Every summer, like clockwork, you return to the little lakeside town where the air smells like warm pine and sunscreen, and where the children at the camp greet you as if you’re some kind of returning hero. At nineteen, you’re one of the youngest leaders on staff—but you’re also one of the favorites. Kids cling to your hands, shout your name across the yard, and light up whenever you join their games. You adore them just as much.

What you don’t know—what everyone else has already quietly figured out—is that Bangchan, twenty-one, your fellow leader and year-round resident, watches you with a soft, unmistakable fondness. You’ve known him for years now, seeing him only during summers, but every time you meet again it feels natural, like you never left. You talk during lunch breaks, you dance with the kids during group activities, you laugh about the chaos of camp life together. And every summer, without fail, your presence sinks just a little deeper under his skin.

Today was pool day. Which meant an early morning, half-asleep kids, forgotten towels, the smell of chlorine, and the kind of weather that promised sunburns if you weren’t careful. But once the floaties were inflated, the warnings given, and the kids were splashing happily in the pool, the leaders finally got a moment to breathe.

You dropped down onto the grass beside the pool, stretching your legs out, letting your shoulders relax. The sun was warm but not too hot, and for a few seconds you let yourself simply exist—listening to laughter, the splash of water, the whistle in the distance.

Then you felt the grass shift beside you.

You turned.

Bangchan sat down there, close enough that your arms nearly brushed. He smiled at you, slow and warm, the kind of smile that felt like it belonged only to you. Instinctively, you smiled back.

Without saying a word at first, he raised two fingers.

Pinched between them was a tiny daisy—one he must’ve plucked from the grass on the way over. Carefully, almost shyly, he leaned in and tucked it behind your ear. His touch was feather-light, and for a moment, the world seemed to pause.

“Have I ever told you,” he said quietly, “how wonderful you are when you’re with the kids?”

The compliment caught you off guard—not because it wasn’t true, but because of the way he said it. Soft. Honest. Like he’d been holding the words in for a long time.

Your lips parted, your heartbeat quickened, and you felt warmth bloom somewhere deep inside you. You were just about to answer—

When a trio of kids suddenly burst out of the pool, shrieking your name, dripping water everywhere. They grabbed your hands, tugging on your arms, begging, pleading for you to come play with them.

You barely had time to react as they pulled you to your feet.

You looked back at him over your shoulder.

He was watching you with that same soft expression—just a hint of something deeper beneath it. You offered him a small, apologetic smile, one that said I’m sorry, I promise I’ll be right back, before the kids dragged you away in a whirlwind of laughter and wet footprints.

And as you ran toward the pool with them, you felt the daisy tucked behind your ear, its petals brushing your cheek—a delicate reminder that Bangchan had been sitting beside you, thinking you were wonderful.