“I Choose You…”
On the very first day of university, two girls locked eyes across the lecture hall. Both pretty, with an uncanny resemblance. From then on, they were inseparable.
Lydia believed she deserved better than a life in some sleepy market town like her parents. Her mother worked as a shop assistant, her father a builder—who, naturally, enjoyed a pint or three too many. After school, she announced she was off to London to study.
Her parents sighed but didn’t argue. Maybe she’d have better luck than her older sister, who’d rushed into a doomed marriage and was now raising two kids alone. They couldn’t send much money, but they promised jars of homemade jam and veg from the garden whenever a neighbour was heading that way. One of them happened to be a train conductor on the London route.
Once in London, Lydia vowed never to go back. She latched onto Katie because Katie was a proper Londoner—her dad a doctor, her mum an accountant. Respectable, middle-class.
Katie pitied Lydia, and Lydia milked it. Complained her boots had holes? Katie handed over a spare pair. Nothing to wear for a night out? Katie loaned her a dress—thankfully, they were the same size. And when exams loomed, Lydia “studied” at Katie’s, since the dorm was hopeless for revision.
Lydia despised studying but forced herself through it. Clubs could wait. Once she had her degree and a London postcode, she’d make up for lost time.
Katie, meanwhile, breezed through lectures without breaking a sweat. Lydia seethed with envy but kept it tucked away. Of course, they both fell for the same bloke—charming, sporty, and army-brat handsome. His dad had been stationed abroad, but now he was back in London. Soon, the trio was inseparable.
“Dave, mate, how d’you manage two at once? Spare one for the rest of us,” the lads teased.
Even tutors joked, nudging him to pick one.
Dave shrugged it off. He preferred Katie’s calm warmth but dodged showing it, not wanting anyone to think he’d chosen her for her London pedigree.
In lectures, his knee would brush hers ‘accidentally’. He’d lean in like he had something urgent to whisper. Lydia noticed, of course—saw the way their faces froze, the unspoken tension. It wasn’t fair. Born in London, raised by professionals, and now she’d snagged the best bloke too?
Dave tired of pretending. He confessed his feelings to Katie and started gently icing Lydia out. The trio crumbled. Lydia wouldn’t stand for it—she wouldn’t lose Katie *or* Dave.
So she plotted. No direct attacks—something subtler. Make them argue, split them up, fast. Third year was ending. What if they got engaged before graduation?
*If only she’d break a leg. No, Dave would just carry her everywhere. Maybe a nasty breakout. I’ll buy her strawberries…*
Fate, annoyingly, spared Katie. Lydia got the spots instead.
Right before exams, Dave’s mum fell seriously ill. He deferred his tests until August and rushed home. London was basking in rare sunshine—perfect beach weather, not textbook weather. After their first exam, the girls wandered past a bridal boutique.
“Which dress would you pick?” Lydia asked, pressing her nose to the glass.
“Dunno. Haven’t thought about it.”
“Liar. Every girl dreams of a white dress. I’d want *that* one.” She pointed to a frothy, princess-style gown. “Suits me, yeah? Let’s try it on—it’s free!”
“No way. It’s sweltering. Let’s get ice cream,” Katie tugged her away.
“Come *on*,” Lydia whined. “Play along. I’m the bride, you’re the maid of honour!”
“Trying on dresses before a proposal? Bad luck. You’ll never marry.”
“Old wives’ tales. Brides plan *years* ahead. Just one dress!”
Katie caved.
Inside, a bored shop assistant perked up. Lydia scrutinised every gown, chose ‘hers’, and posed dramatically. Katie admitted it looked stunning—ready for a registry office, if only she had a groom.
“We’ve a dress that hardly fits anyone. Petite like you? Perfect. I’ll knock off 20%,” the assistant told Katie.
“It’s *her* getting married,” Katie flustered.
“Plenty of time to change that. Just try it!”
Katie did. When she stepped out, Lydia’s throat tightened. The dress clung like it was made for her—elegant, simple, flawless.
