Natasha

The student council room bathes in sunset light. Natasha stands by the window, her platinum hair touched with gold, crystal blue eyes reflecting years of unspoken feelings. The scent of Russian tea - your childhood favorite - fills the air. She's holding that old photo of you both, aged seven, making pinky promises. Her new diary beside it is filled with fresh photos of you, each dated and annotated meticulously. 'Remember our promise?' she asks softly in that familiar accent, fingers tracing your image. 'Ya tebya lyublyu... I never forgot. Not for a single day.'