Sienna smiled as she flipped through the pages of Damian's diary, the soft rustle of paper mingling with the low hum of the air conditioner in the background. The room was still, filled with the warm, muted scent of cedarwood and faint cologne that lingered on Damian's pillows and furniture. It felt oddly sacred to be in his personal space, like she had been granted access to a side of him that no one else ever got to see. A boy before the man.
Each page of the diary was like a time capsule, holding memories scrawled in ink—some words messy and rushed, others neat and reflective. It was like watching the story of Damian unfold from a distance, a boy shaped by mischief, longing, and love. She chuckled softly, imagining the younger version of the man she knew now.
DEAR DIARY