To All The Boy's We Were Delulu For This Summer

I don't know what it is about summer, but it has a funny way of making ordinary men seem extraordinary.

Maybe it's the longer days. Maybe it's the rooftop sunsets. Maybe it's because everyone suddenly starts romanticizing their life the second the weather hits 80 degrees. Maybe it's because Mercury is in retrograde (rip). Whatever it is, my best friend and I somehow managed to spend the last few months starring in two completely different love stories that, looking back, mostly existed in our own heads.

For privacy's sake (and because these nicknames are infinitely more entertaining), we'll call the guys Wasian Persuasionand Cowboy.

As for my homegirl? She'll be known as Fresa Mami.

Now before either of us get flamed, let me say this: neither of these men were awful. This isn't going to be one of those "men are trash" think pieces because, honestly, that's not what happened here. If anything, this is a story about two girls who got a little too excited about potential.

Fresa Mami's story started at a day party. They talked for a bit, exchanged Instagram handles, and then...nothing really happened. For the next month, they lived in that weird social media limbo where you like each other's stories just enough to remind the other person you still exist, but neither of you actually does anything about it.

Then one night we all ended up at the same party.

I remember Cowboy standing a few feet away from me while Fresa Mami was talking to another guy. The funniest part? She wasn't interested in the other guy whatsoever. Homegirl's eyes were locked on Cowboy the entire time.

Meanwhile, Cowboy looks at me and goes, "I feel like such a simp."

I literally started laughing.

"Dude...go talk to her."

He looked back over at them and said, "Nah, she's busy."

"No she's not," I told him. "Trust me. She wants you. Go."

And he did.

Honestly? It was kind of adorable. (I love playing Cupid lol.)

After that, they started hanging out. One night they grabbed drinks at this little neighborhood bar and, naturally, after exactly one visit, it became their spot. If you've ever claimed a coffee shop, restaurant, or bar after one successful hangout...welcome. You're one of us.

Then came tequila.

And if there's one universal truth, it's that nothing responsible has ever followed the sentence, "We split a whole bottle."

The night got a little...adventurous. Things escalated, Fresa Mami hit the brakes, and by the end of the night she was wondering if she'd ruined whatever this thing was between them.

That was the end of that.

When she met up with me afterward, she was upset. She kept replaying everything in her head, wondering if she'd ruined whatever this thing was between them.

I remember telling her, "Girl, it happened. We can't change it now."

Looking back, I think I was trying to convince both of us.

Because while Fresa Mami was busy replaying every interaction with Cowboy...

I was doing the exact same thing with Wasian Persuasion.

The funny part?

Our stories couldn't have looked more different.

Mine wasn't fueled by tequila.

It was fueled by possibility...okay, and maybe vodka.

Wasian Persuasion and I had been talking for a little while before we finally spent a weekend together. He drove four hours from Atlanta to Charlotte to see me, and I remember thinking that alone had to count for something.

We spent the weekend doing the simplest things—grabbing drinks at a little bar, squeezing into one of those photobooths that somehow makes everyone look cuter than they actually are, staying up way too late talking, and laughing enough that neither of us noticed how fast the weekend flew by.

It wasn't flashy. It wasn't some grand romantic gesture.

It just felt...easy.

The kind of easy that quietly sneaks up on you when you're not expecting it.

Somewhere between the first kiss, letting our guards down a little, and learning more about each other, I caught myself thinking,

"I don't know where this is going, but I'd really like to find out."

The thing is, we were actually on the same page.

Neither of us wanted to rush into anything. We both talked about taking our time, getting to know each other, and seeing what the future might hold if things kept going the way they were. There weren't any promises made, but there wasn't a door being closed either. It felt like we were both genuinely open to seeing where life took us.

Maybe that's why I believed in the momentum so much.

I wasn't imagining wedding bells or planning our future together. I just thought we'd keep doing what we were already doing—making plans, talking, getting to know each other, and seeing where it naturally went.

Then life happened.

Work got busier.

The texts became less frequent.

Plans became harder to make.

And suddenly I found myself doing mental gymnastics over things that, if you'd asked me six months earlier, I would've sworn I'd never overanalyze.

He liked my TikTok repost.

...But he couldn't send a text?

I know how ridiculous that sounds when I say it out loud, but if you've dated in this generation, you know exactly what I mean. Somewhere along the way, social media convinced us that a story view, a like, or a reaction counts as communication. Before you know it, you're staring at your phone wondering whether that little heart means, "I'm thinking about you," or if he's just scrolling while waiting in line for coffee.

Somewhere around the same time my texts were getting shorter...

Fresa Mami's story was starting to unravel too.

She and Cowboy kept collecting these sweet little moments. There was the Fourth of July rooftop, fireworks exploding over the skyline, her head resting on his shoulder, holding hands. She even gave him a protection charm for his business because that's just the kind of thoughtful person she is.

And then... Nothing.

No fight.

No dramatic ending.

No "we need to talk."

Just silence.

A few days later, Fresa Mami and I were on FaceTime doing what girls do best: replaying every conversation, every hangout, every text, trying to figure out where things changed.

That's when something clicked. We had spent the better part of an hour trying to pinpoint the exact moment everything shifted.

The truth?

There probably wasn't one.

The funny thing is, we weren't even delusional about the same thing.

Fresa Mami wasn't dreaming about forever. She wasn't secretly planning a future with Cowboy. She just wanted him to want her. She wanted him to choose her. To text first. To make it obvious that, out of everyone else, she was the one on his mind.

My delulu looked a little different.

I wasn't imagining wedding bells either.

I was imagining momentum. Different stories. Same mistake.

We both started filling in the blanks before the other person had.

The more the communication slowed down, the more I realized...

I wasn't mourning a relationship. I was mourning the version of the future I'd quietly started writing in my own head.

That's what being delulu really is.

It isn't believing something impossible. It's taking a handful of beautiful little moments—a rooftop on the Fourth of July, "our bar" after one visit, a weekend that felt effortless, a TikTok like—and quietly stitching them into a story before the other person has even decided what chapter they're in.

The older I get, the more I realize that hope isn't the enemy. I'd actually hate to become someone who's so guarded that she can't get excited about meeting someone new. I love romanticizing life. I love butterflies. I love believing people can surprise me. I don't think any of that is something to be embarrassed about.

What I do want to get better at is letting people reveal themselves over time instead of rushing to fill in the silence myself. Not every sweet moment is the beginning of a love story.

Sometimes it's just...a sweet moment.

And maybe that's enough.

So here's to Wasian Persuasion.

Here's to Cowboy.

Here's to Fresa Mami (ily bb).

And here's to every girl who's ever looked back on a situationship and laughed at the version of herself who swore, "No, but this one feels different."

Here's to claiming "our spot" after one date. Here's to convincing yourself a TikTok like meant more than it probably did.

Here's to wanting someone to choose you, because that's one of the most human feelings there is.

Maybe next summer we'll still get excited. We'll still romanticize rooftop sunsets.

We'll still accidentally give another man a ridiculous nickname before he's earned it.

The only difference is...

Maybe we'll let the story write itself this time.

Because if this summer taught me anything, it's that not every almost has to become a heartbreak. Sometimes it's just a chapter. Sometimes it's just a funny story you'll tell your best friend over FaceTime. And sometimes, if you're lucky, it turns into a blog post that reminds you how beautifully, hilariously human it is to hope.

So...

Here's to all the boys we were delulu for this summer.