The summer I learned what first love feels like again

I remember the first time I heard about "The Summer I Turned Pretty". It was in a group chat with my friends, where two of them were fighting as Team Conrad vs Team Jeremiah. "You have to watch it," they said and I was skeptical at first, dismissing it as just another teen drama. But when I watched the first episode, something clicked. I know it is super embarrassing to be obsessing over a teen drama as a twenty-something year old but this show really had its sweet way of pulling me in. I never thought a show about a teenage love triangle could make me feel like a teenager again, but here I was, waiting eagerly for a new episode each Wednesday.

The story, based on Jenny Han's trilogy, revolves around Belly Conklin and the Fisher brothers, Conrad and Jeremiah. Set in the idyllic town of Cousins, the narrative captures the complexities of love, loss, and self-discovery. Season 3, in particular, delves deeper into these themes, offering a more mature perspective on the characters' journeys. Belly, portrayed by Lola Tung, has always been the heart of the story. In the first season she was still wide-eyed, excited, and insecure, still learning what it meant to be desired. By the time we reach season three, she has endured heartbreak, confusion, grief, and the complexity of choosing between two very different loves. Belly was never perfect, in fact, her messiness was half the point, but she was always real. That was the magic Jenny Han created: she reminded us that being young is supposed to be messy, that love in its first form is never neat. In Season 3, we see her grappling with the aftermath of her choices, particularly her engagement to Jeremiah. Her internal conflict is palpable, as she navigates the remnants of her feelings for Conrad and the reality of her commitment to Jeremiah. The season portrays her growth from a girl caught in a whirlwind romance to a young woman seeking clarity and understanding of her own heart. 

The Fisher brothers have always been the gravitational pull around Belly, and around us as viewers. Conrad Fisher, from the very first moment, was the dreamiest presence on screen. He is not dreamy in the polished, movie-star way. He's dreamy because of the way he says less but means more, the way his silences carry volumes, the way he notices small things like a missed corsage or a tear you try to hide. He is the kind of character who makes love feel beautiful in its simplicity. Christopher Briney breathed so much aching vulnerability into Conrad that sometimes even a stolen glance or a half-smile felt like a declaration. His grief for Susannah, his quiet promise to his mother to look after Jeremiah, and his constant tug-of-war between what he wanted and what he thought was right made him magnetic. For me, Conrad's love story was the heart of the series, not just his love for Belly, but his love for his family, his loyalty, and the way he allowed himself, slowly, to open up to happiness again. On the other hand, Jeremiah was the brother who burned brighter. He was warm, spontaneous, playful, and often easier to love. Gavin Casalegno gave him a charisma that made sense of why Belly could be pulled toward him even while her heart kept drifting back to Conrad. Jeremiah's devotion to Belly, his refusal to let her feel unwanted, and his determination to step into the light when Conrad pulled back all made him a compelling choice. Season 3 put Jeremiah through the hardest test of all, because what does it mean to love someone who cannot give you their whole heart? Watching him plan a wedding, give his all, and still feel the undertow of Conrad and Belly's bond was heartbreaking. Jeremiah represented the love that felt safe and steady, and that is beautiful in its own way, even if it is not the kind that endures forever.

The love triangle between Belly, Conrad, and Jeremiah was the show's central tension and kept the internet fighting all summer. It was not just about choosing a boy. It was about Belly learning what kind of love she wanted, what kind of person she was becoming. Conrad's quiet intensity, Jeremiah's sunshine warmth — she was pulled in both directions, and for three seasons, so were we. When the finale in Paris finally gave us the resolution we had been waiting for, it felt like the kind of love story that was never about surprise, but about inevitability. The tension was never in who Belly would choose but in how she and Conrad would finally get to each other, after all the heartbreak and hesitation. Season 3 explored these dynamics with nuance, and the finale was everything I had hoped for and more. Belly's choice was inevitable, yet it felt earned. I watched her choose Conrad, the boy who made her feel seen, the boy who made her feel understood. I watched her choose the boy who had always been there, even when he didn't know how to be. I watched her choose the boy who made love feel like poetry, like something worth waiting for. Their love was not easy. It was complicated, messy, and full of obstacles. But it was real. It was the kind of love that made you believe in soulmates, in destiny, in the idea that some people are just meant to be together. The resolution brought a sense of closure, but also a bittersweet longing for more.

However, it would not be fair to only talk about Belly and the brothers as it missed the richness of the show. One of the reasons "The Summer I Turned Pretty" feels so alive is because it paints so many portraits of love, each with its own imperfections and joys. Take Steven and Taylor. From the beginning, their banter was sharp and their chemistry undeniable. Taylor, Belly's best friend, could have easily been a sidekick stereotype, but instead she blossomed into one of the most relatable characters of the series. With Steven, she found someone who challenged her, teased her, but ultimately adored her. Their relationship was playful, grounded, and often more stable than Belly's romantic whirlwind. Watching them go from casual flirtation to a genuine, loving partnership was one of the most rewarding arcs in the series. They were the couple that reminded us that sometimes love does not have to hurt to be real. 

Then there was Laurel, Belly's mother, who carried her own story of love, grief, and resilience. Laurel's bond with Susannah was one of the most moving parts of the show. Their friendship, more than any romance, anchored the story in tenderness and loyalty. Laurel also had her own complicated romances, including her magnetic connection with John. These adult storylines gave the show texture, reminding us that love does not stop being complicated when you grow older. In many ways, Laurel was the mirror for Belly: a woman who had known great love, known heartbreak, and was still learning how to open herself up to the possibility of being loved again. And we cannot forget Susannah, who was both the heart and the ghost of the entire series. Even after her passing, she shaped every decision, every fight, every moment of hesitation. Her warmth, her optimism, and her wish for her children to find happiness lingered over Cousins like a blessing. Conrad's promise to her, Jeremiah's longing for her guidance, Belly's bond with her made me realise how Susannah really was the invisible thread tying them all together. Without her, none of this would have happened. With her memory, everything carried weight.

Even characters like Agnes, who became a quiet support for Conrad, or Denise, who brought comic relief, mattered in the grand tapestry. The sideplots were never distractions but breaths of fresh air that allowed us to step back from the storm of the triangle and remember that life is full of many kinds of love, friendship, laughter, unexpected bonds. And of course, none of this would have landed the same way without the atmosphere Jenny Han created. The summer house, the beach, the sunlit mornings and the bittersweet evenings all felt like the backdrop to our own teenage memories. Layered onto this was the soundtrack, which was practically its own character. The moment a Swift song began, I swear I could feel my heart sync with the characters'. Looking back, I realise the genius of the show was not in its flawless writing or seamless plotting. It was in how it made us feel. It reminded us of crushes that consumed us, of love that felt like it could split us open, of nights spent wondering what someone else was thinking. It gave us permission to feel big feelings again, without cynicism.

Now that the series has concluded, there is a sweet void. Because a silly show about summers, first crushes, and awkward love triangles has burrowed its way into my heart and I hate to admit that I will miss the anticipation of each new episode. Because all this summer, I ached with Conrad, I rooted for Belly even when she frustrated me, and Jeremiah for coming in the way. I miss this feeling of being part of something special, something that made me believe in love again. But even as I miss it, I find solace in the fact that the story was told, and it was told well. It was about summers that change you, about the ache of growing up, and about the joy of realising that love, even when imperfect, is the most beautiful part of being alive.