“Do you think we’re back together?” – Emily pressed herself against James.
“So? Not bad, right?” – Charlotte twirled in front of the mirror, trying on a pair of trousers. “Em, come on, enough moping. Go somewhere, change the scenery, distract yourself, fall in love for heaven’s sake.” She shoved her hands into her pockets and bent one knee. “Nope, I definitely like these. If you don’t mind, I’ll take them. Thanks.” With a bounce, she plopped onto the sofa beside Emily, hugged her, and planted a kiss on her cheek.
Emily sighed, stood up, and walked to the mirror.
“You’re right, I look dreadful. Lost weight, pale as a ghost. I was the one who ended things, and now I regret it. Fine. Tomorrow I’ll apply for leave. No—first, I’ll book the earliest tickets, then apply for leave.” For the first time that evening, Emily smiled.
“Now that’s more like it,” Charlotte encouraged.
The smile transformed Emily. It wasn’t just her lips—her eyes crinkled into crescent moons, sparkling with mischief. “Cheeky little devil,” Charlotte would say. Lately, though, Emily hadn’t smiled much.
It was her laugh that made James fall for her in the first place. She and Charlotte had been sitting on a bench in the office park, licking ice cream and giggling over something when he walked past. He glanced back, and they burst into even louder, more infectious laughter.
Two days later, they were at the same bench. This time, James walked straight up to them, stopping right in front of Emily.
“And you are?” Charlotte asked bluntly, making them both snort.
“I’m Alexander. I’ve been coming here every day hoping to see you again. You were here two days ago… Your laugh…” He couldn’t tear his eyes away from Emily.
She suddenly realised—he was serious. He liked her. He was afraid she’d brush him off harshly. She smiled, and when his face lit up in delighted surprise, she laughed—not mockingly, but with pure joy because no one had ever looked at her like that before. Mischievous sparks danced in her half-lidded eyes. Later, he’d say that was the moment he fell for her, not Charlotte, who was objectively prettier and more striking.
James won her over with his admiration, attention, and love. They moved in together, lasted two years. Then… It was time for a proposal or a split. Things had become too ordinary, too predictable.
James grew quiet. Her laugh no longer had its magical pull. So Emily decided his love had faded. She didn’t wait for him to say it—she ended things herself.
He protested, but weakly. A fortnight later, Emily realised her mistake. Without James, life was worse. After a month, she was climbing the walls with loneliness. By the second month, she knew she couldn’t live without him.
Then Charlotte barged in, moaning about a bloke who’d invited her to a concert. She’d bought a fabulous blouse but had no trousers to match—so Emily offered hers. They were too loose now anyway, thanks to her James-induced moping.
“Just get him back before he shacks up with some random,” Charlotte suggested.
“No. Then he’ll think I depend on him, on his love. Like I’m submitting or something,” Emily mused.
“Submit to the man you love? Bloody brilliant, that.”
“And what if we get back together and I feel bored again? Or him?”
“You overthink everything. Open the laptop, let’s find tickets,” Charlotte ordered.
Surprisingly, cheap tickets popped up straight away—two weeks from now, perfect timing.
Emily convinced her boss to approve her leave, claiming she’d lose her mind if she didn’t escape London for a while. Travelling south alone was nerve-wracking—she’d always gone with family, James, or Charlotte and her chap. Never solo.
“You’re a smart, grown woman. But for God’s sake, be careful,” Charlotte lectured at the train station.
Emily had refused to fly—too noisy and expensive. Trains were better. Lie on the bunk, watch the scenery blur past, doze to the rhythm of the rails. Dream of the sea. Step off into that unmistakable southern air, dive straight into the waves…
She didn’t want serious relationships anymore. Love brought pain, disappointment, and the fear that someday it would all end, forcing her to start over.
