Even Grandfather, in all his long years, said he’s never seen a fairy. He earnestly warned that what’s a prank for fairies could lure weak-minded humans down the wrong path.

I’d like to see one at least once.

They say both those who make you lose your way in the forest and those who show you the right path are fairies. It’s a meaningless prejudice, like defining “what humans are like.”

At least that’s what I think. Grandfather would be horrified if he knew.

In a way, we’re communicating thanks to that ‘fairy prank.’ If it really is a prank, I hope it continues for a long time without stopping.

I don’t mind being teased.

Grandfather is already busy preparing for guests. We put Aila’s few belongings in a box and hung new bedding and curtains.

It seems a bit excessive for such a short stay, but I’m helping little by little, thinking he must be that excited. I put some of the clothes Aila left behind in my closet and gave the rest to Rosette.

Unlike me, who needed sleeves and waist adjusted one more time, they fit Rosette like her own clothes. Bash, who came with Rosette, took the hem that flowed to the floor, saying he would fix it himself.

I was surprised at first but then relieved. Neither Grandfather nor I have any talent for sewing. We always had to ask others.

Since Bash is known for his good handiwork on the island, he’ll quickly alter Aila’s dress to fit me perfectly. In exchange for the leftover fabric.

It was a good deal, since I couldn’t go anywhere with a length that would sweep across the grass. Though for Bash, it was probably pure goodwill.

Meanwhile, my birthday is gradually approaching. I wonder if it will be exactly my birthday when this letter arrives and your reply comes back?

With luck, I might receive birthday wishes on the actual day. That would make me really happy. For a birthday present—you don’t have to give one—I’d like to receive snow.

Not being an omnipotent god, you probably can’t show me vivid snow in this sweltering—cold by my standards—weather.

For a birthday present—if you give one—should I wish that you have fewer useless thoughts this year?

Kind and thoughtful Carol, you think too much about others. Considering others isn’t bad—rather, it’s an attitude to emulate—but you don’t need to understand others even when you’re upset alone.

You worry that you might be too sensitive.

Maybe you are.

Some might think you’re having these worries because you’re more privileged than other children.

That’s probably true.

But so what? You feel uncomfortable because adults seem to treat your brothers differently from you. What does it matter how other families are?

You have two points of comparison right in your own home. Even if it’s simply an inferiority complex, everything couldn’t have been smooth and peaceful all this time for you to suddenly feel resentful.

There must have been something that went wrong somewhere.

That’s just my guess though.

Is that too easy for me to say? I have nothing to argue if you think I’m just saying whatever comes to mind because I don’t know anything. Because it’s true.

Still, Carol. I wish you would think about yourself half as much as you worry about others. Sincerely.

Sent by Asha

P.S. My birthday is February 2nd.]

[To Asha on her seventeenth birthday

If our precious mailman runs at an average speed, will my letter arrive on your birthday? I hope it does.

Even if the letter arrives earlier or later than your birthday, my feelings won’t fade. But special dates have their own joy and excitement that can only be enjoyed on that day. Don’t you think?

What kind of birthday are you having? What presents?

For some reason, I think Rosette, whose true intentions you can’t figure out, will give you a present. You said you were suspicious of her, but I think she likes you in some way.

Even someone with thick skin wouldn’t spend all day taking care of and teaching someone they dislike. Even you, who responds cynically to anything related to her, can’t deny that.

I’ve celebrated other people’s birthdays countless times, but this is my first time celebrating a friend’s birthday. I’ll skip the human relationships in Kasoche where everyone knows everyone without even needing to cross a bridge.

I want to be the first to congratulate you. But your kind Grandfather has probably already wished you a happy birthday early?

The table must be filled with dishes you enjoy.

Is there cake too? I like ones with plenty of whipped cream, and ones filled with fresh fruit are good too. It’s an unimaginable luxury in Kasoche, but since Iota is warm, they might include fresh fruit.

You might shake your head saying it’s not that warm.

It’s always tricky imagining a day in a place I’ve never been. Even after exchanging letters with you so many times, Iota to me is just a very small space with you and your small two-story house.

It’s as if new roads grow every time you step outside, and shrink when you return home. The area of Iota expands and contracts according to your descriptions.

The Iota I imagine seems like it’s been drawn with light pencil strokes, or painted with watercolors filled with water.

Either way, it’s probably far from the real Iota.

If you imagine Kasoche as a white village with nothing but snowstorms all day, I picture Iota as a bed where you hear only the sound of waves day after day.

You lean back on the bed and turn the pages of my letter one by one.

How is it? Is my imagination quite plausible?

What time does the clock show as you read this letter? If it’s night, you’re reading this sentence in bed as I expected, and if it’s day, you might be reading it lying on the study couch.

Come to think of it, are you still playing the piano? You were quite interested in it.

You would have learned quickly since it’s not a difficult rhythm for beginners. If you want, I can send more sheet music. I’ve played it hundreds of times and memorized it long ago.

Do you have a favorite composer? There are quite a few hard-to-find scores. Grandfather collected them as a hobby at one point.

They say history that can’t be listened to without tears has seeped into them, but I’m not sure. Grandfather handed them down to me a few years ago, along with the piece he played when proposing to Grandmother.

Even now, he occasionally emphasizes, “You see, Carol. A serenade is essential for a proposal. No one can resist fresh rhythm and passionate voice.”

Then Grandmother giggles behind him, “Your grandfather still thinks I fell for that serenade. He doesn’t know it was because of his face.”

Though they talk like this, they get along very well. Even now, Grandmother often requests, “Darling, sing that song from back then again.” Then Grandfather clears his throat as if he’s been waiting.

Actually, our Grandfather, despite his fierce eyes and splendid mustache, isn’t a good singer. Grandfather still thinks he sings well, though……

Delusions aren’t all bad.

Sometimes he sings excitedly on his children’s or grandchildren’s birthdays. Then we clap our hands, repeatedly saying, “Wow, thank you so much.” Grandfather pretends not to care, but he feels very proud. So much that his earlobes turn red.

He always sings the same songs on these occasions, ones I could sing even if woken from sleep. I want to tell you about them, but it feels too embarrassing to write them down.

Perhaps someday you’ll get to know them too?

Happy birthday from the bottom of my heart, Asha.

I’m overjoyed that I, born in summer, have come to know you, born in winter.

Sending friendship and hugs, Carol

P.S. I’m enclosing flowers instead of snow. They’re common flowers in Kasoche, but since I can’t move an inch from the mansion to pick them directly, I made them myself.

Fortunately, I had plenty of paper saved up, so it wasn’t too difficult. They’re not as pretty as the real ones, but I think they turned out fairly well. What do you think? They’re flowers that bloom even in winter. In Kasoche, they symbolize happiness and eternity. I wish I could send you real snow.

I’ll pray for your happiness all day on February 2nd.]

Happy birthday from the bottom of my heart, Asha.

“From the bottom of my heart……”

Her eyes, which had been carefully reading line by line, stopped. In her hand holding the letter was a delicately crafted paper flower.

Though it couldn’t imitate the fine texture of petals, the form—cut and layered—was surprisingly intricate.

Asha gently caressed the thin petals while murmuring the rest.

“Happy birthday.”

The silhouette leaning against the closed door remained motionless and quiet. Only slow breathing echoed through the corridor.

The child who understood death anniversaries before birthdays read a friend’s congratulatory letter in front of her parents’ room. Blessings from someone who remembered today simply as a birthday.

“Happy birthday from the bottom of my heart.”

The white paper flower touched beneath her round nostrils. Though it couldn’t possibly have a scent, Asha took a deep breath and closed her eyes.