Years passed.
The boatman had grown old now. His hair had turned white, and his hands trembled when he held the oar. The river still flowed as it always had, but he no longer rowed as far as he once did. Most days, he simply sat at the ghat, watching the water and listening to memories.
One afternoon, a teenage girl walked down the old stone steps.
"Uncle," she asked softly, "has anything… unusual ever happened at this ghat?"
The boatman let out a long breath.
"Love never truly dies, child," he said. "Sometimes, it just changes worlds."
The girl looked at him.
There was something in her eyes—something deep, something ancient.
The boatman suddenly felt a chill.
Those eyes—
He had seen them before.
Years ago.
On a foggy night.
The river lay calm under the fading sun. No mist. No mystery. Just water and light.
And yet—
For a fleeting moment, as the wind brushed past his ears, it almost sounded like a whisper carried across the current:
"This time, no one can separate us…"
The boatman looked at the girl again.
She was smiling.
And for the first time in years, the river did not feel lonely.
To be continued...