Sleepless Summer Night

 

The summer heat refused to loosen its grip, even at 1:47 AM.

The ceiling fan spun slowly above Starr’s room, its blades cutting through the air with a dull rhythm that did absolutely nothing to cool it down.

Heat sat heavy inside the walls, trapped there from the day before. The sheets clung lightly against her legs no matter how many times she shifted beneath them.

Somewhere outside, crickets screamed endlessly into the night while distant dogs barked across quiet streets beyond her neighbourhood. Every now and then headlights swept briefly across her bedroom ceiling whenever a car passed outside.

Then—

Bzzzz.

Starr opened one eye.

A few seconds passed.

Bzzzzzz.

Her hand shot out through the darkness.

Nothing.

“...I hate summer,” she muttered quietly.

She turned onto her side.

Then onto her back.

Then onto her other side.

The pillow felt warm.

Everything felt warm.

Beyond her window, Table Mountain sat quietly beneath the night sky, its dark silhouette resting against a stretch of stars that looked clearer during summer somehow. The curtains shifted faintly whenever air slipped through the small gap near the window frame, carrying in dry heat and the smell of grass that had baked beneath the sun all day.

Starr pushed herself upright slowly.

Her phone lit up beside her.

1:53 AM.

“Great, just what I needed.”

She reached toward the bottle of water near her bedside table and took a sip before leaning back against the headboard. Her athletics schedule sat folded beside a stack of textbooks she still needed to get through before finals: University applications, nationals, & training.

Life kept piling things in front of her.

Somewhere outside—

Bzzzz.

She closed her eyes.

“No.”

Bzzzzzz.

“Don't do this.”

The mosquito circled once.

Twice.

Then disappeared.

Starr stared quietly toward the ceiling.

Her eyes drifted toward the window again.

Table Mountain hadn't moved.

The sky hadn't changed.

But somehow—

everything else had.

 

Starr reached for her phone again.

The brightness settled softly against the darkness of her room, forcing her eyes to adjust as the screen came alive in her hand.

There were three notifications.

Remy.

Luna.

Kevin.

Her thumb moved down automatically.

REMY: I THINK MY CAT HATES ME.😭💔

Starr stared at it for a second.

Then another.

A faint smile tugged at the corner of her mouth before she moved down.

LUNA: Did you eat after training?👀👀

The message sat differently somehow.

Seven months ago Luna barely tolerated her existence. Conversations between them felt too measured back then—too careful in places that no longer needed caution.

Now Luna packed snacks before practice, sent reminders about hydration, and messaged her at random hours asking if she got home safely.

The kind people did without realizing they were doing them.

Her thumb drifted lower.

KEVIN: Your coach said hydration matters. Don't forget.

Starr stared at it a little longer.

The room stayed quiet around her.

Somewhere outside, crickets continued screaming into the summer night while headlights briefly crossed her ceiling before disappearing again.

Seven months ago that message probably wouldn't have stopped there.

There would've been another one after it.

Something unnecessary.

A badly timed joke.

A picture of food he burned trying to make dinner.

Or six follow-up messages because he forgot to include important information the first time.

Now there was only one.

Life just moved differently now.

Training.

Nationals.

Final year.

University applications.

People became busy in ways that didn't feel like distance.

Just motion—Quiet, constant motion.

Her fingers loosened slightly around her phone.

Kevin still helped her study, showed up to training when he said he would, and reminded her to drink water like she was incapable of basic survival.

Some things hadn't changed.

They only felt lighter now, simpler.

The realization settled slowly enough that she almost missed it.

There was a time she waited for his messages.

Just because she wanted them.

Now entire afternoons passed before she checked her phone properly.

And somehow—that unsettled her more than she expected.

Starr lowered the phone slowly beside her.

The ceiling fan continued spinning above her.

Doing absolutely nothing.

Table Mountain sat quietly beyond her bedroom window; unmoving, & steady.

The same way it always had.

Her eyes drifted towards it.

The summer heat lingered stubbornly inside Starr’s room long after midnight.

