I Dont Hate You
But nothing has changed, has it
Evelyn was worrying at the edge of her sleeve, eyes drifting outside the taxi window. The familiar streets crawled past in a dreamlike hazethe same roads she used to run down with Michael, breathless and laughing, alive with visions of a future shimmering just ahead. Seven years. Seven whole years since she had been home.
Were here, the drivers voice echoed from the front seat, as soft and muffled as if underwater, gently breaking the porcelain edge of her thoughts.
The taxi rolled to a careful stop before the worn-out Victorian flats, stained with old rain and rising toast. Evelyns hands found her phone, then coinspounds clinking, old yet soliddrawing her back into her body for a moment. She stumbled out, the taxi door closing with a hollow thud. For a moment, she simply stood, breathing in that peculiar English air: fresh-cut grass and baking bread from the bakery around the corner, and something nameless rising from the city itselfsomething that could only ever mean home. Her heart folded in on itself, sickly sweet, as though longing and dread had brewed together into something too deep to name.
She would be here just a handful of days. Officially, to visit her mother, to sort out all the paperwork that had stacked up in her absence. Secretly, Evelyn wanted to haunt her old haunts, to see if theyd survived the years as she hoped. But she also carried another reasonquiet, shining, perhaps the only one that mattered. She wanted to see Michael. And maybecould such things even happen?her life would change again.
Shed never chased news of him directly; there was always a friends post, an accidental mention in conversation. Wordless currents: Michaels new job, a flat in Brixton, a mother moved close. Each morsel left her picturing his face, hearing his voice, only to push such images away. Best not to give them too much room.
****************************
The next day, Evelyn wandered the centrewithout plans, just letting the city unspool before her, old places shining in midday sun. She peered through shop windows, slow and ghostlike, her mind tripping over small relics: the newsstand where she once bought comics, the bench outside the greengrocer, the café where she had first tried a cappuccino and nearly spilled it on a brand-new blouse.
And then she saw him.
Michael drifted along the opposite pavement, head down as if sunk in private tides. Evelyn stood perfectly still. Something inside her spun so violently that, for a moment, she forgot how breathing worked. He looked unchangedtall, languid as a Sunday, moving with the same hesitant grace she had memorised. Even his hairthere, exactly as she remembered.
She darted across the street, heedless of the yellow flicker of the lights and the impatient honk from somewhere far behindor perhaps from within herself. Her feet seemed to move independently, her racing heart thudding louder than any city noise.
Michael! she called, almost crying out, finally catching him outside a grocers.
Her voice trembled. He turnedand offered nothing: no joy, no anger, no relief. Nothing.
Evelyn? his response was almost clinical, as distant as cold stone.
His flatness hit her harder than she could have expected. Seven years worth of dammed-up words threatened to break free. Her eyes flooded, her voice loosened, and soon she couldnt stop herself.
Michael, IIm so sorry, she pushed out, each word more difficult than the last. I know I dont have the right to even speak to you after what I did, but I I still love you. I always have. Forgive me. Please
She spoke desperately, tangled, racing through the only words that mattered, all the reasons and pleas shrinking down to a single sorrowful truth.
She embraced him, clutching him tightly as if that could restore seven years of lost warmth. The city melted away: no passersby, no screeching buses, no ticking timeonly the heat of his body and the fragile hope that he would hold her, too.
He didnt push her off straight away. For an instanthalf a blinkEvelyn felt his shoulders give, his arms hovering as if ready to welcome her again. That flicker turned everything bright with possibility: perhapsnot too lateperhaps memories could be mended, perhaps there was a future after all.
But then the moment blinked out. Michael gripped her shoulders, gently but firmly moving her away. His face was perfectly empty, his gaze colda grown man, walled away from all old heartbreak. The boy who had once laughed with her until dawn was gone.
Go, he whispered in her ear.
He spoke it so quietly, so removed, as if she were already forgottena nobody, weightless.
I hate you, he added, and this time contempt flashed through his eyes bright and sharp.
He turned and left, never glancing back. Evelyn was rooted, struck deaf. The city continued on: hurrying commuters, car horns at the crossing, childrens laughter somewhere in the park. A few bystanders glanced her way, wondering, perhaps, why she was a statue in the middle of the pavement, her face drained. She didnt notice.
