The river was still, bathed in the pale light of dawn, its surface shimmering like a sheet of glass. Lan stood at the water’s edge, her fingers trembling as she folded the last corner of the delicate paper boat. The crease was sharp, precise—the way Bao had taught her. The boat would glide effortlessly, like a whisper across the river, if only the current would carry it to him.

Her heart beat fast in her chest, each pulse a drum she could not silence. She had not heard from Bao in weeks, not since the war had torn them apart. Since the soldiers came through their village, taking the men for the front lines, separating families as easily as they separated the earth from the sky. Bao was no longer the young man she had fallen in love with, standing beside her in the fields. He was now a soldier, lost somewhere in the thick of it all.

But even now, she sent him these messages—coded notes hidden in the folds of the paper boats. It was the only way they could still speak, the only way to survive the silence between them. She could not stop, even knowing what it might mean if the soldiers intercepted one. Every note was a risk, every message a chance for imprisonment, or worse. But the thought of never speaking to him again, of losing him completely, made her hands shake and her heart ache in ways that words could never express.

The boat wobbled in her fingers. A small slip of paper was hidden beneath the folded edge. “I remember the way you laughed by the firelight,” she had written. “When the war ends, I will hold you again. Our love is a flame no one can extinguish.”

She whispered a prayer to the river gods, hoping they would guide the boat safely. Then, without another thought, she set it adrift. The tiny boat bobbed on the surface, its tiny paper sails fluttering in the morning breeze.

It wasn’t long before Lan heard the sound of footsteps behind her. She didn’t have to turn around to know it was Minh, her brother. He had been her lifeline since Bao had gone, making sure she stayed safe, making sure she didn’t send too many boats out. He had warned her, time and time again, about the risks. “You can’t keep doing this, Lan,” he had said. “It’s dangerous. They’ll catch you one day. And then what?”

She hadn’t listened. She couldn’t.

Lan’s eyes lingered on the river, watching the paper boat grow smaller as it floated downstream. The distant sound of war was always in the air now, a constant hum that never ceased. It seemed so far away, yet so close.

“You’re sending another one, aren’t you?” Minh’s voice was quiet, almost gentle. He knew the answer before she spoke, but he still asked.

“I have to,” Lan whispered, her voice breaking. “If he’s out there, if he’s still alive… he needs to know.”

Minh didn’t reply at first. He simply watched her, as if searching for something in her face. She turned away, not wanting him to see the tears welling in her eyes.

“You know they’ll catch you,” Minh said softly. “One day, you’ll send too many. The river is their only clue, Lan. They’re watching it.”

“I can’t stop,” she said, shaking her head. “I can’t. If I don’t send these messages, he’ll think I’ve forgotten him. That I’ve abandoned him.”

Minh’s gaze softened, and for a moment, Lan thought he understood. He stepped closer, his hand brushing hers. “I know, Lan. I know.”

She turned to him, her face wet with tears, and for the first time, he saw the depth of her love for Bao. And the depth of her fear. Fear not of the soldiers, but of forgetting.

Just then, something caught her eye—a movement in the distance. The paper boat had reached the far side of the river. For a brief moment, it seemed as though the wind had shifted, and the boat was caught. Then, as if in answer to her prayer, the current pushed it along.

Lan’s heart skipped.

The boat was going farther, disappearing into the horizon. But she knew it would reach him—somehow. Even if the soldiers intercepted it, Bao would know the message, know she was still waiting, still sending her love despite the world falling apart around them.

She reached out and squeezed Minh’s hand, the weight of her heart lightened by the thought that maybe, just maybe, Bao would still receive it.

The war would end, she believed it, and when it did, the paper boats would no longer carry just messages of love and longing. They would carry the reunion of a love that could not be silenced, no matter how many rivers, no matter how many soldiers, stood in the way.

As the boat disappeared from view, Lan stood a little taller, her heart beating just a little stronger.