Written by Daniella Krisha Lozada

At home, she sat quietly at her desk which faced west. There, she daydreamed. She was thinking of road trips and mountains and wide-open spaces. But really, she was thinking of these places with him.

Somewhere, his mind wandered. He paused for a moment, his toes pointing east. He was thinking of oceans, castles, hills, and cups of coffee. But really, he was thinking of these places with her.

They miss their first and last car ride. There was always something—the soft swish of the windshield wipers, the rumble of the tires, the hum of the engine—to break it up. They miss the summer two years ago when people could be together; when people could be touched.

Two summers ago, she lived in a gated community in Taguig. He lived in a house in the private village of Urdaneta. It is fitting, then, that they met in the middle—in the literature aisle of Fully Booked, BGC. She was looking for a copy of Virginia Woolf’s To the Lighthouse while he was reading the synopsis of The Great Gatsby on the back of its hardcover. The books they were planning to read that summer were heading out in two different directions but they knew they had something in common.

When something is bothering them, they seek refuge. No need to travel far; a trip to the realm of literary memory will suffice. For where can one find a more noble distraction, a more entertaining company, a more delightful enchantment than in literature?

He turned to her. “Human desire? Don’t girls like reading romantic comedy books during the summer?”

At that instant, she was vexed. She snatched the book out of his hand and scoffed. “The Great Gatsby? Boys do not read books. They watch film adaptations of books.”

They talked and argued some more. They talked about people and prospects of people. They contended about gender roles. Road trips, mountains, wide-open spaces, castles, oceans, and coffee have become points of discussion.

This is the first time she has met someone who seeks out people and who sees beyond the surface-level. It may seem trivial to others but to her, it was profound. She always thought that people never look beyond their assumptions and what’s worse, they have given up trying to meet others; they just meet themselves.

He always thought that people don’t recognize each other because other people have become their permanent mirrors. He thought that this isn’t bad at all. In the summer of 2019, he met his permanent mirror. He felt like he was only ever looking at himself in that other person, that he is not alone in the wilderness.

At home, she sat quietly at her desk, which faced west. There, she daydreamed. She was thinking of how egoistic and pretentious she thought he was back when they first met. She recalled the first time he drove her home and the conversations that followed when he messaged her on Facebook that same day.

Somewhere, his mind wandered. He paused for a moment, his toes pointing east. He was thinking the very same thing: that he wished more than anything that she was here, too. And just like that, his heart—that dead thing inside of him—came to life again.

Jhumpa Lahiri said that the thing about books is that they let you travel without moving your feet. To them, it was more than that. Books let you meet people without other forces at play. It was the summer of love—the type of which, they thought was already dead.