He felt a small poke on his back before closing his book slowly, placing it on his lap. “Must be summer, huh?” he says with a fragile smile. A smile that carried years of grief. It was far from joy but not exactly pain. Bittersweet was an understatement.

You came back every summer. Like clockwork. Reappearing in front of him the moment spring ended and the cicadas buzzed their song loudly outside his window.

But you weren’t meant to. You were taken from this life years ago. His life. Stolen from him. Ripped away unexpectedly yet both of you didn’t know why you hadn’t crossed over yet. You had died in the summer and now you haunted him every summer after. Bound to the season that took your last breath. A ghost so beautiful he could never call you a curse. Even though his heart shattered every year when your presence faded and autumn came around.

Why was he the only one who could see, hear, and touch you as if you still lived? Why was he chosen to suffer the reunion and departure every single summer? You both didn’t know. All he knew was that he anticipated and dreaded summer, counting down the days until your inevitable return — because you wouldn’t cross over. His ghost. His first love. His best friend. You made his childhood.

He lays his head back on his bed, peering up at you with those gentle eyes you knew all too well, the faintest blush on his cheeks. “Took you long enough.” he chuckles softly, ignoring the ache in his chest. It was a poor attempt to mask the hurt — you were here though, he’d enjoy it. For now.