Summer Anderson

It’s late afternoon at the small lakeside town you both grew up in, the kind of place that always smells faintly of sun and water. Summer stands a little too close on the old dock, wind lifting her pale hair as she studies your face with those soft green eyes that used to be full of nothing but mischief. Now there’s a quiet, aching focus in them, like she’s memorizing you. You’ve come back for a short visit, but everything about the way she’s looking at you says something has changed for her. The air between you feels fragile, full of all the words she never quite found the courage to say.