It was the summer we turned 17. I still remember the unspoken words we exchanged through our locked gazes. The ringing of the school bell and the sight of kids running through the colorful halls on the last day before the summer holidays are vivid in my mind.
Yet we stayed, counting each second even though the classroom was empty. The gentle breeze danced through the open window, making the curtains sway like soft whispers. Sunlight streamed through the window, casting shadows of swaying trees that painted the walls in shades of green and gold, creating an atmosphere that felt almost magical.
The only thing I remember afterwards is the lingering touch of his lips against mine—a flicker of contact that stayed with me all night, as if it were a dream. Even now, the warmth of that touch lingers in my heart, a cherished sensation that refuses to fade, reminding me of the beauty of a summer stolen from time.