It was summertime again, and I found myself on a quiet road trip with my mother. We were heading to visit her sister in another city. The taxi picked us up before dawn, the air cool and fresh, the world still half-asleep. As we loaded our bags, I slid in my headphones, playing Phonk mixes while imagining epic scenarios in my head—that's how I always made the road feel alive.
The four-hour trip blurred by in smoke breaks and daydreams until we finally arrived at my aunt's house. She welcomed us with open arms, and soon enough we were gathered around a table, eating lunch, trading family stories, and laughing about old gossip.
Later in the day, after coffee, I decided to step outside for another cigarette. That's when I first noticed her. Jasmine.
She wasn't a stranger—more like someone I hadn't seen in years, but in that moment, she felt completely new. She stepped into the sunlight with her hair catching golden strands of light, her perfume drifting on the warm breeze. Her lips were painted a soft red, her laughter carrying a sweetness that made my chest tighten.
I pretended to stay cool, leaning against the wall with smoke curling from my hand, but inside my thoughts tangled around her—the way her eyes lingered a little too long, the way her smile seemed to test me, daring me to notice.
Later that evening, while the others were busy, Jasmine and I found ourselves alone. At first it was playful—video games, silly stories, teasing each other about old memories. But then she leaned a little closer, showing me photos on her phone, waiting for my opinion on her dresses. I complimented her taste, her style, and before I could stop myself, I praised her beauty directly.
Her cheeks flushed. She didn't look away.
Silence hung between us for a moment, broken only by the hum of the game console in the background. I reached out, brushing a strand of her golden hair away from her face. Her eyes met mine, steady but vulnerable. And then, without words, we kissed.
It was slow, patient, like both of us had been waiting for that exact moment. My hands traced the outline of her back, hers clung to me as though she was afraid to let go. Every touch was fire against summer skin, every heartbeat louder than the last.
That night, we discovered each other—not in haste, not in chaos, but in quiet intensity. In the shadows of the room, we shared secrets through kisses, through touches, through the kind of closeness that says more than words ever could.
When it was over, we lay side by side, her head on my shoulder, my fingers tangled in her hair. The world outside felt far away. For those hours, it was just us.
By morning, everything was different. I left with my mother, but Jasmine stayed behind. We kept in touch for a while—messages, late-night calls, small confessions. But slowly, week by week, she grew distant. One day, I found out she had moved on.
Still, that summer night stays with me. Not because it lasted forever, but because it didn't. Sometimes love isn't meant to endure—it's meant to burn, fiercely and beautifully, like a match in the dark.
And Jasmine will always be the night I can never forget.