Summer Ends

The summer was ending.

It didn't scream or cry — it just quietly faded away, like the last note of a song no one wanted to stop listening to.

Sophia sat on the porch steps, wrapped in a sweater that smelled like Daniel's cologne — because she'd borrowed it once, and never returned it.

She told herself she wasn't doing it on purpose.

That she didn't want to remember him by something he left behind.

But deep down?

She knew better.

Daniel had packed his car already. Nathan was helping load the last of his stuff into the trunk, joking about how messy he always was when it came time to leave.

And Sophia?

She was pretending not to care.

Again.

They were inside now, grabbing drinks before the long drive back to campus. She could hear them laughing through the open window, their voices easy and familiar.

Nathan's teasing.

Daniel's warm chuckle.

Like nothing had changed.

Like they hadn't spent the entire summer together — just like this — and like she hadn't loved him more each day.

She stared at her hands, trying not to think about how soon he would be gone again.

How long it would be before she saw him next.

How many nights she would spend replaying the sound of his voice in her head.

When Daniel finally stepped outside, he paused beside her.

"You okay?" he asked, settling onto the step below hers.

She nodded too fast. "Yep."

He gave her a look — the kind that said he didn't believe her.

"Summer went by quick," he said after a moment, staring out at the yard.

She swallowed hard. "Yeah. It did."

He glanced at her. "You gonna be alright without me here?"

Her heart skipped.

There it was again — that softness in his tone, that quiet concern that made her chest ache.

She forced a smile. "I'm not a kid, you know. I can handle myself."

He grinned. "I know. You've gotten pretty tough."

She raised an eyebrow. "Tough?"

He shrugged. "You don't let things get to you as much. That's good."

She looked away. "Sometimes I wish I did."

He blinked. "Huh?"

"Nothing." She shook her head. "Forget it."

He studied her for a second longer than usual — then leaned back against the railing like he belonged there forever.

And Sophia? She tried very hard not to notice how close he was.

Inside, Nathan shouted, "Hey, Soph! Grab Daniel a bottle of water!"

She stood quickly, using the distraction to escape the way her heart was beating too loud in her chest.

A few minutes later, she handed Daniel the water, careful not to linger too long when he took it from her hand.

"Thanks," he said, smiling up at her.

She nodded. "Sure."

He opened the bottle, taking a slow sip while watching her.

Then he said, "You've been weird lately."

She stiffened. "Weird how?"

He tilted his head. "Quieter than usual."

"I'm always quiet."

"Yeah," he agreed. "But now it feels different."

Her stomach twisted.

Because it was different.

She was different.

She wasn't twelve anymore.

She wasn't the girl who blushed every time he walked into a room and thought it was cute.

Now, she just felt tired.

Tired of loving someone who only saw her in pieces.

Tired of waiting.

Tired of hiding.

Later that afternoon, while Nathan was distracted fixing a tire, Daniel found her in the kitchen folding laundry — his hoodie still in her hands.

She stopped mid-fold when he walked in.

"You're really doing this right now?" he asked, leaning against the doorway.

She frowned. "Doing what?"

"This." He gestured vaguely toward her. "Being weird."

"I'm not being weird."

He crossed his arms. "You are."

She sighed. "Fine. Maybe I am."

His brow furrowed. "Why?"

She hesitated — then shook her head. "It doesn't matter."

He stepped closer. "Soph…"

She looked up at him, really looked at him, and for once, she didn't look away.

"I miss you," she whispered.

The words came out before she could stop them.

Not loud.

Not dramatic.

Just honest.

And it scared her.

Because she hadn't meant to say it.

Or maybe… she had.

Maybe part of her had been saying it for years — just never out loud.

Daniel blinked. "What?"

She laughed nervously. "I mean… I'll miss having you around."

He studied her face like he was trying to read between the lines.

Then he smiled — gentle, teasing. "You say that like I'm moving to another planet."

She laughed weakly. "Feels like it."