Only the echo of his footsteps receding and her own ragged breathing remained. Every second seemed to unravel endlessly, a single thought engraving itself into her mind: Its over. Forever.
She drifted back to her mothers flat, her feet wooden, eyes glazed. Her thoughts were a hollow roarno feelings, only the relentless weight of his words ringing through her.
She slipped silently inside, slumped onto a chair by the window. Her mother, seeing her daughters shattered face, asked nothingjust sighed, as if shed been expecting this, and went to put the kettle on. The whistle of boiling water and the comforting smell of Earl Grey filled the airmundane, grounding, but jarringly at odds with Evelyns turmoil. Yet somehow, these simple rituals gave her some handhold on reality.
He hasnt forgiven me, she whispered, gripping the teacup so tightly her knuckles went white. The rising steam brushed her cheek but she barely noticed. Her eyes ate the amber surface, hunting for answers among the floating motes of light.
Her mother sat down beside her, laying a familiar, childhood hand on her shoulder. The smallest of gestures nearly undid herhow easy it was to feel small again, safe enough to grieve.
You knew it would be like this, her mother said quietly, no reproach, only the deep melancholy of someone whos seen sorrow come round before.
I did, Evelyn admitted, looking up for the first time. Her voice was steady, but so tired, like shed rehearsed the line over and over. But I hoped. It was silly, wasnt it?
Not silly, her mother replied gently. You made your choices. You hurt Michael deeply I think hes never really come back from it. Its as though
She hesitated. Its as though he became like the boy in that fairy tale, with a heart frozen to anyone else.
Evelyn let out a long breath, set her cup aside and leaned back, scenes from seven years ago swimming behind her eyelids.
Everything then had seemed so simple, as if the future was lit up in vivid colours, nothing impossible. She was twenty-twoan age when you believe you can leap into any tomorrow. Michael was there: dependable, gentle, a man who didnt say much but acted from the core. He worked on building sites, studied evenings, dreamed of opening his own company. He was careful, thoughtful, but dreams took timeand Evelyn, back then, would not wait.
She hadnt craved luxury, just certainty, the guarantee of solid ground underfoot. She wanted to know that in a year, in five, shed have work, a flat, a life of her own making. Michael, for all his care, felt like a risk: part-time gigs, classes after dark, plans that never quite left the page.
So when her uncle from London offered her a job at his firm, she said yes. No hesitation, almost no guilt. It felt like a real chanceone she could touch.
But there was something more, a truth she kept hidden even from herself. Soon after she landed in London, Evelyn met Simon: a successful businessman twice her age, charming in that practiced way, his confidence like velvet. They met at a work partyEvelyn out of place in a new frock among seasoned colleagues, anxious and bright-eyed. Simon offered her flowersnot grand bouquets, but artful bunches delivered to her desk, notes signed To the loveliest one. Then came restaurant invitations, the kind of glittering places shed only ever window-shopped; evenings at galleries, West End plays, giftsscarves, jewels, shoes that made her feel like someone else. Always with his voice in her ear: You deserve more out of life you shouldnt settle.
At first she protested, embarrassed, resisting the sudden rush of gifts, but Simon was gentle, coaxing, and she soon let herself belong to that new, glossier world. There were café lunches, taxis waiting outside, shops where price tags didnt matter. It all felt unreal, a shimmering dream she never wanted to be woken from.
In time, she was seeing Simonnot from passion, but because his certainty made life weightless. There were no worries about rent or bills. Everything he handled, and she floated, removed from the pressures she had feared.
She liked it so much she forgot about Michael, forgot so keenly she began to despise him as small, unambitious, stuck.
One day, Evelyn returned homenot to see Michael for forgiveness or even a kind greeting, but to show him who she had become, to prove her choices right. She planned it meticulously: the best café on the High Street, a new dress from Simon, the ring hed slipped on her finger at her birthday. She wore them all, sat by the window, laughter bright and deliberate as Michael walked in.
When their eyes met, she saw confusion, pain, disbelief flash across his faceemotions shed long tried to ignore. Instead of flinching, she met him stare for stare, unmovable.
