Love
Oliver sat staring at his phone for what felt like hours. He’d been putting this off forever. Finally, he took a deep breath and pressed call. One ring. Two… “No, I can’t do this,” he scolded himself for his cowardice and was about to hang up when suddenly, a familiar voice crackled through:
“Oi, you old git! Where’ve you been hiding?”
“Hey. Just… busy with things,” Oliver muttered.
“Everything alright? Need help?” his mate, Mike, fired back instantly.
“No, no, all good. How’s life treating you?”
“Not bad. Though our Emily’s giving us grief. Gone and fallen in love, can you believe it? One minute she’s bawling, next she’s dancing about. Can’t drag her out the door, then she’s out till all hours. And the kicker? Clams up like she’s MI5. Speaking of—you still not married?”
Oliver swallowed like he was about to dive off a ten-meter board. Here it was—the slippery question.
“Not yet. But… I’m planning to,” he croaked.
“Blimey, someone’s finally cracked the great bachelor? About time, mate. Don’t you dare skip inviting us. I’ll never forgive you.”
“Wouldn’t dream of it.”
“Coming down to visit anytime?”
Oliver had been dreading this. No turning back now.
“Actually… I’m already here. Been here a while.”
“What? And you didn’t say a word, you absolute wally! Staying in a hotel? Sarah’ll have your head. When you popping round?”
“Oi, slow down—I can’t answer all that at once,” Oliver laughed weakly. “I’ll drop by… eventually.”
He’d been back six months. No need for Mike to know that. There’d been the flat to buy, furniture to sort, job hunting, not to mention his dad being poorly. And the real reason he’d stayed quiet? Emily.
“None of this ‘eventually’ nonsense. Heard? I know you. Get over here now,” Mike demanded.
“Too late tonight. Tomorrow,” Oliver promised.
“Better not flake. Sarah’ll kill me if you do.”
Step one taken. If only Mike knew the bombshell he was about to drop. Emily would be proud—he was acting like some nervy teenager scared to meet his girlfriend’s parents. “*She* held it together. Meanwhile, I’m the one sweating bullets. Blimey, I held her as a newborn. Now I want to marry her.”
But let’s rewind.
—
They’d been mates since uni—Mike, Oliver, and Sarah. Both lads fell hard for the clever, gorgeous girl half their year fancied. No one stood a chance against Mike and Oliver’s rivalry. They rowed over her, neither willing to back down. Sarah, if she guessed at the chaos in their hearts, played it cool—never favouring one, never milking her power.
It nearly came to fists. In the end, they shook on it: if she picked one of them—or neither—no interference. Still, each pulled every trick to win her over. Sarah stayed neutral. All they could do was wait.
Then, third year, Sarah started giving Oliver attention. His ego ballooned. Mike? Absolutely gutted. But a deal’s a deal. He vanished from lectures just to avoid them.
Oliver bought a bottle of whiskey and showed up at Mike’s. They drank and talked all night. By dawn, Oliver realised he didn’t love Sarah like Mike did. Mike literally couldn’t live without her.
Solution? Oliver faked falling for another girl. Sarah, predictably, went nuclear—tears, shouting, accusations of betrayal. Just as planned, she ran straight to Mike.
And Mike loved her so fiercely, she soon loved him back. Oliver burned with jealousy—love doesn’t vanish overnight—but he knew Sarah’d be happier with Mike. Never regretted it. Not once. Neither Mike nor Sarah ever guessed his hand in their happiness.
They married right after graduation. Oliver was best man. Nine months later, baby Emily arrived. Both lads raced to the hospital, grinning, flowers in hand. The midwife hesitated—who to hand the pink-swaddled bundle to?
Mike stepped forward, took her… then passed her to Oliver.
“Hold her, mate—I’ll drop her. Too shaky,” he whispered.
