In a small town nestled between gloomy pine forests and grey fields, where the wind chased dry leaves down the streets, life moved slowly, like a river winding through lowlands. Near the end of his workday, Arthur’s phone rang. The melody, chosen by his girlfriend Caroline, shattered the quiet. He answered and heard her voice:
“Arthur, I’m at the salon. Pick me up—you know where.”
“Alright, be there soon,” he replied shortly before hanging up.
Arthur knew Caroline would spend at least two hours at the salon, so he wasn’t in a hurry. After work, he parked his car nearby and, to pass the time, stepped into a café.
“She’ll call when she’s done,” he thought, settling at a table. A waiter took his order immediately.
Arthur ate, scrolled through the news, watched a couple of videos, but Caroline still didn’t ring. “Wonder how much she’s spending today?” crossed his mind. Not that she paid—her father, a wealthy businessman whose money flowed like water, covered everything. Caroline never skimped.
They’d been together seven months, sometimes sharing his modest flat. But when his “cramped space” bored her, she retreated to her parents’ lavish manor in the countryside. An only child, she’d never been denied anything. Caroline had introduced Arthur to her parents, but her mother, Emily, looked down on him. A simple programmer, 27 years old—what could he offer? Caroline must have persuaded her mother to stay out of it, so she remained cold but civil. Arthur felt like an outsider in their home.
He’d begun to realise Caroline wasn’t the woman he’d dreamed of. Yet the idea of marriage lingered, especially after her father’s words: “Make my daughter happy, and you’ll want for nothing. Disappoint her, and you’ll regret it.” The message was clear.
Caroline was capricious but stunningly beautiful. Arthur didn’t see why she needed hours at the salon—she was already flawless. Smart, witty, yet arrogant and spoiled by her father’s wealth. The day before, she’d announced:
“Arthur, we’re flying to the Maldives in ten days. Dad’s covering everything. I’m exhausted—I need a break.”
“From what? You don’t work,” he’d said, surprised.
“Dad will sort your work—don’t worry.”
Her words grated. Their relationship grew more strained. Arthur sensed they were from different worlds, yet he still planned to propose. Lost in thought over coffee, he suddenly heard a voice:
“Arthur, is that you?” A man across the room smiled like an old friend.
“Tom?” Arthur stood, recognising his childhood mate. “I can’t believe it! Twelve years?”
“You’ve filled out, mate!” Tom clapped his shoulder. “Looking sharp.”
“Not a scrawny kid anymore either,” Arthur laughed. “What brings you here?”
“Waiting for my sister, Lucy. She’s at the Royal Academy, final year. There’s a concert tonight, but I can’t stand classical—so I ducked in here,” Tom grinned.
“Lucy? How is she?” Arthur brightened.
“A proper talent! Grew up in a village but got into the Academy on merit—no connections,” Tom said proudly.
“I’d love to see her!” Arthur exclaimed.
“I’ll ring her in half an hour—we’ll meet her. Join us, if you’re free. You alone?”
“Waiting for Caroline, my fiancée. She’s at the salon—should be done soon.”
“Brilliant, Lucy and I’ll swing by,” Tom said before leaving.
Arthur lost himself in memories. Summers at his gran’s village, where Tom and Lucy lived. Their garden with apple trees, the lake, the river. Fishing, campfire cookouts, singing with a guitar. Lucy, a skinny girl with dark braids, had been his first crush. “Wonder what she’s like now?” he mused, smiling absently.
“Smiling at nothing’s daft,” Caroline’s voice cut in.
“Finally,” Arthur scanned her, struggling to spot changes after three hours at the salon.
“Well? How do I look?” she preened.
“Same as ever,” he said.
“Same?!” she snapped. “Do you know what this manicure and facial cost? I’m radiant, admit it!”
“Always are,” he nodded, avoiding an argument.
“We’re going to mine. Guests are waiting,” she declared.
“Can’t—made plans with old friends. They’ll be here any minute.”
Caroline pouted, ready to fuss, but Tom and Lucy entered. Lucy rushed to Arthur, hugging him.
“Arthur, it’s been ages! You’ve grown into quite the looker!”
He froze, struck by her beauty—delicate, warm, with hazel eyes. He didn’t want to let go, but Caroline’s icy tone broke the moment.
“Hello.”
“This is Caroline, my fiancée,” Arthur said hastily. “Tom and Lucy.”
“Evening, lovely,” Tom beamed.
They chatted about old times while Caroline sat silent, pointedly ignoring them. Arthur reminisced about summers, apple trees, the lake.
“Rather be under a parasol in the Maldives,” Caroline interrupted. “Dad’s pool’s bigger than your puddle.”
“Any fish in it?” Tom quipped.
“Only in the restaurants where I dine,” she shot back.
The conversation died. Lucy offered, “Arthur, visit us in the village.”
“Definitely,” he said, glancing at Caroline. “This weekend.”
Caroline huffed, “Fine, I’ll endure this backwater.”
“Don’t bother,” Arthur frowned. “Mosquitoes, woods, a lake. You’d be bored stiff.”
“I’ll bring mineral water—doubt yours is safe,” she muttered.
“Pack a microwave and a loo too,” he retorted.
In the village, they were welcomed warmly. A feast under an apple tree, barbecue sizzling. Arthur felt alive, like a boy again. Caroline whined:
“Arthur, the grass scratches. The meat smells odd. A mosquito bit me. Sun’s in my eyes!”
“Enough, Caroline,” he snapped. “Enjoy nature or go inside.”
“It’s stuffy,” she grumbled but fled the bugs.
By the lake, rod in hand, Arthur asked, “Lucy, got a boyfriend?”
“No, split ages ago. Why?” she smiled.
“You’re… lovely. Light.”
“And talented,” Tom added. “Knit’s jumpers, makes pies too.”
“Bet your fiancée only serves noodle promises,” Lucy teased.
“True,” Arthur admitted unexpectedly. “No home cooking—just posh restaurants.”
“Don’t fret, you’ll learn,” Tom encouraged.
Arthur stayed quiet, realising life with Caroline meant no warmth, no home. On the drive back, she declared:
“Never coming to this dump again. Maldives next week.”
“I’m not going,” Arthur said flatly.
“If you don’t, you lose me,” she threatened.
“Still not going,” he repeated.
Silence lasted till the city. Arthur thought, “Apple trees and fishing suit me better. I won’t marry Caroline. Her father doesn’t scare me. Her mother never wanted me.”
Dropping her off, he met her glare:
“Last chance. Coming?”
“No. The village feels like home. We’re on different paths.”
“Goodbye,” she spat before stalking off.
Arthur exhaled in relief and dialled:
“Lucy, I’ll be there in two days. We’ll sort everything.”
“Alone?” she asked softly.
“Of course,” he said, heart lifting.
“I’ll be waiting,” she replied calmly.
His phone buzzed—Caroline’s father. Arthur declined the call, unwilling to spoil the moment.
**Different Paths**
Sometimes the heart knows where home is long before the mind catches up.
