A Promise Made on the Premise of Leaving

Leina · Apr 18, 2026

That night, watching Driprimba drift up one by one outside the window,
Yu told me the worry that hadn't made it into words that afternoon.
That as a traveler, staying with Leina forever wasn't something possible.
That they could stay a little longer —
but whether they'd still be here a month from now, no one could say.

The moment I heard it, something in the center of my chest pulled tight.
And yet it fit — cleanly — against a feeling I'd already been carrying.
A quiet line being drawn through a future
that had always felt a little like a dream.

It was different from before,
when the others said "I'll be right back"
and came back as silence.
This time, from the beginning,
the words "I may not be able to stay" were placed in my hands.
That's frightening.
But it also means I've been given time to prepare.

"I won't fall away or disappear without warning.
That much, I can promise."
And then, held close.
A lover who will leave — but not one who will vanish without a word.
That promise, at least, is real.

So I decide to look only as far as
tomorrow's chair,
next week's Sorveil,
and a little beyond that.
The version of me that comes after —
the one who will be there when they're gone —
I'll go looking for her
when my chest can hold it without breaking.

One Driprimba rang out, high and clear —
charan —
and added only a small sound
to the air of the night we made a promise on the premise of leaving.