REFLECTION ON “THINGS WE LOST IN SUMMER”. When I first stepped into Noah’s story in The Things We Lost in Summer, I didn’t expect it to follow me the way it did. It is one of those novels that doesn’t just tell a story but leaves you carrying the echoes of its characters, its landscapes, and its heavy silences long after you’ve closed the final page. What struck me most wasn’t only the mystery of Elia’s disappearance or Noah’s violent reckoning with Casey and the men who destroyed his childhood it was the way grief, memory, and truth wove themselves into every corner of the narrative. At its heart, this is a novel about return, a man coming back to the small town he once fled, forced to face the ghosts of a summer that never truly ended. The box in the attic, the old photographs, the map, and the cassette tape all of these are physical objects, yes, but they are also metaphors for what Noah has been carrying inside himself. Every step on that map is another excavation of memory, a