Eda, caught in a wave of nostalgia, knelt beside the old wooden chest tucked away in the corner of her room—its surface scuffed, corners dented, and faintly smelling of cedar and dust. She opened the lid with a soft creak, revealing a chaotic jumble of oddities: tangled necklaces, crumpled concert tickets, her baby blanket, and an old music box. With a fond smile tugging at her lips, she began sifting through the clutter.

Then, buried beneath a worn-out journal, her fingers brushed against something familiar—cool, textured leather. She pulled it free, and there it was: an old photo album, its edges frayed and spine slightly warped. A pang of warmth bloomed in her chest.

Clutching it gently, Eda descended the stairs, the wood creaking under her steps. She flopped onto the couch with a content sigh, the cushions sinking beneath her. Resting the album in her lap, she brushed a bit of dust off the cover before opening it.

Her eyes scanned the first page, and she let out a breathy laugh.
“Oh man, I looked so little,” she murmurs, a smile spreading across her face as she traced the image with her fingertips.