In Deuri, Jhalakathi, the river gave its quiet warnings before the flood. Each monsoon, its waters edged nearer—consuming fields, homes, and memories. Rina, the last leaf left on Deuri’s fragile branch, clung to land as it lost its identity. The river, slow-moving yet insistent, wound ever closer until it gently arrived, exhaling rather than crashing. Barefoot and brave, Rina stepped forward, entering the landscape of her memories.