Thomas stood by the window, gazing at the sunlit courtyard below. In the neighbouring building stood a Tesco Express, where people cut through the yard as a shortcut. But Thomas wasn’t interested in them. He was waiting for just one person—Emily.
For as long as he’d lived in this house, he’d been in love with her. Emily was two years older and lived two floors down. Nothing extraordinary—just a girl like any other. But to Thomas, she was special. The heart wants what it wants. His had chosen her, and there was nothing he could do about it.
She was finishing her A-levels and planning to study nursing. Now he wouldn’t be able to walk behind her to school or see her during breaks. All he could do was keep watch by the window, hoping for a glimpse.
Emily never noticed him. To her, Thomas was just a boy, a neighbour. So he hid his feelings, afraid she’d push him away for being just a schoolboy. He waited, counting the days until he turned eighteen, finished school, and could finally confess. But when he got his diploma and prepared for university, Emily got married—and quickly too.
From the window, Thomas saw the silver Audi with ribbons pull up outside, a tall man in a navy suit stepping out, impatiently pacing as he glanced at the second-floor windows. Then Emily burst out in a cloud of lace and tulle, tripping on the steps before falling straight into her groom’s arms. He scooped her up and put her in the car, then knelt to examine her shoe—broken, of course.
Emily’s mum ran out with a pair of white trainers. That’s how she got married—no time to buy new heels.
The whole neighbourhood buzzed about it. Everyone agreed it was a bad omen—the marriage wouldn’t last, they said. No happiness would come of it.
After the wedding, Thomas lay on his bed for two days, facing the wall. His mother nearly called a doctor, thinking he was ill. On the third day, he returned to the window—but Emily was gone. His mum said the newlyweds had left for Spain the day after the wedding. Thomas feared she’d move in with her husband and disappear forever. But two weeks later, Emily was back—tanned, glowing, walking through the courtyard. His heart leapt.
Her mother moved in with her eldest son, who’d just had a baby, leaving Emily and her husband to settle into married life. Months passed, and against all predictions, they seemed happy.
Life went on. Thomas saw Emily every day—though now, often with her husband. Then, six months later, they divorced.
His mother broke the news over dinner. The omen had come true. The marriage didn’t last. Rumour had it her husband’s ex-wife had shown up—they had a son together. He’d married Emily in a fit of anger but kept visiting the boy, reconciling with his ex. Too ashamed to admit his mistake, he’d let Emily find out another way.
“Decide for yourself,” the ex had said. “He loves his son. I’ve forgiven him. Let him go. You’ll find happiness.”
And Emily did let go. Thomas thought he could hear her crying through the walls, though he knew that was impossible. After three days without seeing her outside, he panicked—what if she’d hurt herself? His blood ran cold, and he sprinted to her door.
She answered red-eyed and dishevelled but with a flicker of hope in her puffy eyes. Seeing him, she collapsed onto the sofa, burying her face in a cushion. Thomas hesitated, then crouched beside her, gently rubbing her back until her sobs quieted.
She turned her tear-stained face to him, and in that moment, he loved her even more—messy, heartbroken, vulnerable. If that was even possible.
“Don’t cry,” he whispered. “Wait for me. After uni, I’ll marry you.”
Thomas started university. He saw Emily now and then—walking slowly, eyes downcast, groceries in hand. His chest ached with pity and love. He’d take her bags, crack jokes, tell funny stories. At her door, she’d take them back without inviting him in.
His mother knew, of course. She hoped he’d grow out of it, fall for someone his own age. Then she dropped another bomb: Emily was seeing someone new. A doctor. Married. Twice her age. His daughter was Emily’s age.
Who spread these rumours? The man never visited, never walked her home. Thomas burned with jealousy. But at least she wouldn’t marry *him*.
Winter came. Snow blanketed the courtyard, fairy lights twinkled in every window. Then one evening, Emily knocked on his door. His mother wasn’t home.
