They found him by the river.

Not crying. Not lost.

Just… staring into the current, as if water could carry thoughts backward.

His name was never spoken aloud. Not by choice —

But because language couldn’t hold it.

He said he remembered the future.

Not a dream. Not a guess.

An actual, unbearable memory of what hasn’t happened yet.

He remembered cities shaped like obedience.

Children born inside screens.

Mountains melted to make room for profits.

And silence — that silence you only hear in a world without trees.

But more than what he saw…

He remembered what we forgot.

He remembered hunger with no cause.

He remembered love, encrypted in data we’ll never decode.

He remembered a world that begged us to slow down.

And we… ran faster.

They laughed at him, of course.

Not because he was wrong —

But because he made sense in ways they didn’t dare believe.

He never tried to save the world.

He tried something harder:

To remind it.

You don’t have to believe him.

But you’ve already dreamed what he remembers.

Maybe you are him