Melendi’s “Septiembre” unwraps a secret romance that flickers as brightly as a sunrise through half-closed blinds. In the hush of night, a young student and his university professor surrender to instinct: she dances in nothing but her underwear, the blinds paint her body with stripes of sunlight, and he studies every curve as if it were a final exam. Their chemistry is raw, almost animal, and for a few euphoric hours they block out the city lights, the ticking clock, and even the music on the radio.
Daylight, however, drags them back to reality. In the lecture hall she writes formulas while pretending he is just another face in the crowd, and he feels his math notes burn with forbidden longing. Fear of gossip keeps them apart in the corridors, but summer heat keeps their hearts on the run. When vacation ends and September rolls in, the intensity has cooled: she hurries past with new worries, and he has already found someone else. The song becomes a bittersweet reminder that some fires blaze only for a season, leaving just enough ash to sketch—and erase—a chalk heart each morning.