The Sofa “Dream”
Oliver and Emily had been dating for two years. Emily used to stay over at Oliver’s place whenever his mum went away—either to the countryside or to visit a friend in London. They cherished those fleeting moments together. But summer ended. September still teased with warm sunshine, but the autumn rains were just around the corner. His mum stopped going away every weekend, and now they had to wait for those rare trips to London to steal time alone.
The young lovers grew glum.
“Ollie, don’t you love me anymore? Don’t you want to be with me, through thick and thin?” Emily’s voice carried a subtle hint—it was time to think about marriage.
They stood outside her house, stuck in that half-hour-long goodbye.
“Where’s this coming from?” Oliver stepped back, searching her eyes. “I’d marry you tomorrow, but where would we live? I can’t afford rent yet, and you’ve got another year of uni. Unless you’re okay living with my mum—or cramming into your parents’ tiny flat. Let’s just wait till you graduate…”
“But I can’t keep saying goodbye like this, waiting for your mum to leave. My parents keep asking why you haven’t proposed.” Emily sucked in a breath, but instead of a sigh, a small sob escaped.
“Em, I promise I’ll figure something out. I love you so much.”
“I love you too,” she echoed.
“Right. Come on.” Oliver took her hand firmly.
“Where?”
“To yours. I’m asking your parents for your hand. Unless you’ve changed your mind?”
“Let’s go!” Emily beamed.
Hand in hand, they stepped into Emily’s flat.
“Come in, you two,” her mum greeted warmly.
Four teacups and a tray of biscuits already sat on the kitchen table—as if they’d been expected.
“Saw you through the window. Half an hour saying goodbye,” her mum chuckled, catching Emily’s surprised look. “Enough wandering the streets—winter’s coming. And yes, we know you’ve been sleeping together.” Emily flushed. “Your dad and I have no objections to you getting married.”
“Not that we expect you to live with us,” her dad added. “Understand you’d want your own place. A colleague’s selling a one-bed flat. Thought of you two straightaway. So…”
“Thanks, Dad!” Emily exclaimed.
“Hold on, love. Oliver’s gone all quiet.”
Oliver met her dad’s gaze squarely.
“You’re not wealthy. I can’t accept such a gift. I’m a grown man—I should be the one providing.”
“What’s shameful about it? We’re buying it, not stealing,” her dad reasoned, frowning slightly. “Who else should we help if not our kids? This flat was passed down to us—now it’s our turn to give you a start. Save up, buy bigger later. It’s not for you—it’s for her, so she’s happy. And she’s happy with you.” His stern look softened as he glanced at Emily.
Under the table, Emily squeezed Oliver’s hand—don’t argue, just agree.
“Thank you,” Oliver mumbled.
Less than a week before the wedding. The white dress was bought, invites sent, restaurant booked.
“Ollie, we don’t have a sofa in the flat,” Emily called it “ours” already. “Are we sleeping on the floor?”
“Not a chance. We’ll buy one.”
“When?” she pointed out.
They wandered the furniture showroom for ages, testing sofas of every size and fabric. Emily flopped onto one—simple, unassuming—and closed her eyes.
“Excellent choice,” a saleswoman smiled nearby.
Emily blinked up at her.
“You won’t regret this one. Last in stock.” She listed its perks, then nodded at Oliver. “Try it yourself.”
He sat beside Emily. She instantly curled into him, head on his shoulder.
“Newlyweds?” the woman asked, though their ringless hands were obvious.
“Not yet. Next week,” Emily grinned.
“Lovely! Starting marriage with a sofa—smart. Comfy?”
“Mm. Don’t wanna move. How much is it?”
The saleswoman flipped the tag.
“Sofa ‘Dream’,” Emily read—then gaped at the price.
“Dreams don’t come cheap,” the woman said sagely.
“But—”
“You like it?” Oliver whispered.
“Are you joking? It’s perfect.”
“Then we’ll take it.”
The next day, the sofa arrived. Once the delivery men left, Oliver and Emily collapsed onto it, laughing between kisses.
