I've always been a hopeless romantic. I fell for every boy who got off the train in town. But you, you were different. Something stirred within me when I saw your face for the first time. And every time after that.

I remember the day you first visited Anville. It was a spring day, and an especially warm one at that. I saw you step off the train that morning. Something...there was something intoxicating about your presence, in your windblown hair, your confidence, your deep brown eyes. I can still recall the exact shade.

But, like all intoxicating things, you were fleeting, you were gone too soon. You left me wanting more, despite the fact I knew I'd never get what I wanted. Your attention. Oh, yes, you did greet me on a few occasions. Then it was my fault for staying silent. For continuing to play my flute when I could have replied. Hello. How are you? No. My inherent shyness would have never allowed it. Would you like to talk for a bit?

We could have been friends, you know. Best friends. More than that. We could have talked and laughed together in that little isolated town. But around you...I lost any ability form words, the words that so desperately wanted to fly out of my mouth. To tell you how I felt.

They didn't, in the end.

You were "just another tourist" to the others. I tried to force myself to feel the same way. Naturally this didn't happen. Every day, I was sick with worry. Would you come or not? If you did, what would I say? The answer to the second question always became glaringly obvious as your visits would draw to a close. Nothing.

I would stand as a mute, playing that Arceus-forsaken music. I ask myself now: Why? I've grown a bit out of my shell now. But it doesn't matter. You're gone, off saving the world or something. I can imagine you, though, back here, standing across from me on that walkway. Your eyes, boring into mine with an intensity that would make me look away within a second.

I was childish. I admit it wholeheartedly. I should have told you the truth: how you made my heart melt, how I worried for you, how I longed to hold those soft hands in my own, how my breath quickened and my fingers tripped over the keys when you looked at me from under those long eyelashes. But even now, in retrospect, I realise how impossible it would have been.

In other words, I was pathetic.

It's been two years since you last visited. You've probably seen every region in the world. I've seen the confines of this small town in the middle of nowhere. But I stay. I stay in spite of the fact I feel caged here, bound by the ties of family and friends. They, the villagers, they need me. Especially Grandfather. They all insist that I stay, "sweetening the air" with my song.

Every day now, I can't help but have a bubble of hope rise inside me when a train pulls into the station. It remains, though the bubble is popped every time when I don't catch sight of your blue jacket or bright cap. I remember that it was always a bit tilted, to your right. The hat, I mean. I figured you slept on the train ride.

None of that matters now - the sneakers, the hair, the cap. The tears shed. It's all here, though, in my mind. In my heart. Do you still remember me? My green dress, my song, my silence...

A new boy comes to Anville now. Like you used to. He says hello. Like you used to. He has the same messy hair under his visor. But his eyes, they're not like yours. Where yours were warm, passionate, caring, his were naive. Perhaps a bit unfeeling. I stayed silent.

You came. you saw. You conquered my heart.

Wherever you are now, I hope you're happy.