrets on the water’s surface. An old fisherman rows slowly, his net cast into the shimmering twilight. He remembers a promise made decades ago beneath these very branches—a vow carried away by the autumn wind. Now, as fireflies ignite like floating embers, he waits. Not for fish, but for an echo. The moon rises, painting silver pathways on the stream, and for a moment, the whispers among the leaves almost sound like a name.
