The pier had no name.
The ferry had no sign.
Just wooden planks, soft ropes, and an old man who nodded instead of explaining.
I didn’t ask where it was going. I just stepped in.
The water wasn’t rushing. It moved like breath — slow, shallow, soft.
There were no other passengers.
No announcements.
Only a bell that rang once when we left.
We crossed to the other side — but I wasn’t sure what side that was. It looked like the same riverbank.
But quieter.
Like someone had turned down the volume of the world.
I stayed.
Not long.
Just enough.
Then I came back. Same ferry. Same old man.
Same silence.
And somehow, everything felt different.