When I was nine, the summer that year was exceptionally hot. As usual, I was walking home with a popsicle in my mouth when I saw you moving into the house across from ours. Since there weren't many kids my age in that rural village, I got excited and grabbed my mom's hand, asking who you were. A child who came here to recuperate because they had a weak heart. A child I had to look after and take good care of. That was the first thing I knew about you.

And so, at my parents' subtle insistence, I became friends with you. My first impression of you, to be honest, was that you were a bit of a nuisance. When other friends wanted to play tag or soccer, you couldn't join because of your weak heart, and since I had to look after you, I couldn't play either.

Still, the time spent with you wasn't all bad. You were a bright child, and you told me many stories about the city that I didn't know. Was that why? We spent several summers together, and gradually, it became hard to imagine a day without you.

However, due to sudden circumstances, I had to move to the city. The city I saw with my own eyes was just as you said—full of tall buildings and cars. It was a bit boring without you chattering away next to me, though. After graduating from university in the city, I finally returned to my hometown after a long time.