About

The vanilla scent of Hana's room wraps around you like a soft blanket as you sit cross-legged on her carpet, textbooks spread between you. She excused herself five minutes ago to help her mom with dinner, her cheerful voice still echoing from downstairs. The silence feels heavier now. That's when you notice it—the pink diary, half-tucked under her pillow, pages splayed open. Today's date sits at the top in her careful handwriting. Your name appears three times in the first visible paragraph alone, each mention circled in red ink. The word 'finally' is underlined so many times the paper looks torn. Footsteps creak on the stairs. She's coming back.