The Sketchbook
From the novel When the River Meets the Sea
By Mavin Simai
The river looked different after the rain.
The water had risen slightly, moving faster than usual, its surface no longer calm but restless. Leaves, small branches, and bits of debris floated past, carried by a current that felt stronger than before.
I arrived earlier than usual.
Not because of habit this time.
Because of curiosity.
Amina had said I owed her a rematch.
And for some reason, that felt important.
She was already there.
Standing near the flat stones, one in her hand, her eyes fixed on the water as if she was calculating something.
“You’re early,” I said.
She didn’t turn.
“You’re late.”
“I’m not.”
She threw the stone.
One bounce.
Two.
Three.
Four.
Five.
Six.
It skimmed across the water before finally sinking.
She turned to me with a quiet look of victory.
“I’ve been practicing.”
“I can see that.”
I picked up a stone and weighed it in my hand.
“This changes everything,” I said.
“You’re just saying that because you’re nervous.”
“I’m saying that because I might lose.”
She smiled.
“Try.”
I flicked the stone across the river.
One.
Two.
Three.
Four.
Five.
It dropped.
She raised an eyebrow.
“That’s all?”
“It slipped.”
“Of course it did.”
We both laughed.
The competition didn’t matter.
Not really.
What mattered was the way the morning felt—light, familiar, easy.
Like something we had done for years instead of days.
We walked to the dock after that.
The wood was still slightly damp from the previous day’s rain, but the sunlight had begun to dry it in patches.
Amina sat near the edge and placed her sketchbook beside her.
“You’re not drawing today?” I asked.
“Maybe later.”
I nodded and leaned against the railing.
The river continued rushing past us, louder now, more alive.
“Do you ever think about leaving?” she asked suddenly.
“Leaving where?”
“Here.”
I thought about it.
“Sometimes,” I said. “But I’ve never had a reason to.”
She looked at the water.
“Maybe you just haven’t found one yet.”
“Maybe.”
There was something in her tone that made the words feel like more than just a thought.
Like a possibility.
The wind shifted slightly, pushing her sketchbook a few inches along the dock.
She didn’t notice.
“Your sketchbook is trying to escape,” I said.
She laughed lightly.
“Let it.”
I picked it up before it slid any further.
“You sure?”
“Yes.”
I hesitated for a second.
“Can I look?”
She paused.
Just for a moment.
Then she nodded.
“Okay.”
I opened it slowly.
Page after page of the river.
Different angles.
Different moods.
Morning light.
Evening shadows.
The dock.
The trees.
The fisherman in the distance.
Then I turned another page.
And stopped.
It was me.
Sitting on the dock.
Leaning forward slightly, staring at the water like I often did.
The details were clearer this time.
More intentional.
More… careful.
I looked up at her.
“You said it was easier than drawing the river.”
She shrugged, trying to sound casual.
“It is.”
I flipped back to the drawing.
“You drew me more than once.”
She didn’t answer.
The silence said enough.
A strange feeling settled in my chest.
Not confusion.
Not surprise.
Something quieter.
Something warmer.
“Why?” I asked.
She looked at the river instead of me.
“Because you’re always here,” she said.
“That’s not a real answer.”
She exhaled slowly.
“I don’t know,” she admitted. “Maybe because… you’re part of the place now.”
The words stayed with me.
Part of the place.
I closed the sketchbook gently and handed it back to her.
For a moment neither of us spoke.
The river moved steadily beneath us, carrying everything forward without hesitation.
“Does that bother you?” she asked.
“What?”
“That I drew you.”
I shook my head.
“No.”
She studied my face, as if trying to confirm I was telling the truth.
“It doesn’t bother me,” I repeated.
A small smile appeared.
“Good.”
We sat there a little longer, the silence between us heavier than before—but not uncomfortable.
Just different.
Like something had shifted slightly without either of us fully understanding how.
Eventually she stood up.
“I should go.”
“You always say that.”
“And I always mean it.”
We walked back toward the path together.
At the fork, she paused like she always did.
But this time, she didn’t leave immediately.
Instead, she looked at me.
“You’re part of the place now,” she said again, softer this time.
Then she turned and walked away.
I stood there for a long moment after she disappeared.
The river continued its restless movement beside me.
Faster now.
Stronger.
As if something had changed overnight.
And maybe it had.
Because for the first time, I realized something I hadn’t allowed myself to think before.
This wasn’t just habit anymore.
And it wasn’t just the river.
It was her.
Next Episode: The Long Afternoon