My name is Alara, and I’m twenty-one, caught in that messy space between being a young adult and figuring out who I’m supposed to be. This summer, everything feels different, like the air itself is heavier, charged with something I can’t quite name. I’m sitting in my room now, the ceiling fan humming lazily, trying to make sense of the thoughts that have been swirling in my head for weeks. They all lead back to one place—Mr. Callahan, my best friend Mia’s dad. I know it’s wrong, or at least it’s supposed to be, but my heart doesn’t seem to care about the rules.
It started in June, right after school let out. Mia invited me over to her house for a pool day, something we’ve done a million times since we were little. Her house is this big, airy place with a backyard that looks like it belongs in a magazine—manicured lawn, sparkling pool, and a patio where Mr. Callahan grills burgers every Sunday. I’ve known him forever, but this summer, something shifted. Maybe it’s because I’m older now, or maybe it’s because he’s different—quieter, maybe sadder, since Mia’s mom left last year. Whatever it is, I can’t stop noticing him.
That first day by the pool, I was sprawled on a lounge chair, my sunglasses hiding the fact that I wasn’t really reading the book in my lap. Mia was splashing around, yelling at her little brother to stop cannonballing so close to her. Mr. Callahan—Tom, he’s told me to call him, but it feels too intimate—came out with a tray of lemonade. He was wearing a faded blue T-shirt and swim trunks, his dark hair still wet from an earlier swim. I watched the way his arms flexed as he set the tray down, the way his smile crinkled the corners of his eyes when he teased Mia about her backflip. My stomach did this weird flip, like I’d missed a step going downstairs. I told myself it was just the heat.
But it wasn’t. I had seen Mr. Callahan butt naked that morning when i was trying to carry Mia’s cat that ran into his room unbeknownst Me. Callahan was in there masturbating to a video on his phone, i just stayed glued to the spot and kept on watching him jerk off in awe until he noticed me, and i just walked, It was a sight to behold. Every time I went over to Mia’s after that, I found myself looking for him. I’d linger in the kitchen when he was making coffee, pretending to hunt for snacks. I’d ask him about his job—he’s an architect, and he lights up when he talks about designing buildings. His voice is low, steady, like he’s thought about every word before he says it. Once, when Mia was upstairs, he showed me a sketch of a house he was working on, his fingers brushing the paper as he explained the angles. I imagined those hands drawing something just for me, and my cheeks burned so bad I had to look away.
I know it’s a fantasy, a stupid, impossible one. He’s forty-two, a dad, and I’m just… me. But in my head, it’s different. I picture us talking late into the night, maybe on the patio under the string lights, the air smelling like chlorine and jasmine. He’d tell me about his life, about the places he’s been, and I’d tell him about my dreams of getting out of this small town, of being someone who matters. In my daydreams, he looks at me like I’m not just Mia’s friend, like I’m someone he sees. Sometimes, I imagine him leaning closer, his hand brushing mine, and my heart races so fast I feel dizzy.
I don’t tell anyone, not even Mia. How could I? She’d probably laugh, or worse, she’d be grossed out. I mean, it’s her dad. But I can’t help it. Every time I’m at her house, I’m hyper-aware of him—his laugh from the living room, the way he hums old rock songs when he’s fixing something in the garage. Once, I walked by his office and saw him bent over his drafting table, his brow furrowed in concentration. I stood there too long, watching the way his shoulders moved under his shirt, until Mia called my name and I nearly jumped out of my skin.
The worst part is the guilt. I know it’s not right to think about him this way. He’s married—well, separated now, but still. He’s Mia’s dad, and she’s my best friend. I’ve tried to stop, to focus on other things. I went out with Jake from history class a couple of times, thinking maybe a crush on someone my own age would snap me out of it. Jake’s nice, cute in a lanky, boyish way, but kissing him felt like kissing a cardboard cutout. All I could think about was Mr. Callahan’s hands, his voice, the way he makes me feel like I’m more than just a kid.
One night, Mia had a sleepover, just the two of us. We were in her room, painting our nails and watching some cheesy rom-com. Mr. Callahan knocked on the door to ask if we needed anything, and when he leaned against the frame, his T-shirt rode up just enough to show a sliver of his stomach. I stared at my nails, pretending to be fascinated by the polish, but my heart was pounding. After he left, Mia rolled her eyes and said, “God, my dad’s such a dork.” I laughed, but it felt hollow. I wanted to tell her how I saw him—strong, kind, someone who makes the world feel bigger—but I just nodded and changed the subject.
In my fantasies, it’s always perfect. We’re somewhere quiet, maybe a park or his office after hours. He tells me he’s noticed me too, that he’s been thinking about me. I know it’s ridiculous—guys like him don’t fall for girls like me. But late at night, when I’m alone in my room, I let myself imagine it. I picture him smiling at me, not the polite smile he gives Mia’s friends, but something real, something just for me. I imagine him saying my name, Alara, in that low voice, and it makes my whole body warm.
The closest I ever got to anything real was last week. Mia was at soccer practice, and I stopped by to grab a book I’d left at her house. Mr. Callahan answered the door, and for once, it was just us. He invited me in, said I could wait for Mia if I wanted. I sat at the kitchen counter while he chopped vegetables for dinner, and we talked—really talked. About the scene in his room, about my plans for work, about how he always wanted to travel more but never got the chance. He looked at me like he was actually listening, like what I said mattered. When I left, he said, “You’re a good kid, Alara,” and I wanted to scream that I’m not a kid, not to him.
I know nothing can happen. I know it’s just a crush, a phase, something I’ll laugh about when I’m older. But right now, it feels like the biggest thing in the world. Every time I see him, it’s like my heart forgets how to beat normally. I keep waiting for the day it fades, for the moment I walk into Mia’s house and don’t feel that pull toward him. Until then, I’m stuck in this secret world of what-ifs, where I’m not just Alara, Mia’s friend, but someone he could love.
I close my notebook, where I’ve been scribbling these thoughts, and hide it under my pillow. The summer’s almost over, and soon I’ll be back at my Aunt’s with my activities maybe that’ll be enough to pull me out of this. But for now, I let myself linger on the thought of him, just for a little longer, because in my heart, it’s the safest place I know.
My summer wishes came true, hit me up for the concluding part on [email protected]

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