In her white dress, Emily was radiant. Oliver couldn’t stop staring, his grip on her hand at the reception almost possessive.
“What’s so special about her? Plenty of prettier girls out there,” his best mate and groomsman muttered.
“I don’t want prettier. Fall in love—then you’ll get it.”
“Not me. No woman’s worth losing my freedom.”
“What’s the debate?” Emily appeared, whisking her new husband away.
Guests swarmed them—hugs, kisses, silly games, dances, more kisses amid shouts of “Kiss the bride!” Emily smiled through the exhaustion of heels and heavy skirts. Oliver just longed to be home, alone with his wife…
Finally, they crossed their threshold. Emily kicked off her shoes, shrinking adorably. Oliver swept her up—straight to the sofa.
Evenings curled up there became ritual—sharing their days, Emily declaring it moulded to her perfectly. Every fight, every reconciliation, every big decision happened on that sofa. It was the silent core of their new life.
Autumn faded; snow gave way to spring. Emily buried herself in final exams. Oliver grew quieter, shrugging off her daily “How was work?” with tired monosyllables.
By summer’s end, they hosted their first anniversary. His mate brought a glamorous new plus-one. Playing hostess, Emily stacked plates in the kitchen—then returned to find Oliver deep in conversation with that woman on their sofa. Her chest ached. She hurried everyone back to the table.
After the guests left, she confronted him.
“We were just chatting. Dave ditched her—I was being polite.”
“Polite?” She seethed. “On our sofa.”
“Where else? We’ve only got one!”
Their first real fight. Normally, bedtime brought truce, tangled limbs, whispered apologies. Not this time. Emily faced the wall; Oliver didn’t reach for her. The sofa was wide enough for distance.
Morning hardened the silence. They parted wordlessly, workward in opposite directions. Evenings, the sofa gaped between them. Emily’s misery grew.
Then—a power cut at her office sent everyone home. Rain sheeted down, wind needling her face.
Instead of heading home, she detoured to Oliver’s workplace. Enough of this rift—she’d apologise, make peace.
“Em?” Dave intercepted her. “You here for Ollie? I was just thinking—is that you?”
“Yeah. We argued… I need to see him.”
“Fancy a cuppa first? I’m starving.”
Exhausted, she agreed.
Over coffee, Dave fidgeted. “So… you’re not married?” she asked. “That brunette from our anniversary…?”
“Just a colleague. Told you—no woman’s worth my freedom.”
“I thought…” Jealousy prickled.
“Look, Ollie’s always gone for flashier types than you,” Dave blurted, then backpedalled. “But he loves you, yeah?”
Emily stood abruptly. “I’ve got to go.”
“Em, wait!”
Outside, wind clawed her coat, rain stung her neck. “So it wasn’t just me,” she thought numbly.
Home, she collapsed onto the sofa, hugging a cushion, and cried herself to sleep.
She woke to Oliver studying her.
“You’re shaking. Are you ill?”
That flicker of hope—he couldn’t have… He loves me.
She sat up, shivering.
“Em, talk to me.”
“I saw Dave. He implied you’re… involved with that colleague. The one at our party.”
Oliver’s flustered denials made her headache worse.
“Stop. Just go.” She fled to the kitchen. He trailed her, pleading love, innocence.
But the man before her felt like a stranger.
He packed haphazardly, slammed the door. Emily sobbed into the sofa.
Days blurred. She ignored calls, barely ate. Her worried mum bustled in.
Nights, she sat in darkness, arms wrapped tight.
Then—she spotted Oliver on the street. Gaunt, hollow-cheeked. She nearly reached for him.
Alone on the sofa, she replaying their happiest times. Had he really forgotten? Had he ever loved her? Why couldn’t she forget him? Her fingers brushed the cushion—still warm, as if he’d just stepped out.
The doorbell jarred her. Again.She opened the door to find Oliver standing there, his eyes just as broken as hers, and without a word, he stepped forward and pulled her into the tightest hug they’d ever shared, whispering into her hair, “I bought us a new sofa, but I couldn’t sleep on it without you.”
