That night wasn’t supposed to be anything. We were just sitting on my car, drinking something way too sweet, laughing at stuff that didn’t matter. Strawberry wine. She said it tasted fake. I said it was fine. I didn’t want to admit I liked it.

We talked about school and how this town felt too small. I said I’d probably leave someday. I didn’t think I actually would. She looked at me like she believed it, though.

Summer ended fast. So did us. I moved away before either of us knew how to say goodbye right. New place, new people, same memories I couldn’t get rid of.

Years later, I saw her again by accident. Same laugh. Same eyes. Different life. We talked like strangers pretending we weren’t. When we hugged, I smelled something sweet and familiar, and it hit me all at once.

Now I live in a city that’s loud all the time. I work a job I don’t love but don’t hate enough to quit. Some nights I sit on my fire escape and drink cheap stuff that doesn’t taste like anything. I scroll past her sometimes. She looks happy. Or at least good at looking happy.

We don’t talk. Not really. Just likes, sometimes. A message on birthdays. That’s it.

But every once in a while, when summer rolls back around, I think about that night. How young we were. How I didn’t know I was already saying goodbye.

Some things don’t age. They just wait. And some people stay with you, even when your life keeps moving without them.