**Diary Entry**
I knew we’d meet again someday.
A year ago, James was driving home from work when he spotted her by chance. While searching for a turn and circling back, she had already vanished. Ever since, whenever sadness or memories weighed on him, he’d come back here, sit in his car, and wait—just hoping to catch another glimpse of her. He imagined stepping out, flashing a grin, and saying, *”Hey! What a surprise!”*
They’d been in the same class at school. She was just another girl—nothing special, except for being top of the year. He hardly noticed her back then. Girls didn’t interest him much in those days. Being around the same classmates for years made them feel almost like family. How could you fall for someone who might as well be your sister? Impossible. He hung out with the lads—that was different. Sure, he chatted more with some girls than others, but she? She’d slipped under his radar.
A-levels loomed ahead. James had never stressed over grades before, but now, the pressure gnawed at him. His mum dreamed of him studying law, becoming a barrister like his late father, who’d passed suddenly from a heart attack two years prior.
James didn’t want to be a barrister. He wanted to code—dive into AI, cutting-edge tech. But for uni and work, maths was key.
School had grown tedious, but university? That was different. You studied with purpose, not just for scraps of knowledge you’d never use.
Mr. Palmer, their maths teacher, reminded them at the start of class: *”Today’s test grade is your half-term mark. Exams are coming—get used to it. Past marks don’t matter.”*
The high-fliers tensed; the strugglers perked up—this was their shot at redemption.
James breezed through the equations but froze on the last problem. Time was slipping, nerves fraying. Desperate, he scanned the room. In front sat chubby Dawson—no help there—but James tapped his pen against Dawson’s broad back anyway. No response.
Behind him was Eleanor Whitmore, the silent star pupil. Never once had she helped anyone.
His mate Callum sat nearby—no maths whiz either. James slid his paper toward him, but Callum batted it away. *”Not now, I’m drowning.”*
Across the aisle, Rebecca scribbled away—same test version. Asking her wasn’t an option. She’d fancied him for ages; he’d never shake her off.
Mr. Palmer prowled past, hands clasped behind his back—tall, gaunt, in a sharp grey suit, bent slightly like a heron. He paused by Dawson, sighed at his answers, and moved on.
Time was nearly up. Then—a light tap on his shoulder.
James turned. Eleanor met his gaze. *”Give it here,”* she mouthed. He handed over his paper, heart hammering as Mr. Palmer neared their row. Sweat prickled his neck. *What’s taking her so long?*
*”Think harder, Callum. Find the error,”* Mr. Palmer intoned, tapping Callum’s desk.
At that moment, a slip of paper ghosted onto James’s shoulder. He snatched it—pencil scribbles at the bottom solved the problem. He copied it feverishly, erasing the evidence just as Mr. Palmer’s shadow fell over his desk. His stomach lurched. *Did he see?* But the bell rang, salvation in its shrillness.
*”Pens down. Leave your papers on my desk.”*
James exhaled, adding his to the pile. In the hallway, he caught Eleanor’s arm.
*”Cheers. You saved me.”*
She shrugged. *”Same test. No hassle.”*
He’d never expected icy Eleanor to help—unasked, no less. But as they walked, Rebecca stalked past, glare venomous. Whatever.
After school, James waited for Eleanor by the gates.
*”How’d you know I was stuck?”* he asked, falling into step beside her.
*”You were fidgeting like mad.”*
*”Thought I’d flunk it.”*
*”Law school still the plan?”*
*”How’d you—? Nah. Mum’s dream, not mine. I’m aiming for comp sci. Future’s in tech.”*
*”Our mums work together. Didn’t you know?”*
*”Mine never mentioned it…”*
Their chatter meandered—small talk, nothing more.
*”Rebecca’s tailing us. Proper green-eyed,”* Eleanor muttered. *”She’s mad for you.”*
*”Tell me about it. Won’t leave me alone. What about you? Uni plans?”*
*”Med school.”*
*”Blimey. Saving lives?”*
*”Kids. Paediatrics.”*
That threw him. Quiet, stern Eleanor—a child doctor? How little he knew her. Her house came into view. Once she left, Rebecca would pounce.
*”Wait—explain that problem? Might come up in the A-levels.”*
*”Fine.”* She dropped her bag on the bench, pulled out a notepad, and broke it down.
They leaned in, heads almost touching. James felt Rebecca’s breath by his ear but ignored it—until a loose strand of Eleanor’s hair brushed his cheek. A jolt shot through him. His breath hitched; his stomach twisted. He yearned to close the gap.
*”Got it?”* she asked, looking up.
Gold flecks sparked in her dark lashes. Her lips moved, but he was deaf, drowning in her.
*”Well?”*
He flushed. *”Er—no. Fancy the cinema?”*
*”You asked for help, and now—”* She stuffed her notepad away and vanished through her door before he could blink.
*”I’ll go with you,”* Rebecca purred. He’d forgotten she was there.
Her words buzzed in his ears as he replayed Eleanor’s eyes, her lips.
*”Piss off,”* he snapped, walking away. Rebecca finally took the hint.
The next day, he waited again.
*”Need more maths help?”* she teased.
*”No. I fancy you,”* he blurted, cheeks burning.
Eleanor studied him. Kids shrieked around them; mates called his name—but all he saw was her, those gold-specked eyes.
*”Come on,”* she said suddenly.
*”Where?”*
*”The cinema. You invited me, remember?”*
They walked, James mentally tallying his wallet’s contents. At her house, she paused.
*”Meet back here in half an hour.”*
He sprinted home, raided his stash—not enough.
*”Why aren’t you changed?”* his gran called from the kitchen.
*”Gran, lend me twenty quid. Short for the flicks.”*
*”Eat first.”*
He wolfed down soup, gulped it half-chewed. Gran tutted but handed him fifty.
*”Cheers!”* He kissed her cheek and bolted.
Fifteen minutes later, he waited by Eleanor’s door.
Just like that, love hit him. She consumed his thoughts—dreaming, waking. He aced the test.
From then on, he waited for her daily, walked her home. For her birthday: flowers and a plush polar bear. He sought her in every room, burned under her gaze in class.
After school, James applied to uni—comp sci, as planned. Luck was on his side. Eleanor got into med school.
They met less often, sharing updates between kisses that left them dizzy. They never went further—he’d wait. He was sure they’d end up together.
After second year, a reunion was planned. James didn’t miss his classmates, but Eleanor would be there.
She never showed. He nearly left—until Rebecca latched onto him, clinging all through the train ride. The “country house” was a rustic cottage. They grilled, girls chopped salads, bottles appeared.
They drank, sang, joked. Late into the night, the girls took the beds; the lads crashed in the hayloft.
James hadn’t drunk much, but the air, wine, and exhaustion knocked him out.
In the dark, a warm body pressed against him, lips searing his. *”Eleanor… You came…”* his foggy mind supplied. He rolled over, pulling her closer.
*”Quiet—don’t wake them,”* Rebecca’s voice hissed.
He jerked back, but she clung like ivy, her tongue invading his mouth.
He knew what was happening, but booze and longing muddled his resistance.
At dawn, Rebecca was gone. He slipped out, drank from a bucket, and fled to the station. *”It didn’t happen. She came onto me. Eleanor can’t know,”* he chanted like a mantra.
He called Eleanor—no answer. Rebecca rang instead.
*”Where are you? Everyone’s lookingHe took her hand, and as the sun dipped behind the rooftops, he finally understood that some love stories aren’t about endings—they’re about the moments in between.
