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I'm glad you exist

Jake - 12 Years Ago

“ S hit,” I yelp, stumbling over a rock.

The night is warm, the kind of summer heat that lingers long after the sun sets. Crickets chirp and the faint hum of laughter drifts up the hill from the camp below.

I glance over at Charlotte walking ahead of me, her laugh mingling with the others as we climb. The last of the setting sun casts a soft glow over her, reflecting a fiery halo around her auburn hair. I’ve been drawn to her all summer, and tonight’s no different.

We’ve spent the last ten weeks as camp leaders, wrangling kids, organizing games, and pretending not to notice how close we’re getting. With only a few hours left before we all go our separate ways, there’s this tension in the air that I can’t shake. A sense that time’s slipping through my fingers.

At the top of the hill, someone cracks open some beers and passes them around as we all settle in. Our chatter is easy and light after so many weeks together, but my eyes keep drifting back to Charlie. The way she throws her head back when she laughs, the crinkle at the corners of her eyes. I know I’ll be replaying this sight of her for a long time.

As the night wears on, one by one the others start heading back down to their cabins. I should go, too—my flight’s early, and I’ve got to pack. But I don’t move. Neither does she.

Eve ntually it’s just the two of us, lying side by side on the grass, staring up at the stars. The sky stretches above us, a deep, endless ceiling of glowing pinpricks. It’s quietly intimate now. Like the whole world’s shrunk down to just us.

“You ever wonder what it’d be like to live somewhere with no light pollution?” Charlie’s voice breaks the silence. “Where the stars are so bright, you can see every constellation without trying?”

I turn my head, catching the soft outline of her profile bathed in moonlight. She’s staring up at the sky with that faraway look she gets sometimes, the one that makes me wonder what she’s thinking.

“Yeah,” I admit. “The stars make everything else feel smaller… less important.”

She nods, and we lapse into silence again, the night wrapping around us. After a while, the conversation shifts, becoming more personal.

She talks about her parents: still together, still in love in that easy, uncomplicated way I’ve never known. I tell her about my mom, who struggles to get out of bed most days, and my dad, who cares more about his job than me.

“It’s like he wishes I didn’t exist.” The words slip out before I can stop them. I’ve never said that out loud to anyone before, but with Charlie it feels different. Safe, somehow, like she can handle them without shrinking away.

She turns to me, her eyes soft. “Jake, that’s not your fault.”

I shrug, looking away. “Maybe. But it doesn’t change anything.” My voice comes out harsher than I intend, like I’m still trying to swallow down the feeling of being invisible, of wishing just once he’d look at me like I mattered.

She’s quiet for a moment, turning back to stare at the stars. Then, as if there's no doubt in her mind, she says, “Well, I’m glad you exist.”

The words are simple. Ordinary. But they wash over me, slipping into all the places that usually feel dark and hollow. She’s glad I exist. I can’t remember anyone ever saying that to me, and the weight of it is more than I know what to do with. I’m caught somewhere between gratitude and disbelief, wondering how she makes something so simple feel like the most profound thing I’ve ever heard.

Warmth slowly spreads through my chest, a quiet burn I’m afraid will go out if I move. For once, the bitterness fades, leaving something softer in its place.

I g lance at her, taking in the way she looks up at the stars, her expression calm like giving me this moment doesn’t cost her anything. She doesn’t pity me. She never has. She just gets it—sees me in a way that feels honest, notices the parts I keep locked up without making it feel heavy.

We fall back into silence, but her words linger, shifting something inside me I didn’t know could move. All summer, I’ve watched her. Admired the quiet confidence she carries, the way she believes in people like doubt doesn’t exist.

“You ever think about what’s next?” I break the silence because I want to hear her thoughts. Every dream, every fear.

She turns back to me, her eyes bright even in the dark. “All the time. It’s kind of terrifying, isn’t it? Leaving all this behind. Being an adult, whatever that means.”

“Yeah, it is,” I admit, feeling the twist in my gut. The draft is coming soon. “What do you wanna do?”

She smiles. A small, wistful thing. “I want to create. Doesn’t matter what—art, food, stories. I just want to make things that make people feel something.”

I nod, understanding more than she realizes. “You will. You’re gonna do great things, Charlie.”

Her eyes crinkle, and she hesitates only for a moment before turning on her side to extend her pinky finger. A shy smile tugs at her lips. “Only if you promise to do the same.”

“A pinky promise?”

Green eyes sparkle at me as her grin widens. “Yeah. But it’s not just any pinky promise. It’s special. You have to do it right.”

I chuckle. “Oh yeah? What makes it special?”

“Here.” She scoots closer and lifts my hand. “First, you hook pinkies like this,” she says, her teacher-like tone making me smile. “Then you press your thumbs together, like this.”

I follow her lead, our thumbs now touching, and she leans in closer. “Now, to seal the deal, you lean in and kiss your thumb.”

I’m still grinning as I lean in, our faces close enough that I can feel her breath, see the light in her eyes. “Like this?”

She nods, her expression serious but playful. I lean in further and kiss my thumb, our hands still linked together.

“Promise,” I say softly.

Her eyes meet mine, and my pulse thunders. “Promise,” she whispers.

For a moment, it’s just us. Lying under the stars, sealing a promise that feels bigger than words. I consider closing the distance between us, but I stop myself. Something about this moment feels perfect as it is. No need to complicate it.

Instead, I squeeze her hand gently before letting go, feeling the weight of our promise settle between us.

With her, everything feels balanced, like the world is exactly as it should be. But as the night wears on, the reality of our separate lives looms closer.

In a few hours, I’ll be on a plane, heading back to an NHL draft that could change everything. And she’ll go back to New Zealand. The thought punches me in the gut, a hollowness opening inside me I’m not ready to face. I don’t want this night to end. I don’t want to say goodbye.

I sneak another glance at her, the urge to kiss her nearly overwhelming. I’ve wanted to kiss her all summer. It’d be so easy to just lean in…

But I hold back. Kissing her would only make leaving harder, and I can’t afford to get attached—not when we’re about to be a world apart. Still, the pull is there, creating a constant ache in my chest.

I swallow the impulse and force myself to smile. “You know, if you ever come back to the States, look me up.”

She smiles, but there’s a sadness in it. “Same goes for you with New Zealand.”

“Deal,” I say, even though we both know the chances are slim.

We stay there, talking about everything and nothing until dawn breaks the horizon. I can’t remember ever feeling this connected to someone, or this peaceful. But too soon, the moment passes and it’s time to go.

As we walk back down the hill, I keep sneaking glances at her, memorizing every detail. The color of her hair and how it curls at the ends, the curve of her neck, the way she smiles. This is probably the last time I’ll see her, and the thought leaves a bitter taste in my mouth.

At the ed ge of the camp, we stop. She faces me, her expression unreadable. Our cabins are in different directions, and we’re on separate buses first thing.

“Take care of yourself, okay?”

“You too.”

Before I can talk myself out of it, I lean in and press a quick kiss to her cheek. It’s not what I want, but it’s all I can give her. When I pull back, she smiles softly, and it takes everything in me not to pull her back again.

“Bye, Jake.”

“See ya, Charlie.”

She turns and walks away, and I stand there watching her go. My heart’s in my throat, a goodbye I’m not ready for lodged there, too.