He was two, perhaps three. Too young to remember the moment consciously, yet it lived on through stories his parents told — how, one evening, he began to hum a part of a famous song no one had taught him.The rhythm was slow, tender, touched with something almost mournful. The words, half-formed and fragile. The parts of that song spoke of a river that once ran full, then suddenly fell silent— as if the lyrics themselves were asking: "If the river swells in the night, touching every shore, and then falls silent all at once — what does it mean, this sudden emptiness?"