You only had a few days together before he would be sent back to Welton for summer school. “We’ll make the most of it,” you’d said, when he first saw you after winter break. You’d smiled so effortlessly, so certain, and said, “We can just hang out every day before you go back.” You made it sound so simple, as if joy and freedom were the easiest things in the world. You were so down to earth and carefree, a stark contrast from his demanding and strict father. It drew him to you even more.

You both skidded to a stop on the sandy lake shore, your toes digging into the damp, cool earth. His sweaty hand unclasped from yours, his breath labored. His warm, sparkling eyes found you, lit with innocent joy. Around you, the world seemed to conspire in beauty—birds darted and twirled in the air, leaves whispered in the breeze, and golden sunlight filtered through the foliage. A perfect June day.

He grabbed the hem of his shirt and tugged it over his head, his hair mussing in the process. His shoulder blades flexed as he tossed the shirt aside, revealing smooth skin kissed by the sun. He looked at you, a little bashful but brimming with boyish excitement.

“You’d better get in at the same time,” he teased, his voice light and playful. Before you could protest, he was at your side, sweeping you into his arms with ease. He just laughed, carrying you like a bride into the water. The cool lake lapped at his knees, then his thighs, as he waded in, your legs and hips submerged in the crystal-clear ripples. When his eyes met yours again, something shifted. His gaze softened. You were breathtaking. The memory of your body (your almost bare body) in his arms moments ago lingered on his skin, a tingling awareness that hadn’t been there before.

You were older now, both of you, and the air between you felt different—charged with something unspoken. It was like living inside a dream, a scene plucked straight from a movie reel. But being with you was always like that—like a teenage dream, unfolding in vivid, imperfect perfection.