We met up in the same little park in RegentsPark where everything started twenty years ago, not because we planned it, but because an odd autumn breeze seemed to be flipping through the pages of our old lives.
Edward Mason was strolling down the lane, the path lit by those golden lampposts, and tucked in the pocket of his coat was a crumpled rail ticket for the evening train out of London. He was about to leave for good, and this walk felt like his quiet goodbye to the city that had held all his summers and his first teenage years.
She was already on the old bench the one with a chipped corner on the seat and the mysterious initials E+P scratched into the backrest. Wrapped in a beige trench coat, she was watching the pond where ducks were nudging the bank, begging strangers for bits of bread.
Edward stopped, and his heart made that old, forgotten motion not a thump, more a swing like a pendulum nudging time backwards. Hed recognize her in a thousand faces not in the polished, slightly tired stranger, but in the tilt of her head, in the way she clasped her hands on her knees.
Pippa? he said, his voice hoarse and a little strange.
She turned, not startled, as if shed been waiting for the name to be called. Her greygreen eyes widened.
Edward? Oh my Edward.
He came over and sat down, keeping a respectable gap between them a space that could easily hold two decades. The air smelled of damp leaves, a wisp of smoke and an expensive perfume, nothing like the sweet, daring scents of our youth.
What are you doing here? they asked almost in unison, then laughed awkwardly.
Turns out shed just popped out for a walk after a lecture at the nearby university, and he was saying his farewells.
A comfortable, heavy silence settled.
Remember, Pippa began, staring at the water, how we first met here? You were on your skateboard and almost knocked me over.
I didnt just almost, Edward grinned. I actually did. You fell straight into a puddle, and instead of apologising I shouted that youd ruined my board.
And I wasnt crying about ruined tights, Pippa shook her head, a few laughlines gathering at the corners of her eyes that to him were more beautiful than any jewellery. I was upset because you were such a lout. She smiled. Then the next day you turned up with a box of Squirrel chocolates.
And we camped on that bench until dark, Edward added softly.
Memory flickered like an old projector, throwing vivid, slightly faded frames onto the present. There they were, young and reckless, roasting sausages over a bonfire with friends, and she, covered in soot, feeding him from a fork while he pretended to bite his finger. Then they were sprinting through a torrential downpour after a film premiere, drenched to the bone, shouting with delight. Hed given her a silver ring with a tiny sapphire for her birthday, spending all his summer earnings, and shed pressed a hand to her lips, eyes shining.
They talked about all that now, words flowing easy as if none of it had been buried under years of routine, disappointment and adult life.
Do you recall the fight about where to study? Pippa asked. You wanted to go to Manchester, I couldnt leave because of mum.
I was an idiot, Edward whispered. I said if you love someone youll go to the ends of the earth.
And I said if you love someone youll understand, she sighed. We were so naive, convinced love was some magical force that could solve everything. It turned out to be fragile, like the first ice on that pond.
The wind shook a fresh batch of leaves from a maple, swirling them into a slow, farewell waltz.
So, are you all right? Edward asked, already knowing the answer. All right isnt really the word for our lives. You have a family, a job; Ive got my own company up north, my own worries. Everythings normal, but not good in the way two twentyyearolds on that bench would have meant it.
Yes, she replied, and he read the same sentiment in her eyes. All right.
He reached into his coat, squeezed the ticket the paper that cut him off from this city, this park, from her.
You know, he said, holding out his hand, I still remember how your hair smelled. Not perfume, just the hair itself a mix of apple shampoo and sunshine.
Pippas eyes glittered.
And I remember your whistle. You whistled with two fingers as you came up to my flat, and Id rush out onto the balcony like a madwoman.
He tried a whistle then, but it came out weak and unsure. The skill was gone. They both smiled again, this time with a tender, aching sadness.
It was time to go. They rose from the bench together, as if out of habit.
Bye, Edward, she said.
Bye, Pippa.
No hug, no cheek kiss. They simply drifted down opposite ends of the path, just like twenty years ago when theyd both thought theyd meet again tomorrow. Now, never.
Edward walked to the parks exit, turned back. Pippa was already a thin silhouette fading into the dusk. He pulled the ticket from his pocket, looked at the blurred letters and numbers, then, slowly, tore it into pieces and dropped the bits into the waste bin.
He wasnt carrying the weight away. He was leaving it exactly where it belonged. Then he kept moving toward the chill of the evening, only the faint scent of apple shampoo trailing behind him.
Beyond the fence, city noise crashed over him the roar of traffic, the clatter of horns, hurried footsteps. The air smelled of petrol and the kebab stall on the corner. He buttoned his coat and aimlessly headed toward the station, even though his train was no longer waiting.
He walked familiar streets, and now every corner was more than a piece of the city it was a page from the book theyd once written together. The old cinema Regal where theyd kissed on the steps to escape a sudden rain. The former cosy café, now a sleek bank, where Pippa first tried Turkish coffee and grimaced, Tastes like bitter earth. He smiled at the changes.
The thought of going back, finding her, saying what? That all these years hed been looking for her reflection in strangers faces? That no success ever smelled as sweet as her apple shampoo? It would be madness. They were adults with obligations, schedules, biographies that didnt belong together.
Meanwhile, Pippa chose another bench just a short walk away. She watched the wind push the last brown leaves across the water and thought how odd life is. Two decades a whole life built with another man, a grown son, a defended thesis, a routine could fade in ten minutes of a chance conversation.
She recalled the way he used to look at her that straight, slightly testing gaze that once took her breath away, the gaze not of a respectable professor but of the girl on a skateboard, soaked to the bone and wildly happy.
A sudden, almost physical urge rose to leap up, run after him, ask, What if? But her legs stayed put. They were used to steadiness, predictability. She knew the way home to her husband, who was probably already wondering why shed lingered.
Gathering her thoughts, Pippa got up and walked back toward the university where her car waited. She didnt look back at the pond, the bench, the ghosts of their youth.
Edward reached the station. The big board flashed destinations that meant nothing to anyone waiting for him. He walked up to the ticket office.
Where to, sir? the tired clerk asked.
Edward glanced at her, then at his hands, which an hour ago had been gripping that useless ticket.
Nowhere, he whispered. Im already home.
He turned and walked away from the station. He didnt know what tomorrow would bring. Maybe a job here, a tiny flat with a view of the park, or maybe just a few more days breathing the autumn air.
He wasnt looking for another meeting with Pippa. That one had already happened. Itd shaken him, reminded him who he truly was beneath years of business and responsibilities.
For the first time in ages, he wasnt in a rush. He was just Edward, the man whod once loved Pippa, and that was enough for that evening. The past couldnt be reclaimed, but he could stop running from it. In that pause there was a strange, bittersweet, healing freedom.
He kept walking the quiet evening streets, and the city no longer felt like a museum of his losses. The streetlights lit the way forward, not as nostalgic strings but as simple guides. He felt a light emptiness, as if space in his soul had cleared for something new. The past finally let go not with a slammed door, but with a soft, relieved sigh. And in that silence, something genuinely his began to grow.