“Got an onion?” she asked, cheeks flushed, eyes bright.
“None left. Running to the shop’s a hassle. Come on, lend me one?”
Disappointed, he fetched her one. She turned it in her hands, then looked up.
“Actually, make it two? I’ll buy replacements.”
He handed her another.
“Expecting company?” he dared to ask.
She didn’t answer, just thanked him and left.
Resentment gnawed at him. Why couldn’t she see *him*? He was grown now—didn’t she feel his love? He glued himself to the window, scanning every shadow in the snow.
There was Mr. Carter from Flat 13. Mrs. Wilkins from the ground floor. Then—a stranger. A car pulled up, and out stepped a man in a sheepskin coat and fur hat. From four floors up, his legs looked stubby, his head oversized.
*Him. The one she’s waiting for.*
Thomas paced like a caged animal. He imagined them kissing, drinking wine, eating her cooking, then—
He returned to the window. The car was dusted with snow. He debated throwing something to trigger the alarm, ruin their evening. But before he could act, the man left—alone.
Heart pounding, Thomas rushed downstairs and rang her bell.
Emily answered, eyes dull.
“What do you want? More onions? Salt?”
Was she mocking him?
“Are you alone? Can I come in?”
She hesitated, then stepped aside. He walked straight to the kitchen. The table was set for two—wine opened but untouched. Emily blew out the candle.
“Let’s drink,” she said, reaching for the bottle.
Thomas poured. The red wine was rich, sweet. After two glasses, courage surged.
“Your doctor left fast. Did you break up?”
“He came to say he won’t leave his wife.” She looked up. “Why does no one love me? I’m not hideous.”
*”I* love you,” Thomas blurted. “Since Year Five.” And it all spilled out—how he’d watched her, waited, how jealous he’d been when she married. How he’d nearly lost it seeing that man arrive.
Emily listened, then took his hand and led him to the bedroom. At the edge of the bed, she unbuttoned her blouse. Thomas froze. The pale pink lace bra clinging to her was the most beautiful thing he’d ever seen.
He’d seen his mum’s plain, worn bras drying in the bathroom. They meant nothing. But this—his face burned just looking at it.
She shrugged off the blouse, then reached for her skirt’s zipper. Thomas grabbed her wrist.
“Don’t.”
The wine, her scent—his head spun. He swallowed hard, stepping back.
“Not like this.”
Emily’s eyes welled up. He grabbed her cardigan, draping it over her shoulders as she sat crying.
Thomas sat beside her, wiping his sweaty palms on his jeans. Too afraid to hug her, he stiffened when she leaned into him.
“You’re the best,” he murmured. “I promised Mum I wouldn’t marry till after uni. She raised me alone—I can’t disappoint her. But will you marry me?”
Emily stopped crying. His stomach dropped. *She’ll laugh. I’ll die of shame.*
But she didn’t laugh. She smiled.
“Yes.”
His heart soared.
“I’ll work, we can—”
The doorbell rang. They jumped. Emily answered—his mother stormed in, lips tight.
“I *knew* it. Home. Now.” She marched out without a glance at Emily.
Thomas followed.
“Why her?” his mother hissed inside. “Plenty of nice girls your age, and you pick *that*—”
“I love her,” he said firmly. “After uni, I’m marrying her. Nothing’s happened yet. But if you interfere, I’ll move in with her *today.*”
His mother deflated. Blinking fast, she turned away. Thomas knew he’d won.
From then on, he visited Emily often—cinema dates, walks home where he made her laugh with uni tales, swapping stories of hospital life.
After graduating, Thomas landed a job at a firm. One day, he showed up at Emily’s with red roses. Her mum answered, the flat smelling of fresh pies.
“Thomas! Look at you, all grownAs he knelt on one knee in the kitchen and slipped the ring onto her finger, the last of his doubts melted away, knowing this was where he was always meant to be.
