Each season at Deuri in the Jhalakathi district of Bangladesh, the river erodes the land a little more—washing away homes, trees, and memories into its current. Yet the children play, feet sunk in soft mud, laughter rising above the shifting edge. Behind them, boats drift past like time itself. The land may vanish, but joy clings to the waterline, stubborn as the roots of a village that refuses to forget where it once stood.