**For Love**
“Excuse me, miss, do you know where Suvorov Street is? I’ve been walking in circles, and no one seems to know.”
A handsome bloke stood in front of Emily, a large black duffel bag slung over his shoulder.
“Is this your way of chatting someone up?” she asked, raising an eyebrow.
“My name’s James. And you?”
“Margaret,” Emily smirked and started walking away, but the lad caught up.
“Honestly, I really am looking for the street. A mate invited me to his wedding, and I don’t know the city at all.”
Emily finally noticed his checked button-down, loose trousers—not the skinny jeans everyone wore these days—and the travel bag. Definitely not a local.
“Keep going straight, turn right at the traffic lights into the alley. That’ll be Suvorov Street,” she said, softening.
“Cheers.” James grinned, his whole face lighting up. “So, what’s your real name?”
“What’s yours?”
“Mum’s a fan of Shakespeare, so she named me James. Could’ve been worse—imagine being called Oberon.” He laughed, and Emily had never heard such a warm, genuine laugh from a bloke before.
“No idea if my mum likes Shakespeare, but she named me Emily.” She laughed too.
“Fancy coming to the wedding with me tomorrow? My mate’s getting hitched. Don’t know a soul here.” His hopeful gaze made her hesitate. He seemed sincere, likeable.
“Sorry, I’ve got an exam. Need to study.” She turned to leave again.
“Give me your number, and I’ll go. How else will I tell you what time the wedding is?”
“Did I say I’d go with you?” Emily countered.
“No, but… You’re a student, right? Let me guess—” James pretended to ponder. “You’re studying to be a doctor.”
“I am. How’d you know?”
“Mum always says the kindest people are teachers and doctors. I won’t leave till you give me your number. I’ll follow you home, stand in the middle of your courtyard, and shout your name.”
Reluctantly, Emily dictated her number.
“I’ll call!” he called after her.
Mum had wanted James to go to university after sixth form. But he missed the grades for a scholarship, and they couldn’t afford tuition fees. Like most lads, he preferred football to textbooks.
They lived in a small market town, just him and his mum, who taught English literature at the only school. Even the local clinic was basic—serious cases went to the city.
James got a job at his dad’s old mate’s garage. He’d go to uni after his service. Girls liked him, but none had touched his heart. His dad had died in a fire—he’d been a builder, constructing a grand house for them.
One evening, he saw smoke billowing from a terraced house. That summer’s heatwave had brought endless fires. A woman ran to him, begging for help—her son was still inside. Flames roared as neighbours gathered. The door was locked from within. His dad smashed a window and vanished into the fire. He found the boy quickly, but smoke had overcome him. His dad passed the child through the window—but never made it out.
Turned out, the woman’s husband had come home drunk, locked the door, and passed out with a cigarette…
The next day, James called Emily. Asked about her exam, reminded her about the wedding.
It was Saturday, no lectures. Emily agreed. May was warm, cherry blossoms littering the pavement like snow. When James saw her, he froze, awestruck.
After the wedding, he walked her home. They talked, kissed at the doorstep.
“I’m leaving tomorrow. You should visit me. It’s beautiful there. The church tower view is breathtaking. We’ve got our own house—my dad built it. A river cuts the town in half.”
When Dad was alive, they’d fish at dawn—mist on the water, dew on the grass, silence so deep you heard the fish splash. They’d bring back perch, roach, even a pike once.” He spread his arms wide. “Well, maybe not that big. When I was in the service, I dreamt of home every night…”
“Why didn’t you go to the Open University straight away?” Emily asked.
“Mum said education should be full-time. But I reckon she just wanted me to leave, live in the city. Jobs are scarce back home. Come after your exams. You’ll see how beautiful it is. Just two hours by coach.”
They talked till dawn, Emily shivering.
On the coach, he texted: *Miss you already. Waiting.* Emily smiled over breakfast.
“Was that yesterday’s lad?” Mum asked.
“You saw us?”
“Of course. Who is he? Another student?”
“Yeah, at the polytechnic,” Emily lied. She knew Mum wanted the best for her only daughter. A mechanic from a small town wouldn’t do.
They spent hours on calls, Skyping late. One weekend, James visited. Summer visitors crowded the garage—he left on the last coach.
“You promised to visit. I’m waiting.”
After exams, Emily told her parents she was staying with a friend.
“Since when do you have friends out of town?” Mum asked.
“It’s gorgeous there—river, fishing.”
“So you’re going fishing now?” Mum scoffed.
“Leave her be. She’s grown,” Dad cut in. “I wouldn’t mind a rod myself.”
“Gotta go, thanks, Mum.” Emily pecked her cheek before they could argue.
Dad drove her to the station.
“You’re not really seeing a friend, are you?”
“Don’t tell Mum. I’ll be fine.”
“Hope you know what you’re doing. Call us.”
James met her. Her small hand vanished in his as they walked to his house. The town was lovely. Emily worried about his mum—she wasn’t his fiancée, yet they’d share a home.
She expected a cottage, but James led her to a two-storey house. Dad had built it for the future—room for a family.
Her room was cosy. Hot water, shower, gas—even a stove, just in case. A framed photo showed James’ dad—they looked alike.
They walked for hours, talking nonstop. At night, Emily lay awake, replaying the day, listening to the house creak like sighs for its lost master.
James took days off to help her settle. Work was hectic—a mechanic had broken his arm.
That day, he fixed a car quickly, called the owner.
“Bring it over. My wife’s pregnant—can’t leave her.”
“No problem.” James changed, drove across the river. New estates loomed there.
Teens always loitered by the bridge—swimming, fishing, watching the current. James saw a boy fall in. He slowed to scold them—bridge-jumping was dangerous. But the lads dragged him to the railing.
A section was broken. The boy had slipped through. James scanned the water—no sign of him. He jumped.
A cement slab lay below, jagged with rebar. Lucky he hadn’t dived headfirst. One rod gashed his back. He saw the boy, tried lifting him—but pain shot through his spine.
Gritting his teeth, he pushed the boy up. But his legs wouldn’t move. A teen swam out.
James’ abandoned car blocked the bridge. A driver saw the commotion, rushed down. The boy was saved.
James fought the current, arms only. The man pulled him ashore unconscious. The ambulance took him to the city.
Doctors shook their heads. They lacked the skill for spinal surgery. Even the city hospital couldn’t help.
“A vertebra’s shattered. We can’t remove fragments without risking nerve damage. He needs London.”
“I’ll arrange London, but it’s costly. The vertebra needs replacing. No guarantees he’ll walk.”
James’ mum wept. She couldn’t afford it.
“Take him to London. I’ll get the money,” Emily said, running.
“What’s happened? I knew this trip would bring trouble!” Mum yelled when Emily burst in.
She ignored her, changed, and went to Dad’s office.
“Dad, I need to talk…” She told him everything.
“That’s a fortune. We don’t have it. And you barely know this lad. Even if we find the money, he might never walk.”
“But how can we live if we don’t try? He saved a child! His mum’s got no one else. Tell me, Dad, how?” She turned away, crying.
Robert looked at his daughter. For her, he’d do anything. Sell the house, give a kidney. But for a stranger… Yet if he didn’t help, she’d never forgive him. He called a friend.
“Hi, Mike… Life’s good…” Small talk first. “I’m selling the cottage. Need the cash. Life or death.”
“Mike’s coming. We’Mike would help arrange the funds, and with the surgery in London, James would slowly regain his strength, proving that love and determination could conquer even the greatest odds.
