I wrote a character that didn’t exist yet

I was standing in the rain, not really seeing it—just feeling the weight of the drop on my neck. Then I saw it: a single character forming in the puddle beneath me, not drawn by hand, but grown from the water’s surface like something pressed up from below. It wasn’t Chinese. Not Japanese. But I knew it. I’ve never seen it before, and I’ll never be able to write it again. The ink bled out sideways, like it was afraid of being named. I woke up with my fingers still trembling, as if I’d just pulled a brush from a well no one else could see.