Couldn’t Let Myself Fall in Love — So, girls, own up, which one of you is Lily? — The young woman eyed me and my friend, an impish glint in her gaze. — I’m Lily. Why? — I replied, puzzled. — Here’s a letter for you, Lily. From Vladimir, — the stranger dug a crumpled envelope from the pocket of her dressing gown and handed it to me. — From Vladimir? And where is he? — I asked, surprised. — He’s moved on to the adult care home. He waited for you, Lily, like you were heaven sent. He kept watch every day. He gave me this letter to check his spelling, so as not to embarrass himself in front of you. Anyway, I should be going. Lunch is soon. I work here as one of the staff, — she gave me a reproachful look, sighed, and hurried off. …It happened that my friend and I, during the summer holidays, wandered onto the grounds of an unfamiliar institution, craving adventure at sixteen. We found a comfy bench, sat down, and were chatting away when two boys approached us. — Hi, girls! Are you bored? Want to get to know us? — one lad extended his hand, — Vladimir. I answered: — Lily. And that’s my friend, Sue. And your quiet pal, what’s his name? — Leonard, — the other, shyly, replied. The boys struck us as rather old-fashioned and overly proper. Vladimir offered, — Girls, why do you wear such short skirts? And Sue’s neckline is awfully daring. — Well, boys, don’t peek where you shouldn’t. You might lose your heads, — Sue and I burst out laughing. — Hard not to peek. We are men, after all. Do you smoke too? — Vladimir pressed, puritanically. — Of course, but we don’t inhale, — we joked. That’s when we finally noticed something odd about their legs — Vladimir could barely walk, Leonard had a pronounced limp. — You here for treatment? — I guessed. — Yes. I was in a motorbike accident. Leonard took a bad jump into water, — Vladimir recited, as if by rote. — We’ll be leaving soon. Sue and I believed them then; we didn’t realise they were disabled since childhood, fated to live in the care home. We were a breath of freedom for them. They lived and studied in a closed institution, each with a rehearsed tale of accident or misfortune to explain their condition. Vladimir and Leonard turned out to be fascinating, wise beyond their years. Sue and I began visiting every week — partly out of pity, partly because there was so much to learn. Our brief visits soon became routine — Vladimir would bring me flowers picked from the nearest border, Leonard would come with intricate origami for a shy Sue. We’d settle on the bench together: Vladimir next to me, Leonard turning his back, lavishing attention on Sue. Sue blushed, but was obviously charmed by reserved Leonard. We’d chat about everything and nothing. The blissful summer flew by. Autumn arrived, school resumed, and Sue and I completely forgot our chance acquaintances. Exams came and went, as did our graduation. Then, with summer returning, Sue and I decided to visit the care home again, hoping to see Vladimir and Leonard. We waited on the bench, hoping for flowers and origami, but after two hours, it was a stranger who emerged — handing me Vladimir’s letter. I tore it open: “Dearest Lily! My fragrant flower! My unreachable star! Perhaps you didn’t realise I fell for you at first sight. Your visits were the breath of my life. I’ve wasted months staring out my window, waiting for you. You forgot me. How sad! Our paths diverge, but I thank you for showing me true love. I remember your velvet voice, your enticing smile, your gentle hands. My world aches for you, Lily! If only I could see you just once more! Leonard and I have just turned eighteen. We’re being moved to a new care home in spring. We’ll probably never meet again. My soul is torn to shreds! I hope I’ll recover from loving you one day. Farewell, my beautiful!” Signed, “Ever yours, Vladimir”. Alongside the letter lay a dried flower. I felt desperate and ashamed; my heart tight with the knowledge that nothing could be changed. The old saying rang through my mind — “We are responsible for those we tame”. I had never guessed the depth of Vladimir’s passion. Yet, I could not love him back. I harboured only friendly curiosity toward such a clever, knowledgeable companion. Yes, I had teased and flirted, kindling his feelings without realising I was fueling a fire. …Years have swept by. Vladimir’s letter is yellowed, the flower crumbling to dust. Yet I remember those innocent meetings, carefree chats, the laughter sparked by his jokes. …The story goes on. Sue became deeply moved by Leonard’s fate — abandoned by parents for being “different”. She studied teaching, now works in that childhood care home. Leonard is her beloved husband, with two grown sons. As for Vladimir, Leonard says he lived alone. At forty, his mother visited the care home and, struck by remorse, brought him back to her village. Beyond that, the trail is lost…

FAILED TO LOVE

Alright girls, which one of you is Lily? The young woman glanced at us with a sly curiosity, eyes searching and a half-smile curling her lips.

Im Lily. Why? I answered, genuinely puzzled.

Here you go, Lily. Its a letter, from William. The stranger produced a creased envelope from the pocket of her nurses blouse and handed it to me.

From William? And where is he then? I asked, surprise flickering across my face.

Theyve moved him to an adult care home. He waited ages for you, Lilyas if you were his saving grace. Hed stare out the window, every day. He even gave me the letter to proofreaddidnt want to embarrass himself in front of you. Well, I best be off, lunch rush is starting. I work here as a carer. She paused, looking at me with gentle reproach, sighed, and vanished down the hall.

My friend Sophie and I had wandered in here by pure chance one summer afternoon, both sixteen and restless for adventure with the holidays stretching hopefully before us.

We sat together on a welcoming bench, chatting and laughing, not noticing two boys approaching until they stood beside us.

