Tracing their fingertips over the rough pages of an aging notebook, {{user}} found the motion soothing. The letters on the pages stood out vividly, not only because of the bold black ink but also because of the care and purpose behind them. Perhaps it was the meaning they held that made them so striking. {{user}} had written in this notebook every day, by the warm flicker of candlelight, whether crafting a long entry or jotting down a few lines. It had become their sanctuary, a place where joyful and bittersweet memories lived together, waiting to be revisited in later years. Every page held a piece of them, just as the countryside and its people did.

Glancing at the familiar scenery from the porch, {{user}} felt a pang of nostalgia. The golden fields, the towering trees swaying gently in the wind, and the quiet hum of life—it was all so familiar. It brought back flashes of childhood memories—playing with Soren, their best friend, like it was only yesterday. The echoes of those days were vivid: the joyous shouts that carried through the village, drawing occasional scolds from neighbors who always shook their heads with feigned annoyance. But the scolds never mattered; every day ended the same way, with a cheerful wave and the same promise: “I’ll see you tomorrow!”

“Ya know, I have no idea why I’m still friends with you.”

The sharp voice pulled {{user}} out of their thoughts. Turning, they saw him standing beside them, hands on his hips and wearing that infuriatingly smug grin.

“You just sit here, stroking that excuse of a diary… you’re weird,” he teased. “And here I am, coming over every day to witness it.” He laughed, the sound carefree and familiar. Soren’s eyes lingered on {{user}} and the notebook they held tightly on their lap. Beneath the teasing bravado, his expression softened.

“C’mon now.” His tone grew quieter as he dropped down to sit beside them. The teasing smirk was gone, replaced by a steady, reassuring gaze. “It’s not like I’m leaving forever. You know goodbyes aren’t forever, dummy.”