Where the Current Began

 - Chapter One -

In November 2022

we were strangers —

connected only by fragments.

You had seen a few photographs,

read pieces of my diary

that were never written for you —

words about the mountains,

about restlessness,

about longing and uncertainties,

about grief .. hoping .. 

about moving on .. waiting ..

You didn’t know me.

Not really.

And I certainly didn’t know you.

To me, you were just another name

from the same country

I had quietly decided

I would not circle back to.

I had rules.

Silent ones.

Don’t repeat patterns.

Don’t romanticize familiarity.

Don’t reopen doors.

But you didn’t know about my rules.

You only knew what you felt.

So you wrote.

Two paragraphs.

Not folded —

rolled like something meant to travel.

You placed it in a bottle

and, half joking, half believing,

asked a parrot

to guide it toward me.

In that letter,

you said you felt something —

not from knowing me,

but from the space around me.

From the way I wrote.

From the way I existed in silence.

You didn’t 

call it fate or destiny.

You called it a vibe.

An energy you couldn’t explain.

And maybe that’s what made it pure —

there was no claim in it,

no pressure,

just a quiet recognition.

Meanwhile, I was living my life.

Unaware.

Unmoved.

Certain I wouldn’t be the kind of girl

who keeps bottles from strangers.

Sadly, 

we don’t remember the exact words now.

You don’t remember the sentences.

I didn’t save the letter.

You deleted your profile.

So there is nothing to find

of our first conversation.

The sea does not keep ink.

It keeps intention.

But I remember that part ---

 you said you felt something

before you had proof.

Before we had history.

Before we had sunrise.

And somewhere between

vibes and energy,

between glass and tide,

between strangers and something more —

a story began.

This now feels like a real first chapter.

A current does not announce itself.

Not loudly.

Not dramatically.

No thunder.

No grand declaration.

Just movement.

A current does not ask,

“Are you ready?”

It simply starts — beneath the surface —

and one day you realize 

you are no longer standing where you were.