“You’re nearly thirty. The ‘everything’s ahead’ phase is over. Relationships change. Nothing stays perfect—not love, not people. Mutual love is rare. So choose: would you rather love or be loved? Take what’s given. Just live and be happy. Stop overanalysing,” Charlotte prattled, while Emily scanned the crowd for James.
Her bunkmates were an elderly couple and their spotty teenage grandson. The scrawny lad stared at Emily without blinking. She ignored him at first—let the kid gawk, probably his first time sharing close quarters with a woman.
Eventually, she stared back until he blushed and looked away. Victory.
Granddad snored or did crosswords the whole trip. Granny complained—their son had divorced, both parents were too busy with new partners, so they’d dumped the boy on them. What could two old folk offer a teenager? And now they were stuck dragging him to the coast…
They arrived without incident. Emily hunted for a seaside room with a view—waking to waves and seagulls. She found one, though far from the main beach. Perfect. Solitude beat packed sands and screaming kids any day.
She spent her days walking the shore, meditating on the horizon where sea met sky, watching distant white ships. She tanned, glowed, and finally relaxed.
Then a handsome stranger appeared. Loneliness had worn thin, so she welcomed the company. Daniel said he’d noticed her, that he too preferred solitude. Turns out, they had loads in common—he’d recently divorced, healing his heart by the sea. They strolled, swam, dined out, walked the promenade under starry skies. Shared misery bonded them.
It might’ve stayed at walks and starlit chats—if Daniel hadn’t shown up late one night, tossing pebbles at her window as she prepared for bed.
“I came to say goodbye,” he said sadly. “My dad’s in hospital—just got the call. I’m leaving at dawn. I can’t bear to go… You’re everything I’ve ever wanted.”
Emily hid her dismay. She opened the window and let him in. What a night. Not just sex—intimacy. She forgot everything. She fancied him—no, more than fancied. She was in love.
“I’ll call. Once Dad’s better, I’ll come to you,” he whispered.
They exchanged numbers. Emily gave him her London address. Exhausted, she fell into deep sleep by dawn.
When she woke, Daniel was gone—slipped out the way he came.
She texted, wishing him a safe journey, saying she missed him already. “Thanks for an unforgettable night!” he replied, with a heart-eyed emoji.
After he left, loneliness crushed her. She thought of him constantly, reliving memories, phone glued to her hand, waiting for messages that never came. She called—his phone was off. Texts went unread. She refused to believe he’d bolted, lied—she waited, hoped.
Next day, she checked her money. Gone—only loose change remained. The truth hit: she’d been scammed. Days passed in tears over her fleeting happiness and naivety. At least she’d booked the return ticket.
Charlotte had warned her. Probably not even divorced—just another smooth-talking conman preying on sun-drunk, love-starved women.
Then she realised—her keys were missing. She hadn’t hidden them, just tucked them in her suitcase’s outer pocket. They couldn’t have fallen—the pocket zipped shut. The landlady wouldn’t need London keys… but someone who’d left early, who’d taken her address, might.
The pain was unbearable. And she didn’t even know the worst yet.
A neighbour, hearing sobs in the hallway, called a locksmith. The door swung open—wardrobes gaping, drawers ransacked. Her new laptop, mink coat, gold jewellery, anything portable—gone.
The neighbour said she’d heard footsteps the night before. Thought Emily had returned early.
“Should call the police,” the neighbour advised.
Emily collapsed onto the sofa, weeping.
What good would police do? She knew nothing about him—even his name was probably fake. He’d flog the goods elsewhere, maybe gift them to his wife and kids. They’d laugh at the gullible fool.
“Well, you’re alive. That’s what matters,” the neighbour said.
That set Emily wailing. She’d heard these stories—never thought she’d be the punchline.
She called Charlotte. She came—with James.
“I had a feeling something was wrong. Called Charlotte,” he said.
“Yeah, kept pestering me about when you’d beEmily buried her face in James’ shoulder, laughing through her tears, knowing that sometimes the love you push away is the one you were always meant to keep.
