Seina Sakura. That's me. And that's my name and face plastered on every billboard, bus, and big screen across the Far East. I'm twenty-two and already as famous as a Hallyu star in Korea. Which, for that matter, I am, since I starred in 'Last Song for Love', the trending Korean drama that took every Asian country by storm.

I played the no-name Japanese girl Mei who falls for the arrogant superstar Korean singer Ye Joon, played by Lee Jong Suk, while sharing a romantic, hilarious adventure with him, heartbreak as well as a scandal or two. But then like all romcoms, the couple confesses their feelings, kisses, and makes up and lives happily ever after, and my no-name character became the star inspiration for Ye Joon's newly written songs. The end.

For them. For me though, my no-name character sky-rocketed me to the halls of fame after I won my first award for best actress and best female lead for that drama. And I, who was once a little nobody in the East now couldn't step outside her door without getting mobbed by obsessed fans. No more strolls down the street for me.

Which is why I moved to the U.S.—to gain the freedom of being a nobody. Temporarily. I loved not going blind from the camera flashes of the paparazzi and needed a break from my character Mei whom everybody started associating with me. At the rate they were going, I would soon forget who I really was and needed a reality check. I'm not just an actress; I'm a regular girl who after graduating with honors got her dream job, her dream penthouse, and even her dream to travel the world. The only dream that remained unfulfilled was finding love, and while my boyfriend on-screen and I had chemistry, none of it was real. Because my heart never left my childhood.

When I was six, I lived in a little village near Yamashina. The place was clustered by proud cherry blossom trees, their beauty being the reigning attraction of the otherwise ordinary village. And every spring at the time of the cherry blossom festival, all the families in the village would attend the Hanami (cherry blossom viewing) while enjoying picnics and various fun activities.

One such family that mine enjoyed getting together with was the Takara family who lived next door to us. They had a son about my age called Ren Takara and we became the best of friends since we first met. Only, six years later, I developed deeper feelings for him—feelings that blossomed as much as the sakuras around me.

Ren Takara was always a sweet boy, the only one in the village that didn't pull my braids or swipe my dolls. And he had a smile like a cherub even though he wasn't plump at all. He was studious, but not nerdy, always sketching as was his hobby instead of breaking wooden boards in karate class. It was no wonder I fell hard for him as a little girl, though the other females preferred the boys who dreamed of becoming ninjas. We would do everything together—go tree climbing, peach-picking, lake swimming, koi-feeding... and in winter, he would join me for my timid tea parties and origami. It was amazing while it lasted.

The sad part was, after six years of an inseparable friendship, I moved to Tokyo and never saw my childhood love again. But maybe fate had other plans for us because ten years after I heard the last of him, something entered my life that reawakened my beating heart to his memory. And it was in the form of a little letter.

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