**When Dreams Come True**
“Young man, you hit my car!” A slim woman wrapped in a white coat stood on the pavement, glaring at him.
“Maybe you should park properly,” muttered Oliver. “People buy licenses these days instead of learning how to drive. I swear, women shouldn’t even be allowed behind the wheel.”
“See those snowdrifts everywhere? Where exactly was I supposed to park? On top of that pile?” She pointed a slender finger at a massive heap of snow. “I’m calling the police!”
Oliver’s defiance evaporated. He’d already gotten a speeding fine this month—now this.
“My wheel skidded on the ice. It wasn’t intentional, believe me.”
“And what exactly are you proposing?” she asked coldly.
“Let’s settle this privately.”
“No. It’s the principle. I won’t tolerate misogyny.”
“What on earth is that?”
“Dislike of women!”
“Fine, I admit I was wrong,” Oliver forced through gritted teeth. “I’ll pay for the… scratch. Plus extra for the inconvenience. How much do you want?”
After much haggling, she finally relented. Oliver suspected she was dragging it out just to squeeze more money from him. He paid a generous sum just to make the problem disappear.
With a heavy sigh, Oliver checked his bank app again—only £200 left, and payday was a week away. Ella’s birthday was today, and he still hadn’t bought her a gift.
He called his best mate, Harry. “Mate, I’m broke too,” Harry said. “Why’d you fork that much over? You can tell she’s loaded. Should’ve settled it through insurance—quick and easy.”
“I’m selling the car. If the cops log this, it’ll look like an accident. Buyers won’t touch it. You know anyone who could lend me some cash? Just for a week. I can’t show up to Ella’s empty-handed.”
“Yeah, with a girl like Ella, you can’t just rock up with a card,” Harry chuckled. “But sorry, no luck.”
Oliver shoved his phone into the holder, cracked the window, and sat there brooding. The woman in white had been gone an hour, but he was still stuck on this wretched car park. He had tried to be careful—his wheel hit ice, sending the car sliding into hers.
Then it hit him—his emergency credit card. Why hadn’t he remembered earlier? With renewed hope, he headed straight to the jewellers to buy the earrings Ella had been eyeing.
That evening, Oliver hesitated outside her flat, gripping a bouquet of spray roses, the jewellery box heavy in his pocket. A year ago, he’d never expected Ella to return his feelings—she was out of his league. Her father co-owned a major shopping centre, and her mother ran three spas. Ella’s parents had even bought her this flat where he now stood, too nervous to ring the bell.
“Happy birthday, love!” Oliver handed over the gifts.
“Hey! Thank you, darling,” Ella kissed his cheek. Then she gasped. “Are these… the ones?”
“Yeah…” Oliver flushed.
“You’re mad! These cost a fortune,” she whispered, lifting the earrings from the box. “But they’re gorgeous… Thank you.”
Ella was rich but frugal—she shopped at regular supermarkets, cooked at home, and barely ever ordered cleaning services. Still, Oliver felt worlds apart. He came from a humble background where chicken-foot jelly was a delicacy, and liver cake passed for birthday dessert.
“I hope you don’t mind… I’ve got company,” Ella smiled.
“Thought the place would be packed,” Oliver laughed.
“You know I hate big parties. Come on, I’ve set the table.” She took his hand. “Mum, Dad, this is Oliver.”
Oliver froze but masked his shock. He greeted them stiffly.
“Why didn’t you warn me?” he whispered.
“I thought they’d left for their holiday! They surprised me two hours ago. Don’t worry, they’re lovely.”
“Yeah. Great,” Oliver muttered.
Ella’s parents scrutinised him as if scanning for faults.
“Tell us about yourself,” her father said with a strained smile.
“Yes, we’d love to hear,” her mother added.
“I work at a bank. Did a finance course, then went to uni—part-time, though…”
“Any prospects in banking?” Her mother glanced at her husband, ignoring Oliver.
“Limited, I’d say,” her father replied, equally dismissive.
“I disagree,” Oliver cut in. All three turned to him. “In a year, I’ll be department head. In three, regional manager…”
“And that’s supposed to impress us?” Her mother scoffed.
“Did you buy three spas straight out of uni?” Oliver shot back.
Their polite smiles vanished.
“I earned them,” her mother said coldly. “Started with a tiny salon.”
“Then why dismiss someone starting as a bank manager?”
The tension shattered when Ella reappeared, arms crossed, her new earrings gleaming.
“Dinner’s ready.”
Silence ruled the table until Ella’s mother smirked.
“Oliver, what’s your stance on misogyny?”
“Strongly against it,” he said evenly.
“Surprised you even know the word,” she sneered.
“Oddly enough, I heard it this morning. From a lady on the street.”
Ella looked between them, baffled. Oliver was tense; her mother’s eyes gleamed with mischief.
Then it clicked. That morning, her mother had ranted about an “aggressive misogynist” on the car park.
“Enough! Both of you!” Ella hissed. “Mum, you mentioned some man earlier. And now you bring it up again? What’s going on?”
“What’s to explain? Your boyfriend ruined my morning!”
“You knew it was Oliver? Why didn’t you say anything?”
“I didn’t want to upset you,” Oliver admitted. “I scratched her car, was rude… I already felt guilty walking in here.”
“Wait, you scratched her car?” Her father frowned.
“Hit ice, skidded—”
“Show me. Did you file a report?”
“It’s just a tiny scratch. We settled it,” her mother interjected, shooting Oliver a glare.
“We did. But if you want to check…”
Her mother fidgeted, then blurted, “There’s no new scratch! The old one’s still there…”
“What? You said—I transferred you £500!” Oliver’s face reddened.
“You infuriated me with that rubbish about women drivers. Thought I’d teach you a lesson. But, Ella—” She turned to her daughter. “A man who snaps at strangers will snap at you too!”
“This is my birthday. Everyone—out. Now.”
“Ella!”
“I said. Out.”
Oliver tried apologising, but Ella pointed to the door.
Alone, she stared out the window, eating cake straight from the tub. Then her phone buzzed: *Look outside.*
Three figures waved wildly from below—her parents and Oliver. Another message: *Come down. We’ve made up.*
With a huff, she grabbed her coat and rushed out.
“I returned the money!” her mother said sheepishly.
“And I apologised,” Oliver added, offering his hand. “Now we’re apologising to you.”
“Where are we going?” Ella pretended indifference.
“To the sledging hill!” Her mother clapped.
Oliver had insisted on talking things through at a café. And now, as her father pulled a rolled-up linoleum sheet from the car—just like she’d dreamed—Ella’s eyes welled up.
Every year, her parents rented venues, invited crowds. But all she’d ever wanted was to sled under the stars. She’d once mentioned it to Oliver in passing…
“I can’t believe he remembered,” her mother said softly.
Tears spilled as Ella clutched the linoleum, her dream finally real.
