The city woke to unsettling news.
Late in the night, after the accident, some passersby had rushed Yash's critically injured body to the hospital.
By morning, the doctors gave their final word—
The boy was dead.
When the boatman heard the news, he stood frozen.
"But… he was there last night…"
His voice dried in his throat.
Before he could make sense of it, another rumor began to spread—
On the very night of her wedding, Jesmine had been found motionless in her room.
Quiet. Still.
Her life had ended before she ever stepped out of the house.
The boatman felt as though the world had tilted beneath his feet.
If that was true…
Then who had boarded his boat the previous night?
He walked slowly to the riverside ghat.
The fog was gone.
The sky was clear.
The river shimmered peacefully in the sunlight.
Everything looked normal.
The same old stone steps.
The same gentle current.
The same wooden boat tied to its post.
Yet something felt different.
As if the air itself remembered.
The boatman stood there for a long time, staring at the water.
The river flowed on—silent and deep—
as though it alone knew the truth of what had happened in the fog.