Her textbooks still sat open beside her bed:

Biology & Mathematics.

University application forms stacked beneath training schedules she still needed to organize properly.

Starr leaned forward and pulled one of the folded papers toward herself.

WESTBRIDGE HIGH — NATIONALS PREPARATION SCHEDULE

The paper had softened slightly around the edges from how often she folded and unfolded it.

Training blocks.

Recovery sessions.

Travel arrangements.

Reporting times.

Her eyes moved lower.

National Championships — Three Weeks Remaining.

The room suddenly felt warmer.

She adjusted the blanket around her legs before reading it again.

“Three weeks, huh?”

For a moment, she simply stared at it.

Regionals had felt different somehow.

Closer, smaller, and most of all–manageable.

Nationals existed somewhere beyond that.

Far enough away that it never felt real.

Not when Coach first mentioned it.

Not when she qualified.

Not even when the newspaper interviewed her after assembly.

People kept saying nationals.

Nationals.

Nationals.

Like saying something enough times eventually made it feel normal.

Her thumb slid slowly over the edge of the paper.

Kevin helped her study whenever training schedules became impossible.

Luna packed snacks because apparently forgetting meals had become part of her personality.

Remy somehow transformed into someone dependable; which still felt mildly concerning.

A faint smile touched her face before disappearing again.

People had helped her get here.

Her coach.

Her parents.

Luna.

Remy.

Kevin.

People stood beside her so naturally that somewhere along the way—she forgot.

When the gun went off—no one would stand beside her.

There would only be her:

One lane.

One set of footsteps.

One finish line.

The realization settled quietly.

Starr lowered the paper slowly onto her bed. Outside, headlights moved faintly along distant roads beneath the mountain.

Life kept moving.

Her eyes drifted back toward the paper resting beside her.

For the first time since regionals—

nationals stopped feeling exciting.

And started feeling scary.

 

The kitchen tiles felt cooler beneath Starr’s feet.

The house had settled into that strange silence summer nights carried after midnight. No television sounds, no footsteps moving down hallways. Just crickets outside and the faint hum of the refrigerator filling spaces that felt bigger this early in the morning.

She opened the fridge, and the cold air spilled over her hands immediately.

For a second—she simply stood there, and reached for the water bottle.

The cold stung slightly going down.

Outside the kitchen window, mosquitoes gathered endlessly around the outdoor light.

The summer sky stretched quietly above them.

Thin clouds drifted slowly past Table Mountain.

Moving.

Always moving.

Her fingers settled lightly against the edge of the counter.

 

Winter came back quietly.

 

Grey skies, Cape winds striking against window panes hard enough to rattle them.

Three blankets wrapped around her shoulders, an orange streetlight resting softly against bedroom walls–and a phone screen glowing beneath the darkness.

Back then—

Kevin would send something stupid.

Something unnecessary.

A photo of burnt food.

A badly timed joke.

A message that could have been one sentence stretched into six.

And somehow—she always answered too quickly, then felt ridiculous afterwards.

She remembered lying awake staring at her ceiling long after calls ended, remembered smiling way too much for her own good when he made her laugh.

She remembered hating herself a little for it afterwards.

Winter Starr always told herself she wasn't waiting.

Then checked her phone anyway.

Again.

And again.

And again.

Her fingers tightened slightly around the water bottle.

There had been worse moments too.

The ones nobody saw.

The strange ache that settled inside her whenever Kevin said Luna's name differently.

The moments she noticed him looking for Luna without realizing he was doing it.

The way he chose her—over and over again.

Long before he even understood that he was choosing.

Starr lowered her eyes.

Outside—mosquitoes still circled endlessly around light.

Drawn towards the outdoor light.

Pulled away.

Returning.

Moving.

Always moving.

Her training schedule waited upstairs.

Nationals, final year's stress & most of all:

Tomorrow.

The strange thing wasn't that winter felt far away now.

It was that she could stand beside it without falling back into it.

Seven months ago—she thought moving on meant forgetting.

Summer taught her something different.

Some feelings never disappeared.

They simply stopped asking to be held.