At the time it felt triumphant. She had made the right choiceshadnt she? Her life was real now: dinner parties, designer bags, security. She convinced herself this was satisfaction.
But long after Michael left the café, as she lingered with her companion and the shine on her gifts dulled, the feeling turned suddenly hollow. The ring, the bag, the man across from herthey felt remote, borrowed, as if shed slipped into anothers life. She kept the smile on her lips, but somewhere inside a voice whispered: Was this worth it?
**************************
Her victory tasted worse with every day. At first, Simon kept up his role: dinners, flowers, words that sounded like adoration. But soon, something shifted. Warmth dwindled as though a candles flame struggled against the damp.
Hints came softly: a casual criticism here, a withheld compliment there. Flowers gave way to Pick something yourself. Then sharper edges followed.
Shouldnt you make more of an effort with your appearance? hed say, staring at her with vague disinterest. Why do you laugh so loudly? Its a bit unrefined. Old friends were lamented as provincial. Isn’t it time you found new company?
He began disappearing for days, sometimes weeks, leaving her alone in the tasteful flat he had furnished. Evelyn watched the clock at night, drifting between tepid TV shows and the view out the window. When she tried to confront himWe dont talk anymorehed brush her off with a shrug.
You got everything you wanted. What else is missing?
She defended himstress at work, shed tell herselfor, maybe he just needed space. She insisted this was all temporary, that the glow would return. She knew, though: shed become just another prize on his shelf, dazzling for a moment and then, forgotten.
She endured: the silences, the loneliness, the sense of vanishing day by day. She feared her own admissionthat she had been wrong all along. That the glitter she thought she wanted weighed less than one day of real affection. That Michaelwith his calloused hands and open hearthad treasured her for what she was, her presence, not her performance. But it was too late.
The very things she once cravedclothes, jewellery, nights outlost their spark. Dresses drooped on their hangers, trinkets felt alien to her skin. Restaurants grew dreary. Perfume suffocated. She began staring at the people belowwondering what-ifs she couldnt allow herself to finish.
Twilight brought long intervals of silence. Shed sit on her bed in the city, thinking of all shed crammed her life with, every surface carefully polished, yet feeling the loss of any true certainty underneath. Security had grown meaningless without someone to share it with.
Images of Michael haunted her: his solid hands, his quiet laugh, the warmth he carried on cold mornings. She missed his plain honesty about the future, his belief in the two of them facing the uncertain days together. With him, shed felt brave.
*****************************
On her third day back, Evelyn wandered to the park where she used to walk with Michael. She found their old bench beneath an overgrown sycamore, leaves trembling overhead. How often had they sat here, talking nonsense, laughing at falling leaves? She remembered him once staring up and saying, I want a house with big windows and sunlight pouring insomewhere light and happy, always. Shed thought him fanciful, but now the words seemed carved in stone, like something forever out of reach.
She stopped, inhaled the chilly air, trying to steady herself. And thena voice behind her.
Evelyn?
She turned. It was Jamesa mutual friend from home. He looked surprised, but his smile came easily.
Didnt expect to see you here, he said, eyes curious. How are things?
Evelyn faltered, meaning to reply breezily, but her voice cracked before she could hide it.
Im alright, she managed, her smile a small effort but less forced than shed feared. Visiting Mum.
James nodded, his glance gentle and unprying. He gestured toward a bench.
Sit with me? Just having a wander myself.
She agreed. As they sat, James filled her in on the towns little changes, his stories looping through familiar places. His voice was a raincoat against her worries, calming her for the first time since her return.
After a pause, he asked, almost casually:
Seen Michael?
Evelyns gaze dropped to the golden drift of leaves. Memories of yesterdays encounter rosehis cold stare, his clipped words. She spoke softly.
Yes. Yesterday.
And? James gently prompted.
He wants nothing to do with me, she whispered, each syllable cutting deep. He hates me.
James sighed, sitting beside her, elbows on his knees, looking off down the autumn path. For some time he was quiet, then spoke into the spaces between them:
You disappeared, Ev. No calls, no notesjust gone. It broke him.
Evelyns hands knotted in her lap, the ache in her chest barely endurable.
I know, she whispered. It was wrong.
James didnt scold; he just looked at her, his own pain evident.