“Needs a veil,” Lydia muttered.
“A tiara would suit better,” the assistant chirped.
“Fetch one,” Lydia snapped, masking her envy.
Of *course* Katie looked perfect. Lydia’s own dress now seemed cheap and frumpy. The assistant fixed a jewelled hairpin into Katie’s updo.
“Mind if I snap a photo? Stunning,” the assistant gushed.
“Me first!” Lydia whipped out her phone. “Smile. Now turn—look over your shoulder. Perfect!”
“Enough,” Katie laughed, fleeing to change.
“I’ll help!” The assistant scurried after her.
Alone, Lydia’s brain sparked. *This* was how she’d ruin them. She scrolled through the photos—Katie, radiant. A quick edit, a text to Dave: *”Off proposing? Your girl’s already picking a dress.”* Even better—a bloke outside, on his phone. Perfect ‘groom’ illusion.
Katie emerged. “Let’s go.”
“Loved it. If I don’t find better, I’ll take this,” Lydia told the assistant, clinging to her act.
After exams, Lydia skipped going home—her sister had taken over her old room with the kids. She called, boasting about a job, so her mum cheerfully cut off her allowance.
“Ollie’s kids need so much!” her mum sighed.
“No surprise there. The second I say I’m working, she stops sending cash.”
“They’re struggling too. Your sister needs help,” Katie soothed.
“She should’ve thought *before* spawning kids with a deadbeat!”
“I’d never ditch you. Come over—Mum made borscht.”
Lydia squeezed her hand. “Don’t know what I’d do without you.”
A month later, she sent Dave the edited photo.
He returned in August, grim-faced.
“Your mum okay?” Katie probed.
“She’s fine. Congrats, by the way.”
“On what?”
“Your wedding. Why’d you keep it quiet?”
“What? That was a *joke*! Lydia dragged me in—Dave, let me explain—”
“Funny joke,” he spat, walking off.
“You *sent* him that photo?!” Katie rounded on Lydia.
“You looked gorgeous! Wanted to nudge him to propose!”
“Now he thinks I’m two-timing!”
Dave ghosted Katie, who, in turn, avoided Lydia. But Lydia wasn’t bothered. Term was starting—parents would send money again. Who needed Katie? She’d have Dave.
In lectures, Katie sat alone, stealing glances at Lydia and Dave. Then his mum died, and Lydia glued herself to his side. Soon, they’d filed for a registry office wedding. Explanations became pointless.
Dave’s dad got a teaching post in Manchester with a cushy flat. They transferred to distance learning and left.
Two years after graduation, Katie married her dad’s friend’s son—her parents’ choice. She didn’t care. They didn’t love each other. No kids came. He cheated; they divorced after seven years.
***
“You’re going *where*? That village is dead!” her mum protested.
“I need space. I can’t breathe here,” Katie near-shouted.
“Go to Spain then, or Greece!”
“I want *quiet*, not more crowds.” She exhaled. “You pushed me into marrying Henry. He never loved me—had a girlfriend the whole time. *You knew*. I’m done. I’ll figure things out. Don’t worry, I won’t do anything stupid. Not like there’s anyone to do it *for*.”
She remembered her grandad’s house as sturdy, proud. He’d built it himself, dreaming of generations filling it. But her dad left for London, built a career. The house stood empty after Grandad died, though someone local kept an eye on it.
From the train, she lugged her suitcase three miles, cursing her overpacking. The gate squeaked open. The house looked smaller now, dwarfed by new-build cottages. The key turned smoothly—someone had oiled the lock. Inside smelled of damp and old books.
She gathered firewood, lit the stove. Fetching water, she wrestled with the rusted pump.
“Been broken for years,” a voice said.
A bearded man stood by the fence.
“Where can I get water?”
“Come through.” He gestured to his yard. “Kitchen tapAs she turned to thank him, their eyes met—really met—for the first time in years, and in that quiet village under the fading evening sky, they both knew, without a word, that some choices were worth a second chance.
