“Couldn’t Love Him Back”
“Alright, girls, which one of you is Lily?” The stranger gave us—me and my mate—a knowing look, half curious, half sly.
“That’d be me. Why?” I frowned, confused.
“Got a letter for you, Lily. From William,” she said, pulling a crumpled envelope from her coat pocket and handing it over.
“William? Where is he?” I asked, surprised.
“He’s been moved to a care home for adults. Waited for you, Lily, like you were rain after a drought. Nearly wore his eyes out staring at the window. Gave me this letter to check for mistakes—didn’t want to embarrass himself in front of you. Anyway, gotta go. Lunch is soon. I work here as a carer.” With a disapproving sigh, she hurried off.
…It all started one summer when me and my best mate, Sophie, wandered onto the grounds of this place by accident. We were sixteen, riding high on holiday freedom, itching for adventure.
We plopped down on a bench, chatting and laughing, didn’t even notice the two lads until they were right in front of us.
“Alright, girls? Bored much? Fancy a chat?” one said, sticking his hand out. “William.”
“Lily,” I replied. “This is Sophie. And your quiet friend?”
“Leon,” the other mumbled.
They seemed old-fashioned, weirdly proper. William cleared his throat. “Why d’you wear skirts that short? And Sophie, that top’s a bit… revealing.”
“Blimey, lads, eyes front—wouldn’t want ’em popping out, would we?” Sophie shot back, and we burst out laughing.
“Hard not to look. We’re blokes, after all. Bet you smoke too?” William pressed, dead serious.
“Course we do. Just not properly,” I teased.
Only then did we notice something off—William walked painfully slow, Leon had a limp.
“You here for treatment?” I guessed.
“Yeah. Motorbike crash,” William rattled off like he’d said it a thousand times. “Leon here took a bad dive off a cliff. Getting discharged soon.”
We believed them, of course. Had no clue they were lifelong residents, stuck in that care home since childhood. Us dropping by? To them, it was a taste of the outside world.
Each lad had a rehearsed story—accidents, fights, anything to mask the truth. But they were sharp, well-read, wise beyond their years.
Soon, visiting them became a habit. Partly ’cause we pitied them, wanted to cheer them up. Partly ’cause they had stories, knowledge, things we’d never heard before.
William started picking flowers from the garden for me. Leon folded origami for Sophie, handing it over all shy. We’d squash onto one bench—William glued to my side, Leon angled toward Sophie, who’d blush but never complain.
Summer melted into rainy autumn. School started, exams loomed. We forgot about them entirely.
…Then, after graduation, on a whim, we went back. Sat on that same bench, waiting. Two hours—nothing.
Finally, a carer rushed out, letter in hand. William’s words spilled onto the page:
*”My dearest Lily, my sweet, untouchable star. Doubt you ever realised—I loved you from the first second. Those visits were air to me. Six months I’ve stared at that window, hoping. You forgot me. Hurts, but I’m grateful—you showed me real love. Your voice, your laugh, your hands. I’d give anything to see you once more.
Leon and I turned eighteen. They’re moving us soon. Doubt we’ll meet again. Hope one day this love fades, like a fever. Goodbye, darling.”*
A pressed flower fluttered out. My chest ached. Too late to fix it. That old saying echoed—*we’re responsible for those we tame.*
I’d had no clue William felt that way. Couldn’t love him back, not like that. Liked him, sure—he was clever, funny. Maybe I’d flirted a bit, stoked the fire without realising it’d burn him alive.
…Years passed. The letter yellowed, the flower crumbled. But I still remember those afternoons—his jokes, the easy talks, the innocence of it all.
There’s an ending, though. Sophie? She fell hard for Leon. His own parents had ditched him—born with one leg shorter. She trained as a teacher, works at a care home now. Married him. Two grown sons.
William, Leon told us later, stayed alone. At forty, his mum showed up out of nowhere, took one look at him, and brought him home to her village. After that… no one knows.
