They sat on the riverside, watching ducks snatch bits of bread tossed by children mid-air. Exams were over, two months of freedom ahead—no lectures, no tedious seminars, no exhausting tests.
“What’s your plan?” the boy asked, eyes fixed on the shimmering path the sunlight carved on the water.
“Sleep. Read. Walks,” the girl answered without hesitation, as if reciting a well-rehearsed line. “And you? Going home?” Her voice dipped, a shadow crossing her face as she glanced at him.
“Nah. You know, I’ve always dreamed of the sea. Never been. My mates came back tanned, bragging about shells, dolphins, jellyfish… My parents never had the money. Then Mum passed, and the sea wasn’t even a thought.”
“We went to Cornwall every summer when Dad was still with us,” she murmured, gaze drifting as if she could see those sunlit days again. “So… do you have the money now?”
“No. But I can borrow.”
“From who? Half our mates are already home; the other half blew their loan on post-exam drinks. And you’d have to pay it back,” Emily said, eyeing Jack’s sharp profile with disapproval.
“Not much, just enough for tickets and food. It’s warm there—‘For under every bush, a ready feast.’” He grinned, quoting the old proverb. “Lodging’s dirt cheap. I’ll earn it back. Just need time.”
“You don’t know that. Peak season, everything’s booked. A patch under a tree’ll cost you hotel prices. And how did that proverb end, eh?” Her tone was chiding.
“Always so practical. If I find the money, will you come?” Jack turned, catching her hesitant look.
“Doubt it. Mum would never let me,” she admitted.
A duck suddenly flapped its wings, startling the others. They both looked up as it soared, snatching bread mid-flight before gliding away, triumphant.
Jack fished his mobile from his jeans. “Oi, Tom? Yeah, passed… Doesn’t matter—point is, I did. Listen, lend us three hundred quid… No? How much you got? Is that all? Fine. You home tonight? I’ll swing by.” He pocketed the phone. “Sorted. You in?”
“Seriously? Train tickets to the coast sold out months ago.”
“We’ll hitch, take back routes. Or admit you’re scared.” He smirked.
“I’m not scared,” Emily shot back. “It’s just… Mum won’t allow it.”
***
“Are you mad?” Her mother’s voice was sharp. “Down south with a boy? Is that the sort of girl you want to be?”
“Mum, I’m eighteen. Don’t make me sneak out.” Emily’s voice wavered.
“Run away from your own mother? For what?”
“I love him,” she whispered. The worst possible argument.
Her mother sighed. “You’ve got your whole life ahead. Study, marry, then go.”
Emily swallowed a sob.
Her mother relented. “Fine. If you’re set on this… Just promise you’ll call if anything feels wrong.”
***
Two days of hitchhiking, endless hours on blistering tarmac, but when they saw the sea, exhaustion vanished. They sprinted to the water, shedding backpacks and trainers, scattering kids and sunbathers with their laughter.
Days blurred—swimming, sunbathing, aimless walks. Nights were spent on the cool sand, staring at stars, avoiding the stifling hostal room they’d rented for pennies.
By week two, the magic faded. Crowds, heat, even each other grated. Twenty-four hours together with no escape was harder than they’d thought.
But at the station, parting, none of it mattered. Jack was heading north to his dad’s; Emily clung to him, whispering she couldn’t bear to be apart.
“It’s just till term starts,” he said. “I’ll call every day.”
At home, she sank into a bath, then tea in her dressing gown. Life felt normal again.
***
Jack returned weeks later, hollow-cheeked from work. He handed her a velvet box. Inside, tiny sapphire studs—not the ring she’d half-hoped for.
Then she told him.
His reaction was flat. “We can’t. No money, no home. We’d resent each other.”
She nodded stiffly. Maybe he was right.
But after, something between them snapped. They still loved, but the ease was gone.
***
Years later, Dr. Emily Carter sat in her office at St. Mary’s Hospital when the nurse knocked.
“That motorbike crash victim’s father is here.”
In the ward, a man turned—older, greyer, but unmistakable.
“Jack?”
Her voice didn’t falter as she assessed his son’s fractures. Professional. Detached.
Later, at a café, he talked—business, his son, the life he’d built.
“Eighteen? So you married right after uni?” she said coldly.
His face tightened.
She stood. “You were right to end it. No regrets.”
But at home, she wept.
Her mother found her. “You still love him?”
“I thought I’d forgotten.”
Her mother sighed. “Maybe it’s better this way. Before love turns to habit.”
Emily wiped her eyes. Better to remember each other young, unbroken.
No regrets.
She stood. “Mum… fancy a trip to Cornwall?”
