Dear Diary,

Was it love at first sight? I don’t know. I know I’m definitely a flirt at first sight. I want to be loved at first sight, but I don’t know if I loved him at first sight.

I was impressed though. He was just as much of a flirt as I am. Perhaps a bigger one.

Even from the beginning there was something that marked him as different. It had nothing to do with the fact that he was distantly related to the Imperial family of Carthak, or that he was the youngest mage to be made head of the Imperial University’s Healers’ wing.

It had nothing to do with the fact that he was close friends with the Imperial Emperor, himself. No, it was nothing so grand.

At first it was only the small things. The beauty of his words, for one! When we first met, Zaimid asked me, “Please excuse the staring of a man smitten by your loveliness.”

Sure, Ferdy and the others have whispered similar sentiments to me; they did on a daily routine, in fact. Their eyes, though, didn’t have the same look as Zaimid's did, so lively and true.

And how bold he was! No one else had even dared to look at my hand for the amount of time he had held it. What really marked him as special, though, was something that every member of the party undoubtedly noticed. He flirted with the raka. Not once had I seen anyone brave enough to do that, let alone someone who wanted to.

Zaimid wore a lot of jewelry, I realized, almost more than Ferdy did. Zaimid, though, didn’t wear the jewelry in the same boastful manner in which the Tomangs did.

These, my first impressions. This, I noticed when I could barely call him an acquaintance. Oh, how much more I would come to learn when I could call him friend.

Zaimid is kind and compassionate, though most importantly, he cares. When we once saw an injured man, Zaimid took the time to heal him. Don’t think I didn’t notice the way Ferdy rode right on by without a second glance. And why? Because the man was a raka. Of all people, it was the foreigner, the foreigner, who knew little of the countries problems, that cared.

Cared for my people.

It was a few days past when I came to a realization. I was feeling hurt; it was almost as if Zaimid had stabbed my heart, when for the second day, he wasn’t among our numbers. His absence was painfully noticeable, at least, to me it was. Perhaps it was his plan for me to notice. Notice his absence; notice the ache in my heart.

I was careful, though, to hide the hurt I felt. Was I not, after all, supposed to be guarding my heart after the events that took place not a year ago? Still, I believe I fooled even Aly.

For the entirety of the day, I thought of him, of the people he was healing, the good he was doing, of his lovely face. I flirted like mad, anything to get him off my mind, yet it was Zaimid’s laugh I longed to hear when Ferdy chuckled at my joke. I stared at him coldly. Ferdy wasn’t helping the raka; no, he was part of the problem.

So you can only image the joy I felt when Zaimid joined our small riding party, the following day. His presence made my eyes shine, though I stared at his horse instead, in the hopes of nobody noticing.

It was on our way home that a small girl came forward and presented me with a flower. She was a thin, timid raka child. I smiled and in the blink of an eye she was gone. I looked worriedly at the ground and saw her lying there, injured. Nearby I saw the soldier who had almost appeared out of thin air and knocked her down.

Oh, how I loathe those bullies in armor!

The concern in Zaimid's face, the way he jumped down off his horse and healed her, didn’t go unnoticed. Neither did the way other selfish members of the riding party rode on by, the cowards! I quickly dismounted and helped Zaimid where I could. How can we live in such a cruel, unfair world?

When the injured girl smiled, I felt so relieved that I hugged Zaimid. I stupidly acted on an impulse and hugged Zaimid. When I realized what I had done, I attempted to move, though his strong arms wouldn’t allow me to. I didn’t protest though my heart did pound in my chest and my breath came short.

At the time, I hadn’t noticed the way the raka girl had scampered off, leaving behind the flower. Zaimid, though, did. He picked it up and gently tucked it behind my ear. I couldn’t tear my eyes away from his.

“For you, Sarai, my queen,” he said softly. The irony of the words!

“Thank you,” I breathed. It was then that I realized.

I, Sarai Balitang, love Zaimid Hetnim