I still remember the final exams. Amidst all the cursing at Pythagoras and Einstein, I’d count the days my apathy would rest, for then would come summer.There was a certain freshness in the air—maybe my lungs were healthier, maybe the air cleaner. I’d barely turn my feet toward my house. It was like I was always chasing a butterfly.
Now summer just rolls by, and nothing changes; there are no fireflies and no adventures around town with my friends. Honestly, emulating the old times doesn’t help. I lost something-something changing seasons won’t bring back. Now I hate myself, I really do.
As we grow up, the mirror feels harsher. It’s not just the shell that’s changing—it’s because we’re staring longer, borrowing other people’s eyes.
I still remember planting a mango tree with my grandma as a kid, and she said something so sweet: “It’ll grow along with you.” And so the sapling grew beautifully until it became a mango-bearing tree. Now, it has bugs and has to protect itself from birds.
I guess I did grow up into someone who’d stop chasing butterflies and start chasing closure.
He will sometimes send you funny emails. He prefers spaghetti over penne. Have you seen my son? Have you seen my beautiful boy? Tell him I miss him.
~David Sheff, Beautiful Boy
The restlessness I felt every summer as a kid made me believe my eyes would never linger on anything for more than a second. But one summer, they did—on a feeling.
And once, that feeling looked like a girl.
The one that got away
Love, in its truest and purest form, is just another form of naivety—and I was nothing if not naïve. She was like the radiant sun, arriving only to light up the summer before fading away. A friend’s cousin, just there to spend the summers. Ah yes, the infamous summer love, the kind you know from the very beginning is never meant to last. I am not sure if it was just my small googly eyes or if she was actually that cute. I mean, sure, as kids we all were adorable, but this girl seemed otherworldly to me. Until I heard her name-and it all made sense, Pari(fairy). I couldn’t glance away, even if I wanted to. My eyes refused—they wanted to burn her image into my memory. It was obvious to everyone around me, too.
But that boy was too stubborn to admit he could fall for a girl like her. He thought he was too tough for love, yet he was so full of it. He never even considered whether she might like him back. That wasn’t the issue. He was the one holding the brakes on what could’ve been a perfect summer love story — his own little Call Me By Your Name.
He believed in himself. And so do I. But I couldn’t love with the same kind of purity he did. I couldn’t believe someone like her would ever love me back—so I didn’t let myself fall.
Still, he let me hold on to some beautiful moments.
Like how, during hide and seek, even though his eyes always found her, they refused to admit it. Or how he tried to slow his heartbeat when he hid near her—so she wouldn’t know what was in the heart the mouth refused to admit.
How he’d leap in front of her while playing cricket—not because she was in danger, but because, to him, she wasn’t a fielder; she was the goalpost, and he had to protect her.
He collected scars that summer, like most kids do. But the one on my elbow? It still whispers her name. I got it running, jumping, as she left for home at the end of the season, just to make sure she heard my goodbye the loudest.
All he wanted was for her to stay forever.
But then summer ended, and she never came back. And he didn’t cry. Good for him. Maybe it was better—no more teasing, no more confusion.
And yet, every year, without fail, he’d ask our friend the same question:
“Is Pari coming back this summer?”
My forever love
Now, a lot of time has passed, and I’m mature enough to admit I was indeed in love. Loving a girl doesn’t make you a sissy. Not to my friends—to them, it was always “yeah, we could tell.”
But to myself—it was different. You see, I’m over her. It’s not about her.
I have no recollection of that sun-like smile or that face I was ready to give up all my Pokémon cards for.
All I remember is the fluttering heart when she said my name.
I don’t think she’d like me now—I’m not as cute as him, not as subtle in my efforts.
I don’t think loving is for sissies anymore.
The truth is, I’m not him anymore.
I now wish her better—someone just as pretty, someone deserving, another one made of sun.
I wish her Helios.
I know a lot more than he ever did.
I couldn’t stop myself from chasing knowledge, thinking it held all the meaning in the world.
But what good was knowing, when all it ever told me is that she could never love me?
He was a ball of love.
He was the toad-catcher.
He was his mom’s flower boy.
He didn’t want a girlfriend—he wanted love. He wanted wonder. He never begged to be loved — he just was love.
He ran through summers like a breeze, chasing butterflies, scraping his elbow just to make sure his goodbye was heard.
And no—I don’t want her anymore.
But if I could do anything for him, that soft, stupidly brave flower boy—I’d tell him:
Go for it.
I don’t deserve her, buddy.
But you do.
I’m rooting for you.
No one likes you in my body. They call us ‘seedha’—soft, weird, cute. Everyone likes you, but no one wants to be with you. But I see now—you weren’t soft; you were brave. You loved without knowing how not to. And maybe I’m not as easy to love now.
Maybe I’m immature for not letting that boy go into obscurity, for not burying him beneath expectations and calloused hands.
But I won’t let him go, not for holding hands, not for love, not for anything. So don’t be scared—I’ll keep my promise. I know it’s already college, but we’ll navigate love together. And whatever happens, I won’t let the world hurt you.
You are my flower, boy.
haunted by thorns at night,
But everything’s here to stay,
Everything will be okay.
~swar’s intro
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