Oliver cradled her, peeked into the blanket. A tiny miracle with rosebud lips, a button nose, and cheeks like velvet. His heart clenched so hard his eyes watered. *”She could’ve been mine.”*
Days later, Oliver vanished—first to Manchester, then up north. He’d visit occasionally. Emily grew into Sarah’s spitting image—from a scrawny kid with plaits to a stunner. He envied his friends’ happiness, quietly. Never found *the one* himself. Plenty of women, but none stuck.
—
Emily always got special treatment. Maybe from that first moment in the hospital, his heart flooding at the sight of her. This visit, he was stunned—she was a woman now, Sarah reborn. No more running hugs or cheek kisses. Just shy glances. He chalked it up to growing up.
His holiday ended too soon. With his parents ageing, Oliver seriously considered moving back. They said goodbye at home—he had an early train to London, then a flight to Edinburgh.
The carriage was near empty. Oliver slumped by the window, eyes shut, hoping for a nap. The train jolted into motion. He felt someone sit opposite. A stare burned into him. He opened his eyes—and there was Emily. Sleep evaporated.
“What’re you doing here?”
“Seeing you off.” She held his gaze. “I know you don’t take me seriously. But I love you.” Straight out with it.
Oliver reeled. “I love you too. Like a daughter. My best mates’ kid.” Firm. “Your parents don’t know you’re here, do they? Next stop, you’re getting off. I can’t miss this flight.”
“I knew you’d say that.” No tears. Just a calm, knowing smile. Not a girl—a woman now, playing him masterfully. Her confession wasn’t dramatic, just painfully sincere. No clichés would cut it.
“I loved your mum once. You know that. I’m thirty-seven. What happens if I say yes? When you’re my age, I’ll be ancient. You’ll resent me. People’ll pity you. You’ll take a younger lover—”
“You’re overthinking,” she cut in, switching to *you*. “What if I don’t *live* to see you old? Life’s unpredictable. Either way, I’ll break your heart. Why not be happy till then?”
Damn, she’d done her homework. Oliver was speechless.
“We could just talk. Calls, texts. I’ve got school, then uni. Don’t think I’ll fall for some clueless boy and forget you.”
“What if *I* meet someone?” Oliver recovered, playing along.
“Doubt it. You just said you love me.” The train slowed. She moved beside him, kissed him—properly, no clumsiness.
As the doors opened, she walked out, head high. Oliver pressed to the window, scanning the platform. Gone. Like a dream. But his lips still tingled.
He wished she’d screamed or cried. This was worse. Was it love or a brilliant trap? Did he have the right to derail her life? But he soothed himself—time would fix it. She’d see sense, find someone her age.
She called as he queued to board. Nonsense chatter. Yet no woman had ever wrung his heart like this.
Calls became daily. If she missed one, he paced, craving her voice. Emails brimmed with poetry. He replied carefully—her parents might read them.
Sometimes, she Skyped. Twirling before prom, begging his opinion on her dress. So young. So breathtaking.
He begged her to forget him, cited his age, lied about meeting someone. Silence followed. Relief—and aching loneliness. Then she called. “I didn’t believe you.” And the cycle resumed.
His dad fell ill, speeding Oliver’s return. Surgery in London, then a flat near his parents. Mike and Sarah? Kept in the dark. Because of Emily.
He avoided spots they might bump into each other. Then—they did. The longing hit him like a truck. They started meeting, chastely (though it took Herculean restraint). He vowed to tell her parents himself.
The day came. Fancy wine, roses for Sarah, violets for Emily (her favourite). The reunion was warm. Mike had softened—paunch, thinning hair. Oliver? “You’ve barely aged,” Sarah noted.
Nostalgia flowed. Emily sat quietly, sneaking adoring looks. Mike noticed.
“Fag break,” he said, hauling Oliver outside.
“Spill.”
Oliver did. Apologised. Said he’d fought their feelings tooth and nail.
“Want me to die? Disappear?”Years later, as Oliver rocked their grandson to sleep, Emily tucked against his side, and Sarah and Mike laughing in the kitchen over tea, he finally understood—love wasn’t about timing, but about who made your heart feel like home.”
