Three Meetings, A Summer, and a Kiss

We only met three times that summer: at a graduation party, a cookout, and an airport goodbye. But in those fleeting moments, between laughter, dancing, and silent hugs, I found a love I never expected. This is the story of the one who slipped away, and the risk we still dared to take.

I first met him at my sister’s boyfriend’s cousin’s graduation party. The house was alive with celebration: laughter, music, and the smell of food mingling in the warm summer air. I hadn’t expected to notice anyone that night, but then he was there.. Takudzwa. Tall, gentle, with a presence that felt steady yet magnetic. Something about him drew me in before we even spoke.

We fit together in those fleeting moments, a natural connection that surprised me. We laughed, teased, and talked as though we had known each other for years. And then, almost without warning, he kissed me. Perhaps it was the alcohol, perhaps it was fate, but it felt unforgettable.

I went home that night with a fluttering heart, my mind spinning in a whirlwind of laughter, music, and the warmth of his touch. Every moment replayed itself like a vivid dream I didn’t want to wake from, yet it felt achingly real. I could barely wait to call my sister, to spill every detail, to describe the way he made me laugh and how his eyes seemed to hold a quiet understanding just for me. Words tumbled out of me before I could even pause.. excited, nervous, and trembling with the sweet ache of something I knew was rare. It was that delicious, dizzying mix of wonder and longing, the kind that leaves your heart racing long after the night ends.

The very next day, fate seemed determined to test us. We met again at a cookout. This time, no haze of drinks, just sunlight, music, and the soft buzz of conversation. We danced, laughed, and kissed again. The world around us seemed to shrink until it was only the two of us. By the end of the night, I went home with him. The morning came too soon. He walked me to my ride, and we hugged in silence, neither wanting to let go. There was a weight to that embrace, an unspoken acknowledgment that something rare had begun.

It was brief, yet perfect. We parted at the airport, each heading back to our own lives, carrying a memory that already felt monumental. He was the one that got away, though at that moment, I didn’t realize it fully.

Even though we had met only three times, we took the risk to try. We exchanged messages, shared pieces of our lives, and cautiously explored what could grow between us. It wasn’t easy… distance, busy schedules, and uncertainty threatened to pull us apart. Yet every conversation, every laugh shared, strengthened the thread that bound us, fragile but insistent.

Looking back, that summer holds a kind of magic I have rarely experienced. It wasn’t just the kisses or the dancing, or even the way he made me feel seen. It was the sense of possibility, the unspoken hope that maybe, just maybe, something meaningful could emerge from moments so fleeting.

And even now, thinking of him brings a bittersweet ache. He remains the one who slipped through my fingers, the one whose story with me is unfinished, a memory wrapped in both joy and longing. That summer taught me that love doesn’t always need time to define itself. Sometimes it arrives in a few stolen moments, a couple of shared laughs, and a single, lingering hug.

He was the one that got away. And yet, somewhere deep in my heart, I hold a quiet hope that perhaps our story is not over.

And maybe….just maybe….our story is not really finished yet.