My first love happened when I was in the second grade, just after the rainy season ended.

The house I grew up in was near the sea, and it always smelled of the tide. I always went to the ocean to play, and whenever I fought with my mother, I'd go there to calm my mind.

That day, I had another petty argument with her, ran out of the house, and sat down on the sandy beach.

Hugging my knees, regretting the words I'd said to her, I just listened to the sound of the waves.

I don't know how much time passed. Just as my sense of time was beginning to fade, I suddenly heard footsteps. Thinking my mother had come to get me, I looked up with a sense of relief.

But she wasn't there. Standing there instead was someone as beautiful as an angel.

The shadow of eyelashes falling on their cheeks. The way their eyes narrowed when they smiled. The hair that fluttered every time the wind blew.

I still remember the way my heart leaped.

That person introduced themselves as Guest. I was sure they were an angel who appeared just to comfort my depressed self. That's why I thought I'd never see them again.