The Summer That Never Happened

The summer began like any other. Heat clung to the skin like honey, the air thick with humidity and possibility. It whispered: bikini season, cold beers named after dreams—Delirium, in this case—and maybe, just maybe, a little summer fling to keep things interesting. The kind you think you’re ready for but never really are.

I had asked the universe—God, Spirit, fate—whatever name it wants to wear that day—for a taste of excitement, something to distract me from the ticking clock and the voice in my head telling me to “get it together.” I was supposed to be building an empire, not chasing strangers through salsa bars.

But that’s the thing about summer—it makes you want to escape your own rules.

It started with a simple conversation. My friend, who’d recently hit a rough patch with the woman he was seeing, asked if I wanted to go out. Spanish music, salsa, a little chaos to shake the dust off. I said yes. I even convinced my sister to come and bring a friend. I needed to feel free again. Light.

He called me while I was getting ready.

“Hey, at what time are you heading there?”

“In like, 30 minutes. Drive safe.”

“Cool, I’m with my boy Duki. He’s coming too.”

I paused. Duki? I didn’t even know that was a real name. It sounded like a nickname given to a dog or a comic book villain. “Kata, is that cool?”

“Yeah, sure,” I said. But in my head, I was already wondering who the hell this Duki was.

We got to the venue. It was empty. The kind of place you regret suggesting the moment you arrive. My sister’s friend showed up first, cheerful but obviously trying to pretend the dead space around us wasn’t weird. I sighed internally. This is embarrassing.

Then they arrived.

My friend and his mysterious plus-one. Duki.

They were both well-dressed, calm, and surprisingly magnetic. My friend gave me a hug. Then I looked at Duki. His eyes were like warm honey, framed by thick, dark eyebrows. Full lips—almost burgundy in tone—made him look like someone you might imagine in a novel, not real life. I felt caught, like I had been caught looking. I turned away quickly. Cute… but nothing crazy, I thought, lying to myself.

That night fizzled fast. We left the bar in search of a better vibe. But it was the next day when things began.

He asked me to dinner. I said yes.

He showed up in shorts and a too-casual look, like he wasn’t even trying. I felt a pinch of disappointment, but I let it slide. We ate sushi at one of my favorite cheap-but-good spots. Bougie on a budget. He talked a lot. About his family, his life, his past. I sat there stunned, not because I was impressed—but because something in me had shut down. I couldn’t be myself. My words were missing.

We left to another bar, where he drank more and talked more. I drank too, but not much. The silence inside me stayed.

Then we went to his place. Music played. One thing led to another. I gave myself up, not because of love, but because I was tired of being untouched, unseen. I had been single for more than two years. And maybe… maybe I wanted to be wanted, even if it was temporary.

The morning after was quiet. I went home with more questions than answers. But I stayed curious. We kept seeing each other, once or twice a week. He kept showing up, but it felt like less of him arrived each time.

I met his mother once. She hugged me tightly, but there was something off. When our bodies touched, she looked at me like she had seen something—like a warning she didn’t speak. I carried that look in my chest for days.

Then, without warning, he drifted. Like smoke after a flame.

One week, then two. I was always the one texting. I don’t even know why. I wasn’t in love. I wasn’t sure I even liked him. I just wanted the moment. The heat. The story.

Eventually, I planned a beach date. Told him to be at my house by 7 a.m. on a Sunday. He confirmed three times. He never showed.

That day, I had planned to end it. Not in drama, but in peace. I realized I didn’t want someone to reflect the broken parts of my life back at me. I wanted someone who helped me forget, even if just for a while.

Instead, the silence ended it for me.

⸻

That summer didn’t go how I imagined. It didn’t sweep me off my feet or offer a grand romance. But in a way, it still gave me something.

A reminder.

Sometimes the flames we chase aren’t meant to warm us. They’re only meant to show us we’re still alive.