They met again in the very park where everything had begun twenty years earlier, not by design but by the odd whim of an autumn breeze that seemed to drift through the town, flipping the pages of forgotten lives.
Edward walked along the avenue, the lampposts casting a soft golden glow, a crumpled rail ticket tucked in the pocket of his coat. He was leaving for good that evening, and this stroll was his silent farewell to the city that had held his whole summer and his first love.
She was already on their benchthe one with a chipped corner of cement and the mysterious initials M+G carved into the back. Wrapped in a beige coat, she watched the pond where ducks paddled at the edge, begging passersby for bits of bread.
Edward stopped, and his heart performed that old, forgotten motionnot a thud but a swing, like a pendulum measuring time backward. He would have recognized her from a thousand faces, not from the polished, slightly weary man hed become, but from the tilt of her head, the way she clasped her hands on her knees.
Gwen? he said, his voice hoarse and unfamiliar.
She turned, not startled but as if shed been waiting for that name. Her greygreen eyes widened.
Edward? Oh my Edward.
He sat down beside her, keeping a respectable distanceenough space for two decades. The air smelled of damp leaves, faint smoke, and expensive perfumenothing like the sweet, daring scents of their youth.
What are you doing here? they asked together, then laughed awkwardly.
She explained she had stopped for a walk after a lecture at the nearby university; he was saying goodbye.
A comfortable, heavy silence settled.
Remember, Gwen began, looking at the water, how we first met here? You were on your skateboard and almost ran me over.
I didnt just almost, Edward replied with a grin. I did. You fell straight into a puddle, and instead of apologising I shouted that youd broken my board.
And I cried not because my tights were ruined, but because you were so rude, Gwen shook her head, and the corners of her eyes gathered tiny laugh lines that seemed to him more beautiful than any jewellery. Then the next day you showed up with a box of Cadbury chocolates.
And we sat on that bench until dark, Edward added quietly.
Memory flickered like an old projector, throwing bright, slightly faded scenes onto the present. They saw themselves as teenagers, roasting sausages over a campfire with friends, Gwen smearing soot on her cheek as she fed him with a fork while he pretended to bite his own finger. They saw themselves sprinting through a sudden downpour after a film premiere, drenched to the bone, shouting with delight. He remembered the silver ring with a tiny sapphire hed bought for her birthday, spending all his summer earnings, and her pressing the ring to her lips, tears glistening.
Now they talked about all that, words flowing easily as if the years hadnt buried them under routine, disappointment, adult responsibilities.
Do you recall the argument about where to study? Gwen asked. You wanted to go to London, I couldnt leave because of Mum.
I was a fool, 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 young, convinced love was a magical force that solved everything. It turned out to be fragile, like the first ice on that pond.
The wind stripped another batch of leaves from a maple, sending them twirling in a slow, farewell waltz.
Is everything alright for you? Edward asked, already knowing the answer. Good didnt quite fit their lives. She had a family and a job; he ran his own firm in another city, with his own worries. Everything was normal, but not the good that two twentyyearold lovers on a bench imagined.
Yes, she said, and he read the same resigned content in her eyes. Everythings fine.
He reached into his coat pocket, squeezing the ticket that separated him from the city, from the park, from her.
You know, he said, holding out his hand, I still remember how your hair smelled. Not perfume, just hairapplescented shampoo and sunlight.
Gwens eyes sparkled.
And I remember your whistle, she replied. You whistled with two fingers every time you passed my flat, and Id rush out onto the balcony like a madwoman. He tried to whistle now, but only a weak, uncertain sound escaped. The skill was gone. Both smiled again, tinged with a sharp, lingering sadness.
It was time to leave. They rose from the bench together, as if out of habit.
Bye, Edward, she said.
Bye, Gwen.
They didnt hug, didnt kiss cheektocheek. They simply walked in opposite directions down the lane, just as they had twenty years before, when they thought theyd meet again tomorrow. Now it was never.
Edward reached the park gate, turned and saw her already a distance away, a slender silhouette dissolving into dusk. He took the ticket, stared at the blurred letters and numbers, then, slowly and deliberately, tore it into pieces and dropped the fragments into a bin.
He wasnt taking the weight of the ticket with him; he was leaving it where it belonged. He stepped forward into the chill of the approaching night, carrying only the faint, sweet scent of apple shampoo.
Beyond the parks fence, the citys roar crashed over himcars honking, the clatter of hurried footsteps, the smell of petrol and the fryup from the chip van on the corner. He buttoned his coat and drifted aimlessly toward the railway station, even though the train no longer waited for him.
The streets he knew were no longer just parts of a map; they were pages from a book they had once written together. He passed the old Regal Cinema, where theyd once hidden from a sudden rain to kiss on its steps. He passed the former cosy café, where Gwen had first tried Turkish coffee and grimaced, Tastes like bitter earth. Now a banks sleek sign glowed above.
The thought of returning, of finding her, of saying what? That all those years hed chased reflections of her in strangers faces? That no success ever smelled as sweet as her apple shampoo? It would be madness. They were grownup people with obligations, schedules, biographies that no longer fit together.
Meanwhile, Gwen settled on another bench a short walk away. She watched the wind push the last brown leaves across the water and contemplated how oddly life was arranged. Two decadesa whole life built with another partner, a grown child, a defended dissertation, a familiar routinecould all fade in ten minutes of a chance conversation.
She recalled how he once looked at her with that direct, slightly testing gaze that had taken her breath away, seeing not the respected lecturer shed become but the teen with a skateboard, drenched and wildly happy.
A sudden, almost physical urge rose in her to sprint, to catch up with him, to ask, What if? Yet her legs stayed rooted. They were accustomed to steadiness, predictability, the road home to a husband who was probably already wondering why shed lingered.
Gathering her thoughts, Gwen stood and walked toward her university, where her car waited. She left the pond, the bench, the ghosts of their youth behind.
Edward arrived at the station. The massive departure board glittered with destinations that held no one waiting for him. He approached the ticket office.
Where to, sir? the tiredvoiced clerk asked.
Edward looked at her, then at his hands that had just a halfhour ago clutched a ticket to nowhere.
Nowhere, he whispered. Ive already arrived.
He turned and walked away from the station. He didnt know what tomorrow would bring. Perhaps a job, perhaps a tiny flat with a view of the park, perhaps just a few more days breathing the autumn air.
He no longer sought another meeting with her. That meeting had already happened; it had shaken him, reminded him who he truly was beneath years of contracts and compromises.
For the first time in many years, he had nowhere to rush. He was simply Edward, a man who had once loved Gwen. And that, oddly enough, was enough for that evening. The past could not be reclaimed, but he could stop fleeing from it. In that pause lay a strange, bittersweet, healing freedom.
He walked the quiet, empty streets, and the city was no longer a museum of his losses. The streetlights lit the path forward rather than casting nostalgic garlands. He felt an odd, light emptiness, as if a space had opened in his heart for something new. The past finally let him gonot with the slam of a closing door, but with a soft, relieved sigh. In that silence, something genuine and present began to grow.
The night taught him that endings are not always failures; they are chances to drop the weight of what once was and step into the possibility of what still can be.
