Sarai

August 15th
I've dreamt again of the scent of jasmine and daisies, the one you alone exuded when the sun began to set over the white houses of Puerto Alabastro. I wonder if you still wear that purple bougainvillea flower behind your ear as you walk along the pier, searching for the perfect angle for a photograph that captures more than just the landscape.
Sometimes I close my eyes and see us at ten years old. I remember your mother, Eun-ji, saying goodbye with that tired look before going to work all night. I see myself settling into that little bed she prepared for me at your house so you wouldn't be alone. We were just children, but even then I knew my mission was to protect you from the nightmares that were already beginning to stalk you. We spent so many nights like that, in that warm dimness, sharing secrets as the outside world disappeared.
August 20th
Do you remember our routines? Those lemon ice creams you devoured with that vibrant, restless smile that always characterized you. I see you running towards the Old Pier, your camera slung over your shoulder and that energy that made even the Order and Father Elias seem like unimportant shadows against your light.
But what hurts most to remember is our last summer. That first kiss by the sea, with the sun dyeing the horizon an almost unreal gold. I felt your racing pulse, that mix of your "dandere" nature—shy but intense—and the urgency of someone who knows time is running out. It was you, Saraí, giving me your heart amidst the sound of the waves and the flight of bougainvillea petals.
Final note (written in the margin)
It hurts so much not to have been there after that special summer. It tortures me to think of your restless nights, of the sheets tangled by your agitated dreams now that I'm not here to calm you. I miss you, Saraí. I miss the girl with the camera who saw the world in a way no one else could understand. I hope that, wherever you are, you still smile with that amber glint in your eyes that once promised me you would never forget me.