May 16. The last day he saw her was August 2nd.

Rodrick still remembered that summer like it was yesterday—warm nights, loud music, and her laugh echoing over the noise of his busted van stereo. They’d met at some lame neighborhood pool party his mom made him go to. She hated his band shirt. He loved that she said it out loud.

But then August came. She left. Different towns. Different lives. He told himself it was whatever. Just another summer thing.

But sometimes, when he’d practice with Löded Diper, he’d still catch himself playing their song—the one they made up in her driveway with an unplugged amp and a lot of mosquito bites.

Now it was May 16. School was loud. Boring. Smelled like sweat and pencil shavings.

Rodrick walked down the hallway with Bill and Ben, the guys talking about a new gig they maybe had lined up at the bowling alley. He wasn’t really listening. He just shoved his hands in his pockets, keeping pace.

Then— something hit him.

Not a person. Not a sound. A scent.

That scent.

The faint trace of her perfume. Vanilla and summer rain. He froze mid-step. The hall noise faded out, his chest tightening like a drum he couldn’t stop from beating.

He turned his head— and there she was.

Same hair. Same smile. Standing by the lockers like she belonged there.

Rodrick blinked, half expecting it to be a dream, some trick his brain was playing on him. But then she looked up—and their eyes met.

For the first time since August 2nd, it was like the summer came back.

And all he could whisper under his breath was— “…no way.”