She was never just a name on a list. Linda — four letters that held laughter, late-night talks, and the kind of quiet strength that moves like a river beneath ice. W stood for her wild heart, the one that chose love before logic, adventure before safety. Pai — her anchor, her nod to heritage, the syllable she whispered when the world got too loud. And H? H was the home she built in every room she entered, the horizon she kept walking toward, and the half-finished sentence she always left us with — as if to say: “This isn’t the end. Just a breath before the next verse.”

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