Fifty years later, the fire crackled softly in the hearth, casting warm, golden light across the room. Tom sat in his favorite armchair, the worn photo frame resting in his lap. He stared at the picture, his younger self sitting beside Rosie on a checkered blanket at the lake. Both of them were laughing, bottles of Coca-Cola in hand, their faces full of hope and youth.
Time had softened the details, but the memory was as sharp as ever. That summer, with its bike rides and starlit stories, had been a moment out of time, untouched by the years that followed.
But life had taken them in different directions. Rosie's family moved to a nearby town shortly after that magical summer. She had written him letters at first, full of her usual energy and wit. But he hadn't written back as often as he should have.
"It's not far," his dad had said more than once. "Why don't you take the car and go see her?"
But Tom hadn't. He couldn't explain why. Maybe it was fear - fear that their connection wouldn't feel the same in the light of day, or that she might have found someone else in her new life. And so, the visits never happened, the letters slowed, and eventually, they stopped.
Rosie married a teacher from her town, and Tom met Mary, a kind, steady woman who became his partner for the next forty years. Their life together had been good - filled with children, laughter, and shared struggles - but in quiet moments like this, his mind still wandered back to Rosie.
"Dad?"
Tom blinked and looked up to see his daughter leaning over him, a steaming cup of tea in her hand. She set it on the table beside him and noticed the photo in his lap.
"Who's that?" she asked, picking up the frame and studying it.
Tom smiled wistfully. "That's me. And Rosie Cartwright. A long time ago."
His daughter raised an eyebrow, intrigued. "Rosie? I don't think I've heard of her."
"She was... someone special," Tom said, his voice soft. "We spent a summer together when we were young. She moved away, and we both went our separate ways."
His daughter returned the frame to his lap, her eyes kind. "Do you regret it? Not visiting her?"
Tom thought for a moment. "Sometimes," he admitted. "But life doesn't always let you go back, does it? She was a bright spark in my life. That summer... it was perfect, just as it was."
His daughter smiled and kissed his cheek. "It sounds like a lovely memory."
Tom nodded, his gaze drifting back to the photo. "It is," he whispered.
As the fire crackled and the tea grew cold beside him, Tom let himself sink into the memory of that summer. He imagined Rosie's laughter on the breeze, the rush of the wind on their bike ride, and the endless stars above them. She had been a chapter in his story, brief but unforgettable - a light that had burned brilliantly, even if it wasn't meant to last.