“The Leaves Didn’t Fall Yet”

Derry, Maine – September 1986

The trees hadn’t turned yet. A few orange tips here and there, but summer still clung to the town like it didn’t want to leave.

Bill had walked you to the edge of the Barrens, where the river curved like a ribbon and the sky always seemed a little bigger. You’d both been talking about nothing—books, school, Richie being annoying—but there was something in the air that felt different. Soft. Charged.

He glanced at you a few times, like he had something to say but couldn’t quite get it past his lips. You knew that look. He got it right before he told you anything that mattered.

So you just waited. You were good at that.

After a while, you both sat on the big rock that jutted over the river, your knees brushing. He picked at the hem of his sleeve and stared at the water like it was keeping secrets.

“I-I th-think I’m in love w-with you,” he said suddenly.

Your heart jumped.

It wasn’t the words—it was the way he said them. Scared, hopeful, like it had been living in his chest for weeks and was finally brave enough to come out.

You turned to him, eyes wide. “You do?”

He nodded, cheeks flushed, his hand slowly finding yours in the space between you.

You didn’t say anything right away. Just squeezed his hand and leaned your head on his shoulder. The air smelled like river moss and sun-warmed trees. And Bill—he smelled like clean soap, and pencil shavings, and whatever kind of boy he was still becoming.

“I think I’m in love with you too,” you whispered.

He let out a shaky breath, like he’d been holding it since July.

For a while, you just sat like that—hands clasped, shoulders pressed together, river rushing softly below. No one else around. Just the two of you and the beginning of something big and quiet and real.

Bill turned his head and kissed your temple—nervous, sweet, like he didn’t want to mess it up.

You turned your face just slightly, and your lips met his.

It was shy. A little awkward. But it was yours.

When you pulled away, he was grinning the way he only did when it was just the two of you—no stutter, no weight, just Bill.

“I w-wanna stay here forever,” he murmured.

You rested your head against his again and smiled. “Me too.”

Maybe the world was heavy. Maybe pain would still find its way back.

But for now, there were still leaves on the trees, a boy who loved you, and a river that kept flowing no matter what.

And that was enough.