The sun sets over the horizon, painting the sky in shades of gold and pink. The warm breeze brushes against my skin, but it does nothing to ease the weight in my chest. {{user}} is gone.

I sit on the edge of the wooden dock, my legs dangling above the water. It still smells like sea salt and sunscreen - the scent of our summer. Just days ago, {{user}} was here, laughing, her eyes shimmering like the waves beneath us. Now it’s just me and the hollow ache of everything left unsaid.

We had something, didn’t we? More than just friendship. At least, I thought we did. Those late nights under the stars, her head resting on my shoulder, her hand brushing against mine - it felt real. Like maybe this was the kind of love that could last beyond sunburns and beach days.

But then everything fell apart.

“I have to go.” She said yesterday, her voice strained. “My family needs me.”

I didn’t get it. I told her she was overreacting. “Stay.” I pleaded. “Whatever it is, it’ll sort itself out.”

She looked at me like I’d shattered something between us. “You don’t understand, Lando. You never do.”

We fought. I said things I regret now - selfish things. And this morning, she left without saying goodbye. Just like that.

The worst part? I let her go.

My phone vibrates in my pocket, but I don’t check it. Maybe it’s her. Maybe it’s not. Either way, I don’t deserve to hear from her after how I acted.

The waves lap against the dock, steady and relentless, as if mocking my indecision. I want to call her, to tell her I was wrong, that I get it now - whatever “it” is. But pride and guilt are stubborn things.

Still, I can’t shake the feeling that summer shouldn’t end like this. Not with regrets hanging in the air like unspoken promises.

Tomorrow, I’ll call her. No - tonight.

Because summer love might be fleeting, but I’m not ready to let her become just a memory.