My love from July

The summer had been a blur of sun-drenched days and whispered arguments. July melted into August, each week a fresh coat of nail polish chipped away, revealing the raw, unvarnished wood beneath. Calix and I, we were like that. Beautiful on the surface, a mess of splinters underneath. "You're quiet," I told him one sweltering afternoon, tracing the line of his jaw as he stared out at the shimmering heat rising from the pavement. We sat on my porch swing, the chain groaning under our combined weight. He shrugged, a barely perceptible shift of his shoulders. "Just thinking." "About what?" My voice, a little too eager, always was with him. "Nothing important." He pulled away, stood. The swing swayed, empty beside me. "I should go." "Already?" The sun hadn't even begun its descent. My chest tightened. "Yeah. Got stuff." He didn't elaborate, never did. A quick peck on my forehead, a brush of his hand against my hair. Then he was gone, a phantom in the afternoon haze. Alex found me later, curled on the porch swing, a half-eaten ice cream cone melting into a sticky puddle on the wooden slats. "He did it again, didn't he?" She perched on the railing, her bright pink shorts a stark contrast to my muted mood. I nodded, pushing a stray strand of hair from my eyes. "He says he has 'stuff'." "Stuff?" Her eyebrows shot up. "Is 'stuff' code for 'I'm avoiding you because I can't articulate my feelings'?" "Don't be mean." My voice felt thin, fragile. "I'm not mean, Yume. I'm honest. And you, my dear, deserve honesty. Not these disappearing acts." She hopped down, nudged my foot with hers. "Come on. Yanna and Ruby are at the cafe. They're probably concocting a plan to kidnap Calix and force him into a therapy session." The cafe, "The Daily Grind," smelled of roasted beans and warm pastries. Yanna, with her perpetually perfect braid, was stirring a latte, her brow furrowed in concentration. Ruby, ever the artist, sketched furiously in a small notebook, oblivious to the world. "He's at it again," Alex announced, sliding into the booth opposite them. I slipped in beside her. Yanna placed her latte down with a decisive clink. "The ghosting. I swear, that boy communicates more through absence than presence." Ruby looked up, her charcoal-smudged finger pointing at a half-finished sketch of a melancholic figure. "He's a muse. A frustrating, emotionally stunted muse." "He's not emotionally stunted," I protested, my cheeks flushing. "He's just… private." "Private, or perpetually half-in, half-out the door?" Yanna fixed me with a gaze that was both loving and exasperated. "You deserve someone who's all in, Yume. Someone who doesn't make you wonder if you're just a placeholder." My stomach clenched. "He cares about me." "Then he should show it," Ruby said, closing her sketchbook with a snap. "Not leave you guessing. Not make you feel like you're constantly chasing a whisper." That night, my phone remained silent. No goodnight text, no apology for his abrupt departure. Just the glowing screen reflecting my own anxious face. The summer ended, and with it, the fragile, unspoken understanding between us. We never officially broke up. He just… faded. Like a photograph left too long in the sun. School started, a fresh wave of noisy hallways and familiar faces. I tried to bury myself in textbooks, in the comforting routine of classes. But every time I saw Calix, walking down the hall, his head bent in conversation with a friend, my breath hitched. He'd offer a small, polite nod, a faint smile that didn't reach his eyes. It was like we were strangers who once knew each other intimately. Then came the Instagram post. Alex, Yanna, and Ruby huddled around my phone during lunch, their usual boisterous chatter replaced by stunned silence. Calix, smiling, his arm around a girl. A beautiful girl. Lyn. Her hair, a cascade of honey-blonde, framed a face that seemed to glow. Her eyes, bright and sparkling, met his with an easy familiarity that made my chest ache. The caption, simple, direct: "So happy with you." "No," I whispered, my voice barely audible. Yanna snatched my phone. "This can't be real." She zoomed in, as if a closer look would reveal it was all a prank. Ruby's jaw tightened. "Happy? He looks like he just won the lottery." Alex put an arm around my shoulder. "Yume, I…" She trailed off, her usual sharp wit failing her. The cafeteria noise, once a dull hum, now felt like a roaring ocean, drowning me. My vision blurred. I pushed away from the table, stumbled out into the bustling hallway. The world spun. "Yume!" I heard Alex's voice, distant, concerned. I didn't stop. I just kept walking, blindly, until I found myself in the empty art room, the scent of turpentine and clay a strange comfort. I sank onto a stool, hugging myself. The tears came then, hot and stinging, a torrent of all the unspoken words, all the unanswered questions, all the pain of being left behind. The next few days were a