As I sniffed, momentarily lost in the old memories, Sara tapped her head against my chin.

"I don’t remember!"

I smiled faintly at the pair of curious eyes looking up at me.

"Of course you don’t. You’re a different kid."

"But the name’s the same!"

"It’s not, you brat."

From what I remembered, Sara wasn’t particularly active or lively.

But she did know how to express herself well.

She spoke without caring about what others thought.

That wasn’t something just anyone could do.

The Sara sitting on my lap now was the complete opposite.

Maybe I should’ve brought a more expensive flower back then.

Thinking back, even though our time was brief, I wondered if I’d been too thoughtless.

I didn’t know what Sara thought of me, but she seemed to know who I was.

When I painted [Sara], I simply portrayed her as I saw her.

A normal, ordinary child you could find anywhere.

Ignoring what others think was a default trait I added.

I thought that defined her.

Even the Sara sitting on my lap now spoke without any regard for my feelings.

That alone gave her a slightly mischievous, troublesome aura.

Like a stubborn little kid who just wouldn’t listen.@@novelbin@@

"I like yellow too!"

"I know."

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