Leri was seventeen, a boy who carried quiet like a familiar coat. He moved through the world softly, content in his own company, finding stories hidden in the rustle of leaves and the hush of the river. Books were his friends, and the worlds he wrote became places he could breathe freely.
He often wandered to a secret place, where the trees grew thick and the river curved like a silver ribbon. Few ever came here. Between the forest and the water was a narrow strip of earth, soft enough to lie down and watch the sky spill its colors. Here, Leri felt at home.
He had no close friends, but that never troubled him. While others chased laughter and fleeting thrills, he lingered in the quiet, savoring the simple rhythm of life.
And then, one afternoon, something unusual caught his eye. A girl, painting alone, absorbed in her own world. He didn't move closer. He didn't speak. He simply watched, mesmerized by the way her brush danced, each stroke a quiet song only she could hear. In that stillness, something tender stirret a connection unspoken, delicate, and entirely new.