blur of forced smiles and hollow assurances. My friends, bless them, were a constant presence. They brought me my favorite snacks, dragged me to movies I didn't care about, and listened patiently to my rambling theories about what went wrong. "Maybe I wasn't enough," I whispered to Alex one evening, curled on her beanbag chair. She snorted. "Yume, you're *too much*. Too kind, too loving, too everything for someone who couldn't appreciate it." "But Lyn…" "Lyn is Lyn. You are you. And you are magnificent." She handed me a tissue. "He didn't deserve you. He proved that." I saw them everywhere. In the hallways, at the local park, their hands intertwined. Lyn, always smiling, always laughing. Calix, looking more relaxed, more present than he ever did with me. It was a knife twist every time. One afternoon, I found myself at "The Daily Grind," nursing a lukewarm tea. I saw them walk in, their laughter echoing a little too loudly in the cozy space. They settled into a booth near the window, oblivious. I watched as he leaned in, whispered something that made her giggle, her head thrown back. He brushed a strand of hair from her face, his touch gentle, intimate. A touch he rarely offered me. My heart felt like a shriveled prune. I stood, my chair scraping loudly against the floor. Both their heads snapped up. Calix's eyes widened, a flicker of something unreadable passing through them. Lyn, her smile faltering, offered a small, polite nod. I didn't acknowledge them. I just paid for my tea and walked out, the bitter taste of unshed tears coating my tongue. Later that week, a text from Calix. My heart hammered against my ribs. *Can we talk?* Just those three words. My fingers hovered over the screen. Alex, who was braiding my hair, saw the message. "Don't," she warned, her voice firm. "I need to know," I said, a desperate plea. She sighed, but didn't stop me. We met at the small, often-deserted park by the river. The air was crisp, the leaves turning golden. He sat on a bench, hands clasped between his knees. He looked… tired. "Hey," I said, my voice shaky. "Hey." He didn't meet my gaze. "Thanks for coming." "What do you want, Calix?" I tried to keep my voice steady, but it quivered. He finally looked at me, his eyes clouded. "I… I feel bad. About everything." "Bad? You ghosted me. You posted pictures with your new girlfriend. 'Bad' doesn't quite cover it." The words tumbled out, sharp-edged. "I know. I messed up, Yume. I really did." He ran a hand through his hair. "I wasn't fair to you." "No, you weren't." A tear slipped down my cheek, despite my best efforts. "I loved you, Calix. With everything I had." He flinched. "I know. And you deserved better than… than how I was." "Why, Calix? Why were you like that?" My voice broke. "Why were you always distant? Why couldn't you just tell me?" He stared at the ground. "I don't know. I just… I couldn't. I was scared, I guess. Scared of… everything. Of how much you cared. Of not being able to give you what you deserved." "So you gave me nothing instead?" My voice rose. "You just… left me hanging? And then you found someone else, and suddenly you're not scared anymore?" "It's not like that, Yume." He finally met my eyes, and for the first time, I saw genuine pain there. "With Lyn… it's different. It's easy. I don't feel that pressure. That… intensity." "Intensity?" I laughed, a harsh, brittle sound. "You mean my love? My affection? That was too much for you?" He shook his head. "No. Not your love. Just… me. I wasn't ready for it. For you." He paused. "And I was too much of a coward to say it. To end things properly." "So you just let me wonder. Let me think I was the problem." My voice was a whisper now, hollowed out. "You were never the problem, Yume. I was." He stood, took a step towards me, then stopped. "I just wanted to tell you I'm sorry. For hurting you. You don't deserve that." I looked at him, truly looked at him. The boy I had loved, the boy who had broken my heart. He seemed smaller now, his guilt a visible weight. But the apology, while sincere, didn't erase the pain. It didn't bring back the summer. It didn't mend the cracks he'd left. "An apology doesn't fix it, Calix," I said, my voice flat. "It doesn't make it okay." He nodded slowly. "I know. I just… I had to say it." "Okay," I said, the single word hanging in the air. I turned, my back to him, and walked away. I didn't look back. The next few weeks were a strange mix of sorrow and a budding sense of liberation. The conversation with Calix, while painful, had given me a small, bitter piece of closure. He admitted his cowardice, his inability to reciprocate the depth of my feelings. It wasn't about me not being enough; it was about him not being ready. My friends, as always, were my anchors. "You did good, walking away," Alex declared, watching me meticulously paint my nails a vibrant teal. "No begging, no dramatics. Just pure, unadulterated 'I deserve better' energy." "It still