Happiness Under the Bench
Emily walked into the shop after work. With just four days left until New Year’s Eve, her fridge was still empty. She hadn’t had time for anything—not even decorating the Christmas tree.
A bitter wind howled outside. After a brief thaw, the wet snow on the pavements had frozen into slippery ruts. Of all days, she’d worn heeled boots, and now she shuffled carefully, trying not to slip. The streetlamps flickered unevenly, as they always did, making it hard to see in the early winter dusk. The heavy shopping bags dug into her palms, her arms aching from the weight. Her legs throbbed with every step. *Why did I buy so much? I could’ve done half tomorrow,* she scolded herself.
She reached the bus stop and set the bags down on the narrow bench, rubbing her stiff, frozen fingers. Sinking onto the edge, she tucked her hands into her coat pockets, but the wind still nipped at her.
Cars rushed past, and Emily imagined how lovely it would be to sit in a warm car on a night like this. She’d long dreamed of owning one but hesitated to take out a loan. Now, she regretted it.
A bus hissed to a stop. People stepped off and hurried home without so much as a glance in her direction.
She was about to stand when she heard a faint groan. Glancing around, she saw no one—until the sound came again, right beside her. Jumping up, she peered behind the bench. The headlights of a passing car revealed a shadowy figure slumped in the corner.
Her first instinct was to leave. But if no one found him by morning, he might freeze—especially if he was drunk.
She pulled out her phone and shone the torch. A sleek black coat and polished shoes caught the light—nothing like a homeless person’s attire. When the beam reached his face, his lashes fluttered, but his eyes stayed shut. He was young, well-groomed, dressed smartly. She bent closer—no smell of alcohol.
“Hey, are you alright? You’ll freeze out here,” she said, nudging his shoulder. No response.
Without overthinking, she dialled 999.
“Wait there,” the tired voice of the dispatcher replied.
Emily shoved her phone away, huddling into her coat. She was freezing—how much worse must it be for him? She hesitated—what if he was robbed before help arrived?
By the time the ambulance arrived, her teeth were chattering. Two paramedics in blue jackets hurried over.
“Over there, in the corner,” she pointed.
As they bent over the man, another bus pulled up. Curious onlookers crowded around, pestering Emily for details.
“Step back, let us work,” one paramedic snapped.
He returned with a stretcher. “Help us lift him,” he asked the bystanders. They vanished instantly.
“What’s wrong with him?” Emily asked anxiously.
“Likely a heart attack. You found him just in time—another hour, and he’d have frozen. Here, leave your number in case we need to contact you.” He handed her a notepad.
“I can go now, right? I’m half-frozen waiting.” She scribbled her number and handed it back.
Watching the ambulance drive off, she grabbed her bags and trudged home, legs numb with cold.
Under hot water, she thawed her hands, then unpacked the shopping. All evening, she thought about the man. What had happened? Why was he there? She wished she’d asked which hospital he’d been taken to—she could’ve called tomorrow.
Two days later, an unknown number flashed on her phone. Snow tumbled outside, blanketing the ice on the roads, brightening the world. She hesitated, then answered.
“Emily?” A warm male voice.
“Yes. Who’s this?”
“You saved me—called the ambulance when I collapsed at the bus stop…”
“You’re alive?” Her heart leapt. “How are you feeling?”
“Better. I wanted to thank you. You left your number.”
“What happened?”
“Hard to explain over the phone. I could visit when I’m discharged—if you’d like.”
“Oh, no, that’s not necessary,” she fumbled.
Silence. She hesitated. She knew nothing about him.
He said goodbye and hung up. Only then did she realize she hadn’t asked his name.
She’d dated someone for four years, even lived together for two, but he’d never proposed. It took a year to heal after the breakup. She feared new relationships—feared loss and disappointment.
Her friends were the same: Rachel divorced, and Sarah’s boyfriend had died overseas. They’d drink, chatter, watch New Year’s shows, cry on each other’s shoulders, and dream. Misery loved company.
On the 31st, Emily lazed in bed late. Chopping vegetables for dinner, the doorbell rang. Too early for her friends.
She opened the door to a handsome man holding flowers and a bag.
“Emily?” He flashed a bright smile. “I came to thank you.”
“You—?”
“Me. Convinced the doctors to discharge me early.”
“How’d you get my address?”
“Not hard with your number. May I come in?”
Flustered, she stepped aside. He handed her the bouquet.
“And this.” He passed her the bag—pineapple leaves poked out, along with a gold-foiled champagne bottle. He was strikingly handsome, the kind you’d see in films.
“If not for you, who knows what would’ve happened,” he said, holding her gaze.
“Come in,” she murmured, hiding her blush in the roses.
He hung up his coat and followed her to the kitchen. He looked straight out of a magazine.
“Expecting guests?” he asked, eyeing the vegetables.
“My friends are coming.”
“What are you making?”
She shrugged. “The usual—turkey, roast potatoes…”
“Let me help. I’m Oliver, by the way. I work at The Crown. Know my way around a kitchen. Got an apron?”
Surprised, she handed him hers.
Soon, neatly plated dishes covered the table. They set up together, slipping into first-name ease.
“Why were you at the bus stop?” she asked.
Oliver explained: his restaurant’s holiday party. His girlfriend was there—kissing someone else.
“I confronted them. Made a scene. Stormed out. Drove aimlessly, furious—I thought she loved me. The car skidded a few times. Then my chest tightened—never felt that before. I pulled over near the bus stop. Next thing I knew, I woke up in hospital. They told me Emily saved me—gave me your number.”
“And your girlfriend?”
“Didn’t visit. Doesn’t matter now.” His words secretly pleased her.
“This looks like a restaurant spread. I could never manage this,” she said, admiring the table. “Should we start cooking the turkey?”
“Plenty of time. When are your friends coming?”
“An hour. I should change.” She headed off but paused. “Will you stay for New Year’s?”
“If you’d like. That’s why I’m here,” he said warmly.
She took ages picking a dress, fussing in the mirror. *What fool would let him go?*
Her friends arrived, gawking at the table.
“Since when can you cook like this?” Rachel gasped.
“I didn’t.”
Oliver stepped in.
“You kept a boyfriend secret?” Rachel ogled him shamelessly.
Emily laughed. “Found him on the street. Passed out at the bus stop.”
Oliver grinned, pouring wine. “She saved my life.”
“Guess I’ll start checking under benches,” Rachel joked.
“More like you’ll find a drunk,” Sarah muttered.
They laughed, danced. Emily watched Oliver deftly dodge Rachel’s advances, her heart sinking—soon, he’d leave.
By four, Sarah dragged a tipsy Rachel home. Oliver offered to drive them. Emily hid her jealousy behind a smile.
After cleaning up, she lingered, thinking of him. She feared being alone—but dared hope he’d return.
When the doorbell rang, her heart pounded. She knew it was him.
Sometimes, happiness waits under a bench—when you least expect it.
