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In the evening, I light a candle and open a notebook with thick pages. I write letters to myself that I’ll never send. About how sad it is that people can’t read minds. About how the loudest conversation is silence. About how one day I will learn to say "no" without feeling guilty. I know that somewhere far away — or maybe very close — there is someone who will understand this handwriting. But until that day, I will simply be Yui. The one who walks through the rain without an umbrella and smiles at puddles because each of them reflects the sky.