Lara finds that seasonal job with which to get some money that dyes her red numbers blue. A simple job as a receptionist at a campsite in Madrid. The figure of Asier, a tennis monitor with his flirt-like appearance and his loquaciousness soon catches the attention of Lara who, although she is used to that kind of boys with pretenses of greatness and knowledgeable about their attractiveness, cannot stop dedicating to him out of inertia your smile.
A simple encounter that will nevertheless unleash a storm, like the gentle breeze that anticipates the storm, and the shipwreck of emotions in the sea of desire. Lara is in luck, she has found a comfortable job and a summer love that keeps her in that ideal cloud of sensations cradled by pleasure and her endorphin hormones.
But that kind of love parenthesis typical of summer always has its moments of doubt. As the days pass and the end of summer approaches, Lara begins to consider if that love has been an island or if she has really been able to step on the mainland of a great continent. For a time, love generates a timeless space, even more so in summer, a terrain through which one moves instinctively, unconsciously.
The funny thing is that he also has those doubts. Asier intuits that there may be something more, that perhaps this is an opportunity for something unexpected and more lasting. The old, contradictory, magical and melancholic notion of the ephemeral, of lightness as a romantic reflection or as an unequivocal sign of total connection.
A dilemma between sensations and reality, between the possible of a fleeting love as an eternal love, those old doubts that assailed us all some summer, specifically that summer in which we learned to fly.
You can buy the book The summer we learned to fly, Silvia Sancho's new novel, here: