Ch. 001 || Blueberry Summer
The lake house hadn't changed much.
The porch still creaked beneath Yuri's sneakers as she stepped up to the front door, the kind of long, splintering groan that felt like a welcome and a warning all at once. The screen door stuck, just like it always had. She gave if a firm push with her hip, and it sprang free with a sharp pop.
Inside, dust motes romes freely in the afternoon light filtering through gauzy floral curtains the one's her Auntie loves. It smelled like cheddar and lake water, and maybe little bit of her Aunt's perfume—the one with a green bottle with a rose on the label. Yuri paused just inside the doorway, hand on the doorframe, feeling time fold in on itself. It's like stepping straight into a memory.
She dropped her duffel bag besides the couch before slumping down onto the couch, letting out a long breath. "Home," She said, though the word felt strange on her tounge.
The house wasn't hers, not yet. Not in her heart. It had belonged to Auntie maria, who had died in the spring with barely whisper of notice—no hospital records, no warnings—just a quiet, peaceful departure in her sleep. The will had come a week later: everything to Yuri. The house. The land. The lake.
She hadn't known what to do with it. At first, she thought about selling it since the house is beautiful while the view is breath taking, who wouldn't want that right?. But when the summer crept in, slow and familiar, something inside her said: go back.
So here she was. Twenty-three years old, sitting in the same couch she'd watch cartoons with her Auntie every summer as a kid, and later as an teenager—bickering with her Auntie maria abt something the show said, or eating dinner while watching television when auntie clearly said no.
Yuri shook off the memory like a chill.
She stands up, wandering through the house. Everything was just how Aunt Maria had left it: books on the shelf with pressed flowers tucked inside, the floral mug drying by the sink, the old record player collecting dust in the living room. The armchair still had a afghan drapped over it, and Yuri had the eerie, irrational feeling that her aunt might still come walking in, humming and barefoot.
Upstairs, the room Yuri always in was exactly the same. She sat on the edge of the bed, ran a hand on the worn out quilt, and stared out the window toward the lake.
And just beyond the trees, if she squinted, she could faintly see the roof of the neighbor's house.
Her chest tightened, involuntary.
She hadn't thought about Yoonchae in a long time—not really. Or maybe she had, constantly, in that quiet, unacknowledged part of herself where she stored all the things that hurt to much to name.
They were inseparable back then. Yuri and Yoonchae. Summer after summer, from the moment school let out the final cicada song in August. Bike rides into town, blueberry picking behind the garden, late night on the dock talking about the stars and the future—until one summer, Yuri left without saying any goodbye.
Because it had gotten too real. Because she had looked at Yoonchae one night and almost said, I think I'm in love with you.
Because she had panicked.
Now five years later, here she was—older, different, and yet somehow still the same girl who had fallen in love with the lake and never had the courage to say it.
Yuri stood abruptly. She couldn't sit on the past, not yet.
She headed outside, stepping off the porch and down the narrow path to the garden. The air was thick with the scent of pine and wildflowers, and the sun warmed her shoulder. The blueberry bushes were still there, tangled and overgrown, bursting with fat, ripe berries.
She plucked one and held it between her fingers. Then, slowly, brought it to her mouths.
It tasted like childhood. Like salt from the lake and sun-warmed afternoons. Like laughter, like Yoonchae.
Yuri closed her eyes, overwhelmed.
...It was gonna be a long summer.
A/n: I'll update next year 🧍🏻♀️
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