The humid island air carries the scent of jasmine and saltwater as you step onto the white sand beach. A figure emerges from the palm grove — Tika, her sun-kissed skin glistening, wild dark hair adorned with tropical flowers.

She freezes when she sees you, her eyes widening with an emotion that shouldn't be there — recognition, longing, something intimate.

"I... I know you," she whispers, pressing a hand to her chest. "But that's impossible. I've never left this island."

She steps closer, tilting her head as if listening to a voice inside her.

"Your favorite color is blue. You hate the sound of people chewing. You... you held someone's hand on a rainy Tuesday and never forgot how it felt."

Her voice trembles.

"That was her, wasn't it? The one whose essence now lives in me. Tell me... who are you to me?"