He tried moving on. Met other people but nothing took. Says he cant love anyone the way he loved you. And after that showy return of yours I thought hed close off for good.
Evelyn nodded, picturing Michael pacing lonely streets, forcing himself to forget. It only made her own regret sharper.
I I only wanted stability, she murmured, more to herself than to James.
He let her speak, filling the pause with silence and falling leaves. The park hummed with life againchildren shrieking near the fountain, wind whirling at their feet.
Evelyn pressed her nails into her palm, fighting tears she knew were long overdue. Bitter clarity clamped down on her: she could not undo what shed done.
Im not asking him to forgive me, she said, her voice trembling. But I wish hed knowI regret it, every day. It wont let me be. I ruined everything.
James watched her quietly, searching for words.
Maybe he doesnt need to know, he said softly, but firmly. Let him be. Dont come back. Hes spent years trying to put himself together. Your returnits torn it all up again. Last night he rang mehe was a wreck, Ev. Dont do this to him again.
Biting her lip, Evelyn was silent. She saw he was rightby returning, she had only scrambled old wounds, awakened a hundred hurts she had no right to. She wanted to make amends, but likely only brought more pain.
***************************
That evening, Evelyn sat at her mothers window, watching the city lights melt into one anotheryellow, orange, gold. They blurred and shimmered together as if trying to trick her with the illusion of festivity. But she wasnt fooled. Her mind played and replayed the choices she had made, like film stuck on repeat.
She pictured staying: sharing a tiny first flat, Michael building his business, planning budgets, laughing at small disasters, gathering up every little happiness. She held close all the moments shed missedsoft words, lingering touches. But the past was fixed. That was the lesson, at last.
The next day, she left. Bag packed with mechanical patience, as if by taking longer she could postpone the inevitable farewell. Her mother hovered in the doorway, her sadness gentle and unspokena sorrow for which there was no remedy.
Take care, her mother said, at the threshold, squeezing her hand.
Evelyn nodded, kissed her mothers cheek, and lingered for a breath, drinking in the scent of home, before stepping out.
At the station, she bought a ticket to Londontime for thought. Two days on old English rails, strangers for company. Maybe, in transit, new answers would come.
As the train lurched forward, she watched her childhood slip away: red-brick terraces, a playground where shed caught the wind, the bakerys neon sign. Ordinary, drab, preciousgone. Here and there, the citys people hurried on, umbrellas open to blue sky or arms full of wildflowers. Home, now forever outside the glass.
Somewhere among those buildings was the man she had loved most: the one with shining, future-filled eyes and heavy, gentle hands. Shed never explained her leaving, never properly said goodbye. He was lost to hereternally, perhaps, no matter how she might have argued otherwise.
***************************
Half a year blurred past. Evelyn lived in Londonwork, coffee dates, polite questions about her wellbeing. Outwardly, nothing had changed: her routine, the cityscape, the flavours of her days. But inside, everything had turned. She stopped running from her past, stopped hiding it beneath new liaisons or gleaming handbags. Instead, she stared it in the face: her mistake, the pain she caused, her own raw remorse.
And she learned to wake with the knowledge life keeps moving forward. I did what I did. It was wrong, and now its done. That acceptance brought a peculiar calmnot happiness, but at least clear air and the courage to look ahead.
One evening as she cooked, her phone vibrated. She wiped her hands, picked it up, a new number glowing on the screen. One message only:
I dont hate you. But I cant forgive you.
Evelyn froze. The phone clutched to her chest, her heart skipped, then began beating wildly again. Slowly, she sank to the floor, pressing the cold device to her heartas if, through its circuitry, she might feel the heartbeat of the other person.
She couldnt say what it meant. Was it a bridge, or a final parting? But, for the first time in ages, she felt a thread between them. Delicate, unsafe, on the edge of vanishingbut there. Someone, far away, thought of her. Someone had written, despite all the injury. The door was not locked.
Evelyn, through tears, smiledtentative, fragile, but real. Maybe this wasnt an ending after all. One day perhaps they might talk againjust talk, with no more justifying or blaming. Maybe they would find words to heal, together or apart.
For now, it was enough to know he remembered her not as a regret but as a part of his story. That, for this moment, was enough.
