For that to be true, there would need to be the premise that ‘someone likes me,’ but I couldn’t pinpoint that at the time. Anyway, since Rosette had answered readily, I felt I should answer something.

While I agonized over and over, Rosette didn’t say a word. She didn’t let go of my wrist either.

After barely squeezing it out, I said ‘I like someone who writes well and is thoughtful.’ I don’t know why I thought that, looking back now.

That feeling just came to mind…… Well, that was it. That’s all.

As soon as I finished dinner, I conveyed Rosette’s ideal type to Lucio, and he immediately ran down to the study. He’s supposed to fall asleep within five minutes of opening a book, but he hasn’t come up for thirty minutes now.

I guess he’s planning to sleep there tonight.

I hope you have a good night too.

March 16th

Sent by Asha

P.S. Do you have an ideal type?

P.P.S. I don’t have any more writing. I’ll show you next time I write something.]

[To Sha who’s in danger of becoming an errand boy

Hello, Sha—

Let me try greeting you the way you did. How is it?

After reading your last letter, I was so excited I couldn’t sleep! My body was exhausted—tattered like a wrung-out rag—and I was about to collapse, but I was anxious with anticipation about Lucio’s next move.

Reading the letter without permission was outrageous, but since we’re also talking about that boy like this, let’s call it roughly even.

An ideal type!

Only after you asked did I think about that aspect myself. As I’ve said a hundred times, there’s no age group in our village to harbor fresh romantic feelings for. At the very least, to fall head over heels for people older than my eldest brother—they know every detail of my actions, which is just scary.

Of course, they treat me very well. They sometimes share snacks with me, and there are times when they look at me adoringly.

But Sha, you know well how quickly rumors spread in a small village. If I fell from a tree this evening, everyone in Kasoche would know about it before dawn tomorrow.

In the same vein, if I were to kiss someone behind an old tree, that news would become dinner table gossip.

Because of this ‘familial’ atmosphere, I’ve never seriously thought about an ideal type. Moreover, nine out of ten romances that can be read from artists’ lives end in sorrow and ruin.

Hmm.

I thought about it carefully.

First, they shouldn’t be from Kasoche. I absolutely don’t want to fall in love with someone who knows every detail of my childhood.

Next, it would be good if they had a cool-headed side. When I’m wavering, wouldn’t it be a good match if they could firmly hold me with reason and logic?

And…… someone who would think about me a great deal?

How do people usually define their ideal type? I could ask my eldest brother or the bookstore owner, but if I asked that, rumors would spread within half a day.

I’m not young enough to make such mistakes anymore.

The snow is gradually melting, Sha. This spring seems to start earlier than usual. Soon white and yellow flowers will bloom through the pale green shoots.

I’m curious about what the weather is like where you are. It would certainly be breathlessly hot for me. I heard seawater smells salty, so I once snuck into the kitchen and dissolved salt in cold water to sniff it.

That was already over a year ago.

I’m a bit sorry I couldn’t tell you the taste and scent of snow. How to explain that soft texture and fragrance.

Could you distinguish by smell between someone who spends half the year in winter and someone who spends half the year in summer? Such a question suddenly occurs to me.

I wish I had many interesting stories to tell you, but each day is monotonous beyond measure. Starting this week, class hours have also decreased. I’m supposed to learn about mansion affairs one by one during that time.

I wasn’t pleased.

But when asked what else I would do if not this, I had nothing to say.

Should I have tried rebelling once? Should I have stubbornly insisted that I could become anything even if not this?

But Sha, as you know, I don’t have any outstanding talents compared to my brothers. Perhaps choosing the material for curtains to change each season and supervising how to arrange the garden is my best option.

Yeah.

I don’t know.

The fact that I know nothing at all feels bitter today. I wish someone would tell me what I could do best.

Don’t you ever think like that?

