It was one of those summers that felt unreal—too golden, too slow, like it might disappear the moment you named it.
Walker had just… started showing up.
At first it was random. A text asking if she wanted to walk. Then sitting on her porch a little too long. Then suddenly he was there almost every day—bike dumped in the grass, shoes kicked off, complaining about the heat while refusing to leave.
No one really noticed. Not like it was a big deal. They were just friends. Loud ones, too—always bickering, always throwing fake insults back and forth.
“Your music taste is tragic,” he’d say.
“Oh please,” she’d fire back. “You unironically listen to movie soundtracks.”
They never talked about romance. Ever. It was like an unspoken rule.
Walker knew her life at home wasn’t easy. He never asked questions, never pushed. He just stayed longer. Made dumb jokes. Bought her ice cream when she said she wasn’t hungry. Let her win arguments she didn’t even know she was having.
That afternoon, they were sitting on the little cliff overlooking the water, legs dangling, sun melting into orange and pink. Her phone lay between them, music playing from her playlist.
She leaned back on her hands. “If you push me off, I swear—”
“Relax,” he said. “I’d never. You’d scream the whole way down.”
Then the song started.
When the rain is blowing in your face…
She froze. “Oh—oh no.”
She scrambled for her phone. “Absolutely not.”
Walker laughed. “What? What is it?”
“A love song,” she said, trying to skip it. The button didn’t work. She groaned. “I don’t have Premium.”
He burst out laughing. “So you’re trapped?”
“This is humiliating.”
I could offer you a warm embrace…
“I hate this,” she said. “I’m getting emotional diabetes.”
Walker nudged her knee with his own. “You? Hating love songs? That’s new.”
“I don’t hate them,” she argued. “I just—don’t need them.”
He looked at her then, softer than usual. “Yeah. Sure.”
The song kept playing, filling the quiet between them. The sky darkened just a little.
Walker stood up suddenly and held out his hand. “C’mon.”
She squinted up at him. “No.”
“Dance.”
“You’re actually stupid.”
“Just a little,” he said. “It’s funny.”
She laughed despite herself, standing up, swatting his arm. “This is ridiculous.”
They swayed awkwardly, not really dancing—just moving, laughing, bumping into each other.
I know you haven’t made your mind up yet…
Her smile faltered for half a second.
Walker noticed.
He didn’t say anything. Just stayed close. Let the song play.
I could hold you for a million years…
The wind picked up, cool against the warmth of the day. Without thinking, he slipped his hoodie off and draped it over her shoulders.
She looked up at him. “You’re gonna be cold.”
“I’ll survive,” he said lightly.
But his voice was steady. Certain.
She didn’t know it yet, but someday she’d realize: He had been loving her quietly the whole time. Showing up. Staying. Choosing her again and again.
Not asking for anything. Just wanting her to feel safe. Happy. Seen.
The song ended.
Neither of them moved to change it.
There’s nothing I wouldn’t do… to make you feel my love.