Hi, I’m Bill Derron. How are you doing? I hope you’re doing well. Yep, I hate summer. You’re probably wondering why, right? Everyone loves summer. Why would I hate it? Well, let me tell you a story.
It all started in June 2024. Summer was in full swing, with its endless heatwaves and vibrant energy that seemed to fill every corner of the city. For most people, it was a season of excitement—ice cream trucks, beaches, and long golden afternoons. For me, it was the start of something I’d later wish I could forget.
I was an old student in a French class. For the whole summer course, I attended online sessions, but in June, I switched back to in-person classes. The air was thick and warm, and stepping into the classroom felt like stepping into a bubble of activity and laughter. I was doing great—I was a class clown and a good student. My jokes were popular, and so was I. Everyone knew my name.
By the time fall came around, things started to change. I had a girlfriend from primary school—a cute, childish girl. But as we dated, I began to feel like she didn’t care about me. One day, I posted her photo on my Telegram story, hiding her face. I was so into her that it felt like I was building castles in the sky.
Then, unexpectedly, a girl from my French class messaged me, saying, “Hey, you posted your girlfriend, calling her a cutie, but you hid her face. How are we supposed to know if she’s cute?” I laughed and showed her my girlfriend’s picture. That was the start of our friendship.
We talked a lot—about everything. Talking to her made me feel useful, like I mattered. She knew my secrets, and I knew hers. But my girlfriend started to drift away. She barely texted unless I reached out first. Eventually, I lost my feelings for her and decided to break up.
The girl from my French class became the only person I confided in. We kept talking, sharing everything about our lives, and grew close. By New Year’s, after months of conversation, I started to fall for her. One drunken night, I lost control and confessed my feelings for her.
Her response? It wasn’t a “no,” but it wasn’t a “yes” either. She said we were too young and that her past relationship had left her too scared to start another. I respected her feelings, even if it wasn’t the answer I had hoped for.
We continued talking, but things began to change. She grew distant, busy with exams, and even afterward, something felt different. It was always me starting the conversations now. I tried to ignore it, but as days passed, I started feeling useless. She was the only one who truly knew me—more than even my parents—and losing that connection hurt deeply.
Summer came again, and with it, my hopes that things would go back to how they were. But even after the exams, she never seemed to have time for me anymore. The warmth of summer only made her distance feel colder. Every sunny day became a painful reminder of the times we used to talk endlessly, times I could no longer have. That’s why I hate summer—it wasn’t the heat or the sun, but the way it left me feeling alone.
Eventually, our friendship faded into something that resembled strangers talking. I still hope we’ll find our way back to each other. I want to be the person who gives her a better life, to be a good husband and father one day.
Now, let’s fast-forward to the present. Bill’s story took an incredible turn. He excelled in his studies and became a famous tech engineer. His family is proud of him, and he supports them well. He lives in his dream house—a modern home near the snowy mountains of Norway. It’s serene, beautiful, and exactly what he imagined.
But despite all his success, there’s an ache in his heart. He won the game of life, but he lost the love of his life. The girl he loved married someone else four years ago. Yet, Bill kept his promise—to live a great life. Even without her, he continues living in the house they once dreamed of, surrounded by snow.
Though he lived his life alone, he cherished the love he felt, even if it was fleeting. Because, for him, experiencing true love once in a lifetime was enough.
Author: henry_unknow