Eternal Ephemerals

I'm not magic

The breeze tugged at Summer's hair as she leaned back against the park bench, the sunlight playing through the leaves like little golden coins flickering across her skin. It was one of those days that felt almost too perfect—warm air, dappled light, and the soft rustle of the trees overhead. The kind of day that seemed to belong in a movie, where something remarkable was supposed to happen. Summer could feel it, that subtle tension in the air, like the world was waiting for something to unfold.

She heard footsteps approaching and didn't have to turn her head to know it was Mason. His voice followed a second later, full of that familiar awe she had grown used to.

"You're like magic, you know that?"

She smiled, just as she always did when people said things like that. She didn't need to look at him to know what expression he wore—a mix of curiosity and wonder, as if she was some rare, ephemeral thing that had wandered into his life to make it brighter. People gave her that look all the time, as if she was a dream they hadn't expected to find.

"Am I?" she replied, her voice light and playful, the way it always was when people said things like this.

Mason dropped into the seat next to her, still staring at her like he was trying to figure her out, as if there was some great mystery hidden beneath her sunny exterior. His gaze lingered, as if waiting for her to offer some cryptic but whimsical insight into life, something that would dazzle him.

"You just... make everything feel lighter," he said, trying to explain the feeling she gave him. "You've got this energy." He waved his hand vaguely, searching for the words. "It's like... I don't know, you make life feel like an adventure. I feel like I could just follow you anywhere."

Summer let the smile remain on her face, but something inside her twisted a little. Follow me anywhere. That was always it, wasn't it? People saw her as the kind of girl who led them into new experiences, who made their world feel bigger, brighter. She was the one who brought color into their otherwise muted lives, the one they thought would show them how to live more fully.

But that wasn't who she really was, not entirely.

"I'm glad you think so," she said, her voice still upbeat. She had perfected this over the years—the balance between being just quirky enough to seem magical, but never revealing too much of herself. It was easier that way, to let people believe what they wanted to believe. After all, wasn't that what they wanted from her? To be someone light, someone they could turn to when life got too heavy?

Mason smiled, seemingly content with her answer, leaning back on the bench and tilting his face toward the sun. "How do you do it, though?" he asked. "You're always so happy. So full of... I don't know, joy?"

There was that word again. Joy. As if it was something she just radiated naturally, like it was her gift to the world.

Summer looked out at the park, watching the way the sunlight filtered through the branches, casting patterns on the ground. "Maybe I'm just really good at pretending," she said softly.

Mason laughed, the kind of laugh that said he thought she was joking. He didn't realize that she wasn't. Not entirely, anyway. People always seemed to take her quirks at face value, to assume that what they saw was all there was.

It wasn't that she didn't enjoy being happy or fun or whimsical—she did. Those were parts of her, sure. But it was the only part anyone ever seemed to notice. People like Mason saw her as a character in their own story, the quirky, cheerful girl who brought light and spontaneity into their lives. They never saw the other parts of her, the quieter, more complex pieces that didn't fit that image.

She remembered the first time she really understood it. She had been sixteen, at a party beneath strings of fairy lights in someone's backyard. People danced barefoot on the grass, music playing softly in the background. It had been the kind of night where everything felt like a scene from a coming-of-age movie. And then Ian, this guy she'd barely known, had told her she was special. That she made him feel alive, like she was some burst of sunlight in his otherwise dull world.

She remembered smiling, the same way she always did, but inside, something had felt off. She wasn't sunlight. She wasn't magic. She was just a person. But Ian didn't want to know that. He only wanted her for the light she gave, not for the moments when the light dimmed.

What happens when the sun sets? she had wondered.

People didn't stick around to find out. They didn't want to see the parts of her that were darker, the parts that were tired or unsure. They liked her in the role she played—the happy, adventurous, carefree girl who helped them feel more alive. They never stopped to ask what she needed. They never asked if maybe she didn't want to be the one leading the way all the time.

Now, Mason was looking at her, waiting for her to say something else that would feed the image he had of her. Something quirky, something light.

But instead, Summer leaned back against the bench, closed her eyes, and let the silence stretch between them.

"You ever wonder if people only see part of you?" she asked, not opening her eyes, her voice quieter than usual. She wasn't sure why she said it—maybe she just wanted to see what he would do with it.

"What do you mean?" Mason asked, sounding confused.

Summer opened her eyes and looked at him. He was frowning slightly, clearly trying to understand. "I mean, like... maybe people only see what they want to see. They see you the way they need you to be, but not necessarily the way you are."

Mason tilted his head, still frowning. "I don't know. I feel like I do see you. You're... you."

That was always the answer. You're you. But what did that mean, really? Did he see the girl who sometimes stayed up late at night, staring at the ceiling, wondering if she would ever find someone who actually saw her for all that she was? Did he see the girl who sometimes didn't want to be the one to initiate the adventure, who just wanted to be still for a moment?

"Maybe," she said, offering another smile. "But you don't see all of me."

He didn't know what to say to that. She could see the uncertainty in his eyes, the way he wanted to ask but didn't know how. Or maybe he didn't want to know. Most people didn't. They liked her better when she was the girl who was always smiling, always up for something new.

Summer leaned her head back, letting the sunlight warm her face again. For once, she didn't feel the need to fill the silence, didn't feel the need to play the part they all expected. She let herself sit there, quiet, real, without trying to live up to the version of herself that everyone seemed to love.

After a few minutes, Mason shifted in his seat, clearly unsure of what to do with the quiet between them. "I mean, you feel like magic," he said softly, trying to bring it back to where they started.

Summer sighed, but it wasn't a sad sigh. Just a tired one. "I know. But there's more to me than that."

Mason blinked, taken aback, and for a second, she thought he might ask her what she meant. But instead, he just sat there, silent, as if trying to figure out where the conversation had gone wrong.

They stayed that way for a while, Mason trying to understand and Summer letting herself be still. She knew that in a few minutes, he'd probably suggest they do something spontaneous—go for a drive, find a rooftop to watch the stars, anything to bring back the magic.

And she'd probably say yes, because that's what she did. But for now, she let herself rest, let herself be something more than what people wanted from her.

"I'm not magic," she said softly, almost to herself. "I'm just me."