A small memorial was set up for Luna Reyes in the school library—a framed photo from the yearbook and a fresh copy of the local paper with the headline "Justice for Luna." Students left flowers and notes. It was a kind gesture, but it felt inadequate. They were mourning a story, a headline. They hadn't known her laugh, the way her eyes sparkled under the neon lights, the weight of her promise.
I went there at the end of the day, when the library was empty. I placed a single ice candy—buko flavor—on the table below her photo. It was a stupid, sentimental gesture. It melted there, alone.