“Does he love me? Or doesn’t he? Or is it just about you?”
“What do you mean you can’t choose?” Emily stared at her old school friend with such disapproval, as if she’d just admitted to a crime. “If you’re torn between two men, it means you don’t love either of them. It’s as plain as day.”
“Maybe it’s plain to you, but not to me,” sighed Lucy heavily. “I like them both. In different ways. And they’re both lovely in their own right.”
“Sounds like you just fancy yourself more than anyone else,” Emily shot back, pressing the point. “Someone who’s truly in love wouldn’t mess with people’s feelings like that. It’s not fair. It’s rotten.”
“Easy for you to judge,” Lucy turned away. “Not everyone’s as perfect as you. I’m still figuring love out. I don’t have the experience. One day, the first one seems right. The next, the second. And Wednesday? Back to the first. I can’t make sense of it. It’s not funny. They’re both good men. And neither of them’s a stranger.”
“Just flip a coin if you can’t decide,” Emily muttered. “Better than this awful back-and-forth. At least your conscience will be clear.”
“Cheers for the advice. Why don’t you go toss your coins in a wishing fountain for luck? And don’t forget—maybe you’ve never even had a choice. Or anyone worth choosing.”
“I could never lie to myself like that!” Emily fired back. “I’ve got James. He loves me. I love him. And we’re happy. Simple.”
“Sure, sure. Wishing you both all the best,” Lucy smirked.
…
Three years later, Emily found herself alone in a half-empty pub, tears streaming down her face. A glass of now-warm wine sat in front of her. That old conversation played on loop in her head.
“Never say never”—who’d have thought she’d end up in the exact same spot? Only now, she was the one torn between two men. *Her.* The same Emily who used to dish out advice left and right.
She’d been with Daniel for over a year. Everything seemed perfect. Reliable, clever, thoughtful—the full package. And yes, dead serious about their future.
Then, out of nowhere, James reappeared. *That* James. Her ex. The one who’d walked away from her because he’d turned jealous, suspicious, always nitpicking over nothing.
They’d split when it became clear—he didn’t see her as the woman he loved anymore. To him, she’d become invisible. Everything was “wrong”: what she said, what she wore, where she looked… Then—silence. The end. Months of loneliness.
And suddenly—a call. “Hey, how are you? I’ve got no one to talk to. Let’s meet up…”
She went. Out of habit. Just to prove to herself it was long over.
But there he was—James, lost. Defeated. Jobless, with a sick mum, no one else in his life. And he talked. Didn’t stop. And she listened. And pitied him.
She didn’t mention Daniel. Didn’t say she might be happy. That someone was waiting for her.
James started texting. Calling. Inviting her out. They saw each other more. Just as friends, at first. Then not.
With Daniel, nothing changed. He was still there. Caring. Bringing little gifts. Brushing her hand. Looking at her—*that* way. Warm. Full of love. Always.
But James… It was like stepping back in time. The old crowd, their mates, late nights out, gigs, road trips. With him, she felt young again. Daniel didn’t get it. He was steady. Busy. A homebody.
Emily was torn in two. So was her heart. Daniel—the one to build a future with. James—the one she still felt sorry for. And maybe still loved?
Over and over, she turned it in her head. How to tell the truth? How to choose?
Then one night, when she couldn’t take it anymore, she dialled Lucy’s number. To apologise. To say sorry for those old words.
“I owe you an apology for that talk… I get it now, how you must’ve felt.”
“Apologise for what?” Lucy sounded genuinely surprised. “I don’t even remember who I was choosing between. That was ages ago.”
“Well, now I’m in your shoes. Between two. Can’t decide. It’s terrifying.”
“Do you really think love can ever be ‘between two’?” Lucy said softly. “You just don’t love either of them. But you do love *yourself*—a lot. How would you feel if someone did this to you? Stringing two people along—would you still love them?”
“No one,” Emily whispered.
“There’s your answer. No one. Because that’s what people do when they only love themselves. Emily, if one of them really means something to you—look at him. Picture life without him. Imagine him walking away. Never seeing his smile, never feeling his hand in yours again—”
“Daniel,” Emily blurted out.
Goosebumps prickled her arms. She imagined it. No more of his eyes, his warmth. His patience. His love.
And in that moment—she knew exactly who she loved.
P.S. Sometimes, to hear your heart, you’ve just got to stop lying to yourself.
