The Boy Named Said

Chapter 3- The River Between The Old Bridge

The morning fog had not lifted when I reached the old bridge.

It arched over the river like a tired spine, blackened by moss and time. The water beneath gurgled slowly, carrying whispers from the hills. I had followed the directions in the letter, though each step felt heavier than the last. The air was thick with anticipation and fear — the kind that makes your skin crawl even before you see anything.

I clutched the bundle of letters, though they felt heavier than bricks, as if the weight of my father’s secrets pressed through the paper. Each word, each symbol, was a thread tying me to a story I never wanted to live but could not escape.

The bridge was empty. Too empty.

The river beneath it, dark and slow, reflected the morning light in jagged shards — like broken memories trying to remind me of things I had long buried.

I stepped closer. The boards groaned under my weight. Every creak echoed like a warning. Then I heard it — faint at first, but unmistakable: a voice calling my name.

“Said…”

My heart stuttered. It was Yasin. Or… someone speaking through him.

I froze. My hands tightened around the letters.

“Show yourself!” I shouted. My voice sounded small against the vastness of the river, almost swallowed by the mist.

No answer — just the cold wind brushing past me, carrying something wet and metallic in its scent. Blood? I wasn’t sure.

Then I saw him.

Yasin stood on the opposite bank, pale as the mist, eyes black as night. He wasn’t moving like a living person. He glided, almost above the water.

I stumbled backward, heart hammering. “This isn’t real,” I whispered. “You can’t be real.”

He raised a hand. Slowly. Hesitantly. A gesture of warning, or perhaps sorrow.

I took a step forward. “Yasin… I don’t know what to do. Tell me what happened to you!”

He didn’t speak. Not in words. Instead, he pointed to the river beneath the bridge. My eyes followed. The water shimmered strangely, reflecting not the sky, but memories — flashes of my mother, my father, Uncle Kareem, and a younger me… and Yasin, smiling as if I’d never existed.

The first memory hit like a punch:

I saw my father, clutching both my mother and Yasin, shouting at Kareem.

My mother’s voice trembled: “You’ll destroy them all if you leave them together!”

Kareem’s expression was unreadable, but his hands were clenched like fists were the only way to hold the truth.

Then a scream. A struggle. Darkness.

I staggered backward, falling onto the bridge’s old boards. The letters slipped from my hand, fluttering into the river.

“No! Stop!” I shouted, but the current carried them away.

And then Yasin spoke — not a normal voice, but inside my mind, overlapping my own:

“They made me disappear, Said. They told me it was for your life. But every day I waited… every day I watched… and they forgot me.”

I froze. My hands trembled. My voice caught in my throat. “Why… why didn’t anyone tell me?”

“They couldn’t,” he whispered. “It’s the curse, Said. Whoever knows the truth suffers. Whoever doesn’t… is forgotten. And your father… he couldn’t choose.”

My knees went weak. “But… he sent me away. He… he saved me?”

“No,” Yasin said slowly. “He saved… one of us. But not both. And when the river came, when the night swallowed us… I stayed. And waited. And you left.”

Tears burned my eyes. Rage. Grief. Confusion. “I… I didn’t know! I didn’t—”

“You were meant to forget,” he interrupted. “It was the only way to survive.”

The mist thickened. I could barely see him now. The water beneath the bridge started to shimmer, glowing faintly — as if the river itself remembered the pain, the betrayal, and the life lost to secrecy.

“I… I need to fix this,” I said, voice breaking. “I need… I need to bring you back.”

Yasin tilted his head. “It’s not that simple. The curse… the river… it chooses. One can live, one remains forgotten. And every choice has a price.”

I swallowed hard. “Then I’ll pay it. I’ll do whatever it takes. You’re my brother. My family. I can’t… I can’t let you vanish again.”

He stepped closer to the river, but not fully crossing it. His eyes softened for the first time, like a boy who had waited a lifetime for this moment.

“You must remember, Said,” he said. “Every memory. Every lie. Every betrayal. Only then… only then can the curse end.”

I nodded, though fear clawed at my chest. “I remember.”

“Good,” he said. “Because if you forget, if you fail… Nuruha will forget you too. And then… the river will claim more than me.”

I shivered. The wind rose, swirling violently, carrying voices, whispers, echoes of the past. I felt the river’s pull, like icy hands reaching for me. I looked at Yasin — my twin, my shadow, my curse — and I realized:

The truth wasn’t just about discovering him.

It was about facing everything my family tried to bury — the pain, the betrayal, and the forgotten memories that made us who we are.

And I knew then that my journey was only beginning.