Hello girls! Bored, are you? Fancy getting to know each other? The first boy extended his hand to me, Im William.

I replied, Lily. And thats my mate Sophie. And your quiet friendwhats his name?

Leonard, murmured the second boy, shyly glancing away.

At first, William and Leonard seemed awfully old-fashioned, altogether too proper for our tastes. William chastened us, voice firm but friendly:

Girls, why those short skirts, eh? And Sophies topits scandalous.

Boys, maybe you should mind your own business, unless you want your eyes to go wandering off on their own! Sophie and I giggled, teasing.

How can we not notice? Were only men, insisted earnest William. Do you two smoke as well?

Of course we smoke, we joked, Just a puff, though!

It wasnt until that moment that Sophie and I realised something was wrong with their legs.

William moved with effort, Leonard limped heavily on one side.

Are you here getting treatment? I ventured.

Yes. I had a motorbike accident. Leonard jumped from rocks into water and landed wrong, William recited, almost mechanically. Well be discharged soon.

We believed their stories instantly, never guessing they were born disabled, forced into long years at this care home. For the boys, Sophie and I were a breath of fresh air, a glimpse of normal life.

They lived and studied behind those closed gates, inventing stories for each new friend: a tragic crash, a reckless leap, a fight gone bad

Yet William and Leonard proved wise beyond their age, well-read and fascinating.

Sophie and I began to visit every week, partly out of sympathy, partly for the wisdom they shared.

Brief meetings soon became routine.

William offered me flowers snipped from nearby gardens, Leonard shyly presented Sophie with origami figures hed crafted himself.

All four of us would sit, side by sideWilliam always next to me; Leonard with his back turned, pouring every ounce of attention into Sophie. At first she blushed, awkward under his gaze, but it was clear she enjoyed his gentle company. We chatted about anything and everything, laughter ringing across the bench.

Summer faded into cool, drizzly autumn. The school term began; Sophie and I were consumed by studies, leaving William and Leonard far behind in our memories.

Exams whisked by, then leavers day, then the final dance. At last, the promise of summer loomed againthe season of new beginnings.

Sophie and I found ourselves once more at the care home; nostalgia, perhaps, drawing us back to see our old friends. We settled onto the same familiar bench, hoping William and Leonard would appear, bringing fresh-picked flowers and delicate origami.

We waited. A full two hours passed with not a sign.

Suddenly, a young nurse darted from the doorway and made her way straight to us, pressing Williams letter into my hand. Without hesitation, I tore open the envelope:

My Dearest Lily! My fragrant rose, my unreachable star! I doubt you realised how quickly I fell for you. Our meetings were air to me, my very life. For half a year I watched the window in vain, hoping for your return. You forgot meit hurts so deeply. Our paths are not the same, but thank you for letting me know what real love is. I remember your velvet-smooth voice, the smile drawing me in, your gentle hands. I hurt without you, Lily! If I could just see you once more, breathe you inI have nothing to fill my lungs
Leonard and I have turned eighteen. Were being moved in spring to another home. Think well ever meet again? My soul is torn to shreds. I hope Ill recover from loving you.
Farewell, my beloved.
SignedForever yours, William.

A pressed flower tumbled from the envelope.

Shame flooded me, a leaden weight in my chest as I realised nothing could be changed. The words echoed in my mindWe are responsible for those we tame.

Id never suspected such passions burned within Williams heart. Yet I could never return his feelingsI felt nothing grand, no soaring romance. Friendship and interest in his clever conversationnothing more. Yes, Id flirted, teased William, tossed kindling into the small fire of his affection. Never did I imagine my lighthearted games would fuel an inferno of love in him.

Years have tumbled past since then, a lifetime away. Williams letter has faded to yellow, the flower crumbled to dust, but I remember our innocent meetings, careless banter, the contagious laughter springing from his jokes.

and there is a coda to our story. Sophie grew deeply fond of Leonard, whose parents abandoned him for being so differentone leg shorter than the other since birth. Sophie qualified as a special needs teacher and now works at a home for disabled children. Leonard is her beloved husband; they have two grown sons.

As for William, according to Leonard, he lived much of his life alone. When William turned forty, his mother visited the care home, saw her sonso forlornburst into tears, rediscovered her love, and took him home to her country cottage. What happened after, nobody truly knowsSometimes, late at night, I take out that faded letter and let the memory sweep through methe heartbreak of missed opportunities, the ache of unintended wounds, and the bittersweet beauty found in each fleeting connection. I’ve learned love cannot be forced, nor can innocence shield us from regret. The lessons of that summer linger: how a careless kindness can shape someone’s soul, how every smile leaves its imprint, how even when love fails, hope finds a way through gentle hands and long forgiveness.

I never saw William again, but his words stayed with me, echoing in quiet moments as a reminder to tread gently through other lives. There are no do-overs, only new days; and if I ever pass a care home’s gate or hear laughter from a garden bench, I remember a boy who loved fiercely, believed wholly, and taught me that every heartno matter how fragiledeserves to be cherished, even by someone who cannot love it back.

And so, as the years fold away, I look back not with sorrow but gratitude, knowing that even failed love leaves us more open, more aware, and more alive. Some stories end softly, with nothing but the memory of a pressed flower, a quiet promise: that we are changed by whom we dare to care for, and by who dares, for a moment, to care for us.