summer of ava

THE LETTER

Sunday morning, 4:47 AM. Ava's alarm hadn't even gone off yet, but she was already awake. She'd barely slept, tossing and turning all night, her mind racing with everything she wanted to say and couldn't.

She sat up in bed and looked around her room in the darkness. The walls were bare now—she'd taken down all her posters yesterday. Her desk was empty. Her bookshelf had been packed into boxes that were already loaded in the car. It didn't even look like her room anymore. Just a generic space that some other family would fill with their own memories.

In a few hours, this wouldn't be her home.

Ava pulled her knees to her chest and let herself feel it—all the fear, all the sadness, all the desperate wish that she could rewind time and do everything differently. Tell Jason the truth from the start. Be honest about her feelings. Not waste a single second of the time they had together.

But it was too late for that now.

She reached for her nightstand and pulled out the letter she'd written last night. Actually, the fourth letter she'd written. The first three had ended up crumpled in her trash can—too dramatic, too casual, too something. This one felt right. Or at least as right as it could be when you were trying to say goodbye to someone who'd become your whole world in just six weeks.

Ava read it over one more time, her eyes tracing each word. How he'd changed everything. How she'd wanted to make him smile from the first day. How somewhere between the terrible math jokes and the water fights and the late-night texts, he'd become her favorite person. Someone she couldn't imagine her life without.

How she should've told him in person but was too much of a coward. How she was leaving today for boarding school, had known all summer but couldn't say it out loud. How sorry she was for the lie, for the lost time, for everything they wouldn't get to do.

But how she'd never be sorry she met him.

The letter talked about maybes—maybe they'd meet again someday, maybe in college or some random city. Or maybe they'd just be two people who knew each other once, a long time ago, during one perfect summer.

Either way, I want you to know: you matter. Your photos matter. Your laugh matters. Everything about you matters, even if you don't believe it yet.

Don't forget me, Jason. And if you ever think of me—when you see yellow hoodies or terrible math puns or girls with too-big glasses—smile. That's all I want. Just smile and remember that somewhere out there, I'm thinking of you too.

Love, Ava

P.S. - Keep taking photos. The world needs to see what you see.

Her hands trembled as she folded the letter carefully, creasing each edge with precision. She'd debated a thousand times whether to actually give it to him. Part of her thought it would be easier for both of them if she just disappeared. If she became that girl he used to know, the memory fading naturally over time.

But she couldn't do that to him. Couldn't leave him wondering. Couldn't let him think that any of this—that he—didn't matter.

Yesterday, when they'd met for ice cream and she'd lied straight to his face about seeing him Monday, she'd felt like the worst person alive. But she'd had a plan. While Jason was paying for their ice cream, she'd carefully slipped the letter into the front pocket of his backpack. The same backpack he took everywhere. The same one he'd definitely open on Monday when he went back to class.

By then, she'd be gone. But at least he'd know why.

Ava heard footsteps in the hallway. Her dad, probably, getting the last few things ready. They'd be leaving in less than an hour. The drive was eight hours, and they wanted to get there before dinner to start moving her into the dorm.

She looked at her phone. 4:53 AM. Jason was probably still asleep, dreaming about who knows what. She wished she could see him one more time. Wished she could memorize his face better than she already had. Wished for a lot of things that weren't going to happen.

Ava opened her phone and pulled up their text thread. Their conversation from yesterday was still there. She scrolled up, reading through weeks of messages. Late-night conversations about nothing. Memes that only made sense to the two of them. Photos he'd sent her of random things he'd found interesting—a graffiti wall, a pigeon that looked judgmental, the sunrise from his bedroom window.

Her vision blurred with tears. She blinked them away and started typing a new message. Deleted it. Typed again. Deleted again.

Finally, she settled on something simple:

Thank you for the best summer ever, Mystery Boy.

She stared at the message for a long time. Her thumb hovered over the send button.

If she sent it now, he'd wake up to it. He'd probably call or text back, confused, wanting to know what was going on. And she'd already be in the car, already leaving, and she'd have to either ignore him or tell him the truth while her parents drove and her little brother asked annoying questions and everything felt wrong.

She set a delay on the message. It would send at 8 AM—after they were already on the road, after she'd have time to turn off her phone and not see his response right away, after she could pretend for just a little while longer that this wasn't happening.

5:12 AM. Her mom knocked softly on her door. "Ava? Honey, we need to start loading your things."

"Coming," Ava called, her voice cracking.

