Chapter 1: The Vanilla-Scented Hills The air carried the scent of wild strawberries – Fragaria viridis – the scent of childhood and freedom, woven into every sunlit valley and emerald plateau. A symphony of vanilla and earth whispered through the countryside, calling to the children who walked for miles, hypnotized by the beauty that stretched endlessly in every direction.

I was one of them,but at close distance the school , my heart beating to the rhythm of distant communions and bicycles. The roads were more than paths; they were lifelines that connected villages, families and dreams. Every morning, with the first golden rays of the sun, hundreds of little feet hurried to their lessons. Five kilometers felt like an eternity, but to these young travelers it was nothing more than the price of education.

The schools teemed with the energy of 850 eager voices. Teachers stood proud, their ties clean, a symbol of respect and order amidst the chaos of young minds. In the afternoon, the ties turned into scarves tied to the dust, while teachers became workers tending their communal agricultural plots. A life divided by duty but united by perseverance, hope, and community.

The summers were a paradise. The fields were transformed into an endless feast of strawberries, their crimson jewels densely scattered across the land, a treasury for the canneries that sent their wealth far and wide to pay debts unseen. Diana could see herself then, raking through fragrant fields, laughing, dreaming, living in the abundance of a happiness so deep that it left reserves for life.

She wondered, as she looked back through the haze of memory, if others felt what she felt—an enduring enchantment, a source of joy that kept her soul nourished long after the strawberries had withered from the hills.