Eight Letters, One Summer

I met her in August.

She was just a name in the group chat at first - some girl who cracked dumb jokes about iced coffee and horoscopes.

I didn't laugh. Not out loud, anyway. But I smiled.

She made things feel lighter, like the air after a thunderstorm. I kept my replies dry, short. Cool.

I didn't know then that she'd become my favorite part of the summer.

And I definitely didn't expect to fall in love with her - one message, one sunset, one laugh at a time.

But maybe that's how it always starts.
Quiet.
With eight letters you don't even realize you're about to write.