He nudged her shoulder lightly. "You're being dramatic."

She wanted to tell him that she wasn't.

Wanted to say that missing him didn't start when he left — it started the moment he showed up and reminded her how much she loved him.

But instead, she just nodded. "Yeah. Maybe I am."

He smirked. "Good. Then I know you'll be fine."

She swallowed hard. "Okay."

As they stood there, Sophia realized she'd never actually asked him…

"Why do you keep coming back?" she asked suddenly.

Daniel turned toward her. "Huh?"

"To our house," she clarified. "Your school isn't that far. You could live somewhere else. But you always stay here."

He paused.

For the first time, he looked thoughtful — not just playful or teasing.

After a beat, he said, "Because this place… it feels like home."

She blinked. "Even though you grew up in a mansion?"

He chuckled softly. "Yeah. Even then."

She tilted her head. "I don't get it."

He leaned against the counter, crossing his arms. "My parents were rich. Like, stupid rich. Huge house, private tutors, country club dinners. Everything you'd expect."

Sophia waited.

"But I hated it," he admitted. "It was fake. Everyone smiled in front of my dad, but the second he left the room, it was all politics and backstabbing."

"That sounds lonely."

"It was," he said simply. "Until I met Nathan."

She smiled faintly. "Of course."

"He was the kid who punched me in the face on the first day of camp," Daniel added with a grin. "Said I was acting like I owned the place."

Sophia snorted. "Sounds like Nathan."

"He didn't back down," Daniel continued. "And honestly, I respected that. He was real. No games. Just… honesty. And eventually, we became friends."

She watched him carefully. "And now you're like brothers."

He nodded. "Closer than some people are to their actual siblings."

She understood, then, why he kept coming back.

Not just for Nathan.

But for the feeling of belonging he'd never had growing up.

This house.

This family.

It was where he felt whole.

And Sophia?

She was just the girl who got to watch it happen.

By the time he was ready to go, the sky had turned gold — sunset bleeding into the clouds like paint on canvas.

Nathan was outside, double-checking the locks on the car.

Daniel stood by the driver's side, sunglasses resting on his nose.

Sophia hovered near the front door, unsure if she should walk over or just wave goodbye.

He noticed her hesitation.

Walked over.

Smiled.

Said, "You good?"

She nodded. "Yeah."

He studied her for a second — like he was trying to figure something out.

Then he reached forward and ruffled her hair.

"You'll be fine," he said again.

And just like that, he got into the car.

Nathan waved at her from the passenger seat.

Then they were pulling out of the driveway.

Driving away.

Leaving her standing there, clutching his hoodie like it could somehow hold him in place.

She didn't cry until she was in her room, lying on her bed with the windows open and the wind whispering through the curtains.

She pulled the hoodie over her face and breathed in deeply.

It still smelled like him.

Like coffee.

Like rain.

Like everything she couldn't have.

And suddenly, it hurt more than usual.

Because this time, she didn't feel like she was just watching him leave.

She felt like she was letting him go — again — and it didn't feel any easier.

It felt like a piece of her heart was driving away with him.

And no amount of pretending could change that.

Later that night, she found herself reading back through old diary entries — ones she hadn't touched in years.

One entry caught her eye.

Written in shaky handwriting, dated when she was thirteen:

"Today, Daniel stayed for dinner again. He wore his gray shirt — the one with the hole in the sleeve. He helped me clean up after dinner. I wish he'd look at me the way he looks at other girls."

She traced the ink with her thumb.

Another one followed:

"I heard him talk about his parents once. He said he didn't need their money to find his own path. I think that's why he keeps choosing us — because we make him feel like he belongs."

She exhaled slowly.

And finally, the most recent one she'd written earlier that morning:

"I wish I could be enough for him."

She closed the diary gently, hugging it to her chest.

Because now she understood.

Daniel didn't see her the way she wanted him to.

But he did love her.

Just not yet — not like she needed him to.

And maybe… just maybe… someday he would.