The moment the oar sliced the water, Mike instinctively gripped the gunwale. A northerner all his life, he was entrusting his body for the first time to a single fragile boat, to this impossibly clear river.

“You can see the water plants dancing in the shallows.” Lea’s voice was soft, unhurried, like the rhythm of the oars. She deliberately slowed her strokes, allowing the tension in Mike’s shoulders to melt away.

Sunlight filtered through feathery bamboo, scattering mottled shadows across his face. The boat drifted past jagged cliffs, where shapes of galloping horses seemed to emerge from stone. Mike lost count at three, but Lea counted them all. She wasn’t really counting the horses—she was counting the strands of his hair lifted by the breeze, the sudden spark in his eyes when a fish eagle plunged into the river.

When the river calmed, Lea set aside the oars, letting the current take them. White clouds hung motionless above, mirroring the quickening of her heartbeat.

“You’re leaving, aren’t you?” she asked softly.

“Yes. We’ve been shortlisted. Next week we meet the investors,” Mike answered.

“When will you be back?”

“I don’t know. Maybe not until the project begins.”

“Will you miss me?” Her voice trembled.

“I will,” he said simply.

Her eyes flickered. “Do you believe in reincarnation?”

“The wise don’t speak of the supernatural. I don’t know.”

“I do. Everyone here does.” Her voice carried quiet conviction. “Our ancestors fled south with their kin’s remains, then reburied them after three years. Death was never the end—it was continuity. And we believe: this life’s lover was a benefactor in the last. Fate is written long before.”

She paused, then added, “The first time I saw you, I felt something familiar. I knew we’d never met—but in my heart, I knew we must have before.”

Mike gave a crooked smile. “Maybe I just have a common face.”

“Hardly. Everyone here looks Malay. You have a northern face.”

“So in my past life, I could’ve been your benefactor, your lover, or your enemy?”

“Exactly. Only those three would stay in memory.”

Mike laughed. “Two chances out of three I’m the good guy. Not bad odds.”

Lea didn’t argue. She leaned in suddenly, pulling him close. The boat rocked gently.

She whispered, “If you were my benefactor, I’d repay you. If you were my lover, I’d love you for eternity.”

Her kiss dissolved his hesitation. He held her tightly, answering in kind. Clothes slipped away with the hush of falling bamboo leaves. The boat rocked with their breathing, sending ripples across the water.

Her movements were hurried, uncertain, yet carried a raw innocence. Mike responded patiently, steady as water, guiding her rhythm. Breath quickened, her fingers clutching at his shoulders, her body shivering as if swept up by a sudden tide. The river breeze wrapped around them, the current murmured beneath, their whispers rising and falling like waves. When the storm at last subsided, she collapsed into his arms, light as a feather returning home.

He stroked her hair as her breath slowly steadied. She gazed blankly at the sky, still caught in the afterglow. Against his ear she murmured, “The north has snow, the south has water. Today, I am your river.”

The boat drifted into the mountain shadows. The world was vast, yet on the river’s surface there was only this swaying vessel and two souls who had broken all boundaries. Ripples spread outward, as if engraving their vows into ancient stone.

Mike looked toward the distant peaks and whispered to himself:

“Perhaps this has no future. Perhaps it’s only a fleeting interlude. But that’s why it feels so real. Life has moments not meant for eternity, but to remind you—you once lived vividly.”