She stood up, grabbed the last box from her closet, and took one final look around her room. The room where she'd stayed up late video calling old friends. The room where she'd cried herself to sleep the first week they'd moved here. The room where, just last night, she'd written and rewritten a letter to a boy she'd known for six weeks but felt like she'd known forever.

Ava walked downstairs where her parents were drinking coffee in travel mugs, her dad checking his watch, her mom making sure they had everything. Her little brother, Max, was already in the backseat, playing on his tablet, completely oblivious to the fact that their sister's heart was breaking.

"All set?" her dad asked.

"Yeah," Ava lied. "All set."

She climbed into the car and buckled her seatbelt. She pressed her face against the window as her dad pulled out of the driveway, watching her house get smaller and smaller. She watched her street disappear. Watched the familiar landmarks fade into the distance—the park where she and Jason had sat on the swings, the ice cream place where they'd laughed over weird flavors, the school where they'd met.

She thought about Jason waking up in a few hours. Getting ready for Monday. Heading to class. Sitting in that back corner seat, probably confused about why she wasn't there. Maybe annoyed. Maybe worried.

And then he'd open his backpack.

Ava closed her eyes, fresh tears sliding down her cheeks. She didn't even bother wiping them away.

"You okay, sweetie?" her mom asked from the front seat, glancing back.

"Yeah," Ava whispered. "Just tired."

Another lie. She was getting good at those.

They drove in silence for a while. The sun was starting to come up now, painting the sky in shades of pink and orange. It was beautiful. The kind of sunrise Jason would photograph. She wished he was here to see it. Wished a lot of things.

At 8:00 AM exactly, her phone buzzed in her pocket. The scheduled message had sent. Ava pulled out her phone and stared at the screen. The message sat there, delivered, waiting for him to see it.

Her finger hovered over the power button. She should turn it off. Should give herself space. Should let this be a clean break.

But she couldn't. Not yet.

So she kept her phone on, kept it clutched in her hand, and watched the miles tick by on the highway signs. Each mile taking her further from Jason. Further from the best summer of her life. Further from the person who'd made her believe that sometimes, even when you're not looking for it, you find exactly what you need.

The letter she'd hidden in his backpack felt like the right choice now. She couldn't have said those words to his face. Couldn't have watched him process them, react to them, maybe not feel the same way.

This way, he could read it in private. Could feel whatever he needed to feel without her there to see it. Could move on without her watching.

At least, that's what Ava told herself.

The truth was messier. She was terrified of his reaction. Terrified he'd laugh it off or worse—pity her. Terrified that what felt world-changing to her was just a nice summer friendship to him.

But most of all, she was terrified that he would feel the same way. That he'd tell her he didn't want her to go. That he'd make her want to stay even though she couldn't.

So she'd chosen the coward's way out. The letter. The early morning escape. The goodbye that wasn't really a goodbye because she'd never actually said the word.

Ava turned her phone face-down on her lap and stared out the window, watching the world blur past at seventy miles per hour.

Somewhere behind her, Jason was waking up. Starting his day. Having no idea that everything was about to change.

The real story was simpler and sadder: Two people found each other at exactly the wrong time. And now, one of them was driving away while the other one slept, not knowing that when he woke up, she'd already be gone.

Two hours into the drive, her phone finally buzzed.

Ava's heart stopped. Her hand shook as she picked it up.

But it wasn't Jason. Just a notification from some app. A meaningless ping that meant nothing.

She let out a breath she didn't know she'd been holding and set the phone back down.

He hadn't seen it yet. Or maybe he had and didn't know what to say. Or maybe he'd seen it and didn't care.

Ava didn't know which option hurt more.

She pulled out a notebook and started writing. Not to Jason—she'd said everything she needed to say in the letter. This was for herself. A chronicle of the summer. Every moment she could remember, every conversation, every smile. She wrote until her hand cramped, until her mom announced they were stopping for breakfast, until she'd filled ten pages with memories she never wanted to forget.

Because that's all she had now. Memories of a boy named Jason who'd taught her what it felt like to be truly seen. Who'd made her laugh until her stomach hurt. Who'd looked at her like she mattered.

And a letter she'd never see him read.

Somewhere on a highway between her old life and her new one, Ava finally let herself accept the truth: Some stories don't get happy endings. Some people don't get to stay.

Sometimes, you just have to hold onto the beautiful moments while they last and hope they stay beautiful in your memory forever.

The car drove on. The sun climbed higher. And Ava kept her phone on, just in case.

Just in case he cared enough to respond.

Just in case goodbye didn't have to be forever.

Just in case.