"What I remember
Is your smile in the summer
The day we first met."
     
    
       The last word of each haiku put together formed a sentence. Simple yet clever. Enough to make me feel incredibly slow-witted.

"I am moving away; I will meet you here in ten years." I read aloud. Since the notebook was left by the tree, I'm assuming that's where she meant we'll meet again.

And from the day she disappeared, it's been eight years. Two years left.

Now what exactly have I spent these eight years doing? Aside from not getting over my first love I finished school with a bachelor's degree in creative arts, afterwards I got a side job working a small business with my friend while writing my own stories.

Funny how I used to think writing was not for me. But because of Haiku I got so inspired I started spending so much time trying to write. My first drafts and earliest stories were so bad I can't help but cringe every time I go back to look at them. Bad enough for me to not bother revising or editing. Into the abandoned compartment they went, but never forgotten.

Even in college, I got a lot of criticism from my professors. I felt overwhelmed seeing how my classmates were so much better than me.

I was about to change courses and move to nursing, but as I visited a bookstore one day, I came across a book, it had a pretty cover illustration of a tree, a lot like the narra.

'Rooted' was written in bold, earthy colored font. Strangely, it had no author, nor barcode. It was a single copy placed in a strangely slanted position and when I took it to look through the contents, they were haikus.

Until now, I'm convinced it was written by her.

I rushed to the cashier and asked about the book, with no barcode to identify it, more staff got involved and looked through CCTV footage to see if anyone entered the store to leave the book there.

In the end they couldn't solve the mystery to that book and I left the store with it in my arms. I got emotional that night and wrote a haiku of my own on Haiku's small notebook she left behind.

With only 11 haikus in it, there were plenty of extra pages. So I too wrote my own, ones that I was proud of.

While working on the small business with my friend after college, by then I felt more versatile and confident as a writer, proud of my crafts. I wrote, revised, rewrote, cried over horrendous drafts until I ended up with a book accepted by a publisher.

By then the small business of my friend and I wasn't so small, and I became a somewhat successful author. The two of us parted ways and I got my own place to stay in a cozy apartment.

Me, this accomplished woman who made her family proud yet still couldn't figure out where her one that got away went. All that was left for me was to find her.

I was too busy reminiscing through each haiku that I didn't notice her hidden message.

"I will use these two years to prepare myself for the truth I will have to face when I see you again." I breathe in.

As much as I want to think positive, I might end up disappointing myself. But in these past eight years I have grown to be better than my past self could've ever imagined. Even if the worst outcome is what I must face, I'll be ok.

Haiku, thank you for being my greatest inspiration.