Early in the morning, the sun rose on the horizon, the colors—red, orange, and yellow—filled the dim sky like a breath of fresh air. I put my hand to the sun to block the glare as the wind ran through my hair, and carried my feet, as I pedaled my bike softly down the small hill.

Summer days, I still left early as if I was heading to school. There was a certain kind of peace that came with the calm silence.

Somewhere halfway through my neighborhood, from my peripheral vision, came a shadow. I pedaled slower out of curiosity. You could hear the soft whirr of the wheels and the clicking of the chain. As the shadow drew near, I glanced back and saw a forest green bike not far behind.

An unfamiliar boy about my age rode the bike, with his legs steady and strong and short curly dark brown hair. I looked back for a moment and we locked eyes, the sunlight catching his face, bringing out the warm brown in his eyes. I thought to myself that I've never seen him around here before. Just before I turned away, the corner of his lips curled into a soft smile, and he began to pedal closer.

A smile tugged at my lips in return. By now, caught up, we rode side by side, pedals turning in rhythm. As we reached the next hill and began to glide down, he shot me a quick look and sped up. I followed without thinking. The wind rushed past us, and he let out a childlike laugh. It made me laugh too. That moment felt like pure bliss.

t the end of the hill, he turned the corner and called, “Follow me!”

He stopped shortly after and stationed his bike on the ground, leaving us in front of a strange woods. I was curious. I placed my bike down and followed him onto a small trail. Our feet traced through the dirt, passing trees and leaves, frogs croaking, and the sound of a stream somewhere nearby.

As we moved forward, the sound of rushing water grew louder. Then, he stopped, and just beyond him was the most beautiful sight I’d ever seen.

The water sparkled under the sun as we stood there. Birds chirped overhead, their voices weaving into the peace of the moment. He took a seat on a log peering over the lake and motioned for me to sit beside him.

I was told never to speak to strangers, but something about this strange boy intrigued me in ways I didn’t fully understand. I sat down, and our eyes stayed locked. Neither of us said a word. The air felt still, like the moment was waiting.

Then he softly said, “Hi.” His voice calm and gentle.

I felt my chest flutter a little as I replied, “Hi,” just as softly.

He grinned. “Do you usually follow strangers into the woods like this?”

I gave a small, nervous laugh, tucking my curls behind my ear. “Maybe. Depends on the stranger.”

He was still smiling. I let my eyes linger on his face—his thick eyebrows framing a pair of gentle brown eyes that carried comfort without saying a word. His lashes were long, almost unfairly.

His hair was short but every coil sat just right on his head. Beneath them was a subtle scar on his forehead.

His lips were pink and full, and just above them was a little mustache that made him look older—but not too much. A bold cross tattoo sat on his neck, almost impossible to miss.

We sat there for what felt like forever, talking about nothing and everything. The stream shimmered under the sun, light dancing across the surface as if it was listening too.

His voice blended with the breeze and the calm rustling of leaves—steady and curious. He asked about the little things, and even the things I usually don’t think to ask myself. It made me feel like I didn’t have to conceal anything.

He was a bit strange, but in the best way. His humor was odd, sometimes made no sense at all, but that only drew me closer. I’ve always felt like my words fall short, but somehow, he seemed to understand.

He had a charm to his words that made me laugh until my face turned red. His jokes came naturally, and, certainly, they worked on me.

Our conversations shifted constantly from topic to topic, but with ease. When I asked him about his future, he explained his goals in ways that made me instantly believe they were possible. It struck something in me—something unexpected—hope.

Hope in someone I barely knew.

Hope in someone who, just hours ago, was a boy riding beside me beneath the sun.

We spent more time in each other’s presence, pointing out birds in the trees, bugs under smooth rocks, colorful flowers growing through sidewalk cracks. Everything felt simple. Untouched. Like the world had paused just for us.

The sun shifted above us, now shining directly on our faces, golden and warm.

For the first time, I saw the sun.

I didn’t just see the sun—I felt it. Not just with my eyes, but through my entire body. It moved me, warmed my soul, sealed this moment into me so I wouldn’t forget.

Time passed. The day grew older. We gathered our things and biked home.

The silence between us was now full of something soft, gently understood.

Under the same sun, for a month straight, we met every morning—two drifting figures tracing soft routes, exploring the world and ourselves.

In those hours, it felt like the world had opened just for us.

My curiosity for him never shrank. I learned that, to know him, you had to know his goals. He was carved from quiet determination.His dreams lived in his eyes, echoed his voice, and shaped the way he held himself.

Being around him would make you believe in your own direction.

He made me feel a little less lost. The noise in my head softened. The things I used to question felt lighter. I felt more sure of who I was becoming.

But time moved quietly.

The sun started rising later. The air turned cooler at dawn. Even the birds sang differently, as if they knew something was changing.

The golden light stretched thinner.

Our rides grew shorter. I watched him more closely—memorizing the lines in his hands, the curve of his smile. I didn’t know how to ask if he felt it too.

If he felt the sun slipping between our fingers.

Then one morning, the sun took longer to rise. Summer’s end was near.

I waited at the corner. He didn’t come.

I circled the block once, then twice, eyes scanning the same corners he used to appear from. There was no sound of wheels on the pavement. Just me and the still street.

I sat on the curb with my bike beside me, watching shadows stretch across the pavement.

I told myself he was just late. Maybe the sun was just slow that morning, and he’d come with it, smiling like always.

But the quiet stayed.

And so did I—longer than I should have.

Days passed. Summer nearly ended.

I still rode sometimes, just to feel the wind again. I passed the places we’d been, wondering if they remembered us.

I started to forget the trails we took. The exact sound of his laugh. Even the warm, amber scent of his cologne faded from memory.

One afternoon, I went back to the lake.

The trail felt different, but not unfamiliar. The frogs still croaked. The trees swayed gently, like they were hugging me—like they remembered.

I followed the path slowly as sundown approached, and sat on the same log that once held the warmth of two.

I felt the absence beside me, but I didn’t ache from it. I just noticed it.

The sunset left streaks of pink and gold, fading into dusk. The moon rose, silver and soft, casting light across the lake and onto me.

The silence gave me peace—restoring what I once knew to exist in silence.

To feel whole without needing to be fulfilled.

And when I looked up,

the moon was so bright,

I thought I felt the sun again.