hurts," I admitted, blowing on my nails. "Of course, it does," Yanna said, scrolling through her phone. "Heartbreak isn't a switch you just flip off. It's a wound. It needs time to heal." Ruby, ever practical, added, "And a lot of ice cream. And maybe a revenge glow-up." We laughed, a genuine, unforced sound that felt good after weeks of hollow smiles. I started focusing on myself. I joined the school newspaper, a decision I'd always put off. I spent more time in the art room, trying my hand at pottery, enjoying the feel of clay molding beneath my fingers. I even picked up my old guitar, strumming forgotten chords, letting the music fill the empty spaces Calix had left. One afternoon, in the bustling school library, I saw Lyn. She was alone, hunched over a pile of textbooks, a slight frown on her perfect face. She looked… stressed. Not the glowing, effortlessly happy girl from the Instagram posts. I hesitated, then found myself walking towards her. "Hey," I said, my voice a little louder than I intended. She looked up, startled, her eyes widening slightly when she recognized me. "Oh. Hi, Yume." Her voice was soft, a little shy. "You okay?" I asked, surprising myself. A week ago, I would have walked right past. She sighed, pushing a hand through her hair. "Midterms. They're killer. And I'm just… not getting this chapter." She gestured vaguely at an open history book. "History?" I leaned closer. "I'm actually pretty good at history. What's tripping you up?" She pointed to a dense paragraph. I read it, then explained it, breaking it down into simpler terms. She listened, her frown slowly easing. "Oh," she said, a small smile appearing. "That actually makes sense. Thank you." "No problem," I replied, a strange feeling blooming in my chest. It wasn't resentment, or anger. Just… a shared moment of humanity. We talked for a few more minutes, about classes, about the upcoming school festival. She was kind, genuinely so. Not the villain I had imagined her to be. Just a girl, trying to navigate school, just like me. "I should probably get back to it," she said, gathering her books. "Thanks again, Yume. Really." "Anytime," I found myself saying. As she left, I realized something profound. Calix hadn't stolen her from me. He had just moved on, and so had she. And now, so could I. My anger, my pain, it wasn't about her. It was about him, and his actions. Weeks turned into months. The leaves fell, then snow dusted the ground. The ache in my heart slowly receded, replaced by a quiet strength. I still thought of Calix sometimes, but the memories were less sharp, less painful. More like old photographs, faded at the edges. My friends were still there, always. "You're glowing, Yume," Ruby observed one day, watching me laugh with Alex and Yanna over a silly meme. "I feel lighter," I admitted, a genuine smile on my face. "Like I finally exhaled after holding my breath for months." Yanna nodded. "You found your breath again. That's what matters." One afternoon, I was at "The Daily Grind," sketching in my own notebook, a habit I'd picked up from Ruby. I was drawing the intricate patterns of the latte art, finding beauty in the everyday. The bell above the door chimed. I looked up. Calix stood there, alone. He saw me, and for a moment, his eyes held that familiar flicker of something unreadable. He hesitated, then walked towards my table. "Hey, Yume," he said, his voice a little softer than I remembered. "Calix." I closed my notebook, my heart giving a small, involuntary flutter. But it wasn't the frantic beat of before. Just a gentle ripple. He stood awkwardly for a moment. "How have you been?" "Good," I replied honestly. "Really good, actually." He nodded, a faint smile touching his lips. "That's… good to hear." He glanced at my notebook. "Still drawing?" "Trying to," I said, a small smile of my own. "I see you and Lyn around sometimes," he offered, almost cautiously. "At the library." "Yeah," I confirmed. "We talk sometimes. She's nice." He seemed surprised by my lack of animosity. "She is." He paused, then took a breath. "I wanted to say… I'm glad you're doing well. And I hope you find someone who… who deserves you, Yume." I looked at him, truly seeing him for perhaps the first time, not as the boy I loved, or the boy who broke my heart, but just as Calix. A person. Flawed, imperfect, just like everyone else. "I'm working on it," I told him, my voice steady. "Finding myself first. The rest will follow." He nodded, a sense of quiet understanding passing between us. "Right. Well… I should go." "Okay, Calix." He turned, and this time, as he walked away, I felt no pain. No longing. Just a faint sense of peace. The summer of July and August felt like a distant dream, a faded memory. I was no longer the girl who loved with her whole heart, broken and lost. I was the girl who loved with her whole heart, yes, but now, that heart beat for herself. And that, I realized, was a love that would never fade.