That you want to walk only the right path without any variables or trial and error. That you want to laugh triumphantly as if all your choices were correct, without experiencing giving up or failure.

When I choose something, when it turns out to be inappropriate, I could be braver if there weren’t voices saying ‘See? What did I tell you?’

Is this also just a lazy excuse?

But what would a kid who’s never taken a single step outside Kasoche know? I can only imagine.

Sha, my most solid friend in imagination.

I’m glad you exist. I’m glad I can continue exchanging letters with you. If you weren’t there, I wouldn’t have had occasion to make salt water, hold a conch to my ear, or gaze long at snowflakes I’ve seen for over ten years.

Don’t even dream, and sleep well.

With affection and longing, Cas]

[To Carol

It seems that chronic problem has troubled you again.

You always doubt your qualities and potential. I’m neither a wise judge nor do I have excellent insight, so I can’t determine how outstanding or insignificant your talents are.

So I can’t give you comfortable encouragement like ‘That’s enough. Have confidence and try challenging yourself!’ Even if I did, you probably wouldn’t believe it anyway.

Cas, you trust this aspect of mine.

In the past, you sometimes complained that even my comfort was too logical. Was it last year, or the year before?

Right, we’ve known each other long enough now to worry about ‘last year’ and ‘the year before.’ The island children have no choice but to recognize each other from the moment they’re born, but that should be an exception. Since I didn’t choose it.

I don’t know if your talent is the kind seen in one out of a thousand people, or the kind that seven out of ten have—the kind where you get scolded if you don’t have it rather than praised if you do.

But I like the pictures you draw, the sheet music you write, the appearance of the necklace you chose. That’s just my simple opinion without any credibility.

However your worries conclude, I hope I’ll be by your side. As I have been since late spring when we were sixteen.

After conveying Rosette’s ideal type, Lucio has been getting stranger by the day. To put it nicely, he’s admirable; to be honest, he seems crazy.

The kid who used to flirt by the seaside like other kids whenever he had time now reads books even during break time? During break time, no less!

Even though the other kids draw circles on their temples with their fingers, he stays firm. That book was naturally in our family’s study.

It was a book I’d put down several times because it was difficult, but Lucio diligently turned the pages. Not with understanding eyes though. Those intelligent, sparkling black eyes had completely lost their vitality.

They were as smooth as stones wet by waves, tsk.

From that day on, Lucio went crazy trying to appeal his ‘intellectual charm’ to Rosette.

He’d quote passages from books he’d read ten minutes earlier while raising his eyebrows—ugh.

Oh, Carol. As I said, Rosette’s ideal type wasn’t just that. There was also ‘someone who keeps catching your eye’ and ‘someone cute.’

Poor Lucio must have judged that while he couldn’t do anything about the former, the latter was worth trying. I’ll skip how this buffalo-like boy tried to act ‘cute.’

Those nutritionally worthless scenes aren’t worth describing in detail—this time, ink, and paper are all too precious for that. Not to mention my fingers.

While Lucio was struggling like this, Rosette was surprisingly—actually not surprising—completely unfazed. She was kind and cheerful as always, but that was it.

Every time this happened, Lucio would come pester me every night. As if I could do anything about it.

But since there’s no escape hole in my room, I have no choice but to listen to all his complaints.

Today was the same. Lucio spent a long time listing Rosette’s virtues, then asked about your existence. I brushed it off vaguely.

He also asked how I knew you. I brushed that off too.

He asked how we exchange letters. I couldn’t brush that one off and had to answer. I thought if I answered at least one thing, he wouldn’t be as bothersome.

That guess was right. Lucio went back to his room!

Do people all become this annoying when they fall in love? It’s worth studying thoroughly. What do you think?

Sent by Asha

P.S. In today’s composition class, we chose one of our previous writings to present. I naturally chose the prose I wrote about the difference between carrot soup and carrot cake. It was half made-up, but the teacher clapped saying it was a very sincere story. I felt strange.