The first time I saw him he was standing by the open window in the media room the camera strap tangled around his wrist sunlight cutting through the dust like threads of gold It smelled like warm plastic and cheap soda I remember thinking no one should look that calm holding so many wires

He glanced at me once like he was measuring distance then went back to adjusting the focus I wanted to say something but all that came out was a small sound that didn’t belong to words so I pretended to cough

“Are you joining the film club or just lost” he asked without looking up His voice had that lazy curve people get when they stay up too late editing videos

“Joining” I said though I wasn’t sure yet

He nodded once “Then grab a tripod we’re short one”

That was how it started not with fireworks or music just two strangers breathing the same dusty light while the air conditioner hummed too loud

I remember the bottle of lemon soda in my hand sweating through the plastic The fizz hit my tongue sharp sweet a little like panic

He caught me staring at the screen when he replayed a clip The image was out of focus but the laugh inside it was clear It was his laugh I think that was when my summer began

Sometimes after school I stayed to watch him edit He’d lean close enough that I could see the reflection of moving images in his eyes I wanted to ask what he was thinking every time the footage turned bright but I kept quiet He seemed like someone who would vanish if you spoke too suddenly

One afternoon the sky turned gray like wet paper The lights flickered We both reached for the same plug when the power went out His hand brushed mine It was quick meaningless maybe but it left a line of warmth that refused to fade

He said “Guess we lost it” meaning the footage but my heart decided he meant something else

When the power came back everything looked the same except the air between us

That night I walked home with my earphones in but no music playing The fizz from the last bottle of lemon soda still burned at the back of my throat Every corner of the streetlight looked like a memory we hadn’t made yet

I told myself he was just a project partner and summer would end anyway But love doesn’t ask for permission it just shows up like static on a screen