I dont hate you
Funny, isnt it? Nothings really changed
Heather nervously fiddled with the edge of her sleeve, gazing out of the taxi window. Beyond the glass, the familiar streets of Manchester flickered pastthe very same ones she used to race down with William, laughing and weaving plans for the future. Seven years. It had been seven years since shed last been home.
Were here, came the soft voice of the driver, gently snapping her out of her thoughts.
The taxi rolled to a stop outside the old red-brick block of flats where she grew up. Heather automatically checked for her phone, took out some pounds, paid, and stepped out of the car. The door closed with a thud, and for a moment she stood motionless, breathing in the air of her hometown. It smelled so different from the life shed built for herself in London. Here, every scent and sound seemed to awaken something deep within her. The cut grass from the green near the corner, the lingering aroma of fresh loaves from the small bakery, and something elseindefinable, but so precisely called home. The scent squeezed her heart with a mixture of pain and sweetness, as if she was both glad and terrified of what lay ahead.
She was only back for a few days. Officially, shed come to see her mother, to help sort out paperwork shed been putting off for ages. She also wanted to walk the old haunts, to see if they had stayed the same as in her memories. But, tucked away in her heart, was another reasonperhaps the real one. She desperately wanted to see William again, and maybejust maybeher life could begin anew.
Heather knew he lived nearby. Not because shed gone out of her way to keep tabs on himnever thatbut friends, in passing or via social media, would occasionally mention his name. Thats how shed heard tidbits: hed changed jobs, now held a good position, bought a flat, moved his mum in with him Every time she caught a piece of news about him, shed imagine how he looked now, what he was thinking about, what he might be doing. But then shed push those thoughts away, afraid to give them room in her heart
**********************
The next morning, Heather decided to wander through the city centre. There was no plan; she just wanted to soak in the city air by daylight, to feel once more the pulse of streets that once defined her life. She strolled leisurely, peering into shop windows, a faint smile returning to her lips as she found old, half-forgotten landmarks: the newsagents where shed bought comics as a girl, the bench where she and her friends would sit after school, the café where shed tried her first cappuccino, nearly spilling it all over her new blouse.
Then, suddenly, she saw him.
William was walking on the other side of the high street. He hadnt spotted herwas looking forward, head slightly bowed, as if lost in thought. Heather froze. Her insides twisted so sharply she forgot to breathe. He hadnt changed a bitstill tall, the same easy step she remembered so well from their youth. The same silhouette, the same gestures, even his hair styled the same way.
Without thinking, she darted across the road. The traffic light flickered amber and someone blared their horn, but she hardly noticed; her legs carried her forward, her heart pounding so loudly she feared the whole street could hear.
William! she called, catching up to him outside a shop.
Her voice trembledshed never realised how nervous she was. He turnedand nothing. No joy in his eyes, no anger. Simply nothing.
Heather? he said, calmly, almost indifferently.
The evenness in his toneemotionlesshurt more than shed expected. All those years worth of feeling burst from her in a rush. Tears filled her eyes, her voice quivered, and she couldnt stop herself.
William, I Im so sorry, she managed, struggling to find the words. I know Ive no right even to speak to you, but Ishe gulped back a sob, tried to collect herself, but the tears streaked silently down her face and she didnt even try to brush them awayI love you. I always have. Please. Forgive me. Please.
She spoke quickly, almost in a jumble, as if she feared that if she stopped, shed lose her voice for good. All the excuses, explanations, and pleas swirling in her headthe only words that burst free were the truest, the ones shed kept locked inside for all those years.
She threw her arms round him, pressing herself desperately to his chest, as if that might restore what had been lost so long ago. In that moment, nothing else existed for hernot the bustling street, not the passers-by, not time itselfonly the warmth of his body and the desperate hope that he might hold her back.
William didnt pull away at once. For a split second she felt him hesitatehis shoulders lowered, his hands half-lifting, as if he too wanted to pull her closer. That fleeting movement struck a light of hope inside her: perhaps not all was lost, perhaps his heart remembered after all, perhaps there was still a future.
But the moment slipped away. He gently but firmly took her by the shoulders and eased her away. His face stayed calm, almost blank, his eyes unyielding, even cold. In those eyes was no longer the young man who had once laughed with her and dreamt of their future. He stood before her, a grown man, whose feelings had long since been locked away behind walls.
Go, he whispered in her ear.
He said it quietly, so flat that it seemed she meant nothing to himjust a stranger.
I hate you, he added after a beat, and this time his eyes flashed with unmistakable contempt.
He turned and strode away, not once glancing back. Heather stood rooted to the spot, thunderstruck. The world kept turning: people hurried along, cars blared, somewhere childrens laughter echoed. A few passers-by looked at her askance, maybe wondering why a woman stood stock-still in the middle of the pavement, face pale, eyes wide. But she noticed nothing.
Just the sound of his footsteps, fading away, and her own jagged breathing. Every second stretched into eternity, and the only thought ringing in her mind was: This is it. Forever.
She stumbled home. Her legs hardly felt her own, each step a struggle, but she walked on, eyes fixed ahead but seeing nothing. Her mind was emptyno thoughts, no feelings, only the hollow echo of his words resounding inside her.
When Heather got to her mothers flat, she didnt try to explain anything. She simply went to her room, slumped onto the old armchair, and stared out the window. Her mum glanced at her tear-stained face and lifeless eyes, said nothing, only sighed quietlyas if shed been expecting this dayand went to put the kettle on. The familiar click and whoosh of the boiling water, the scent of freshly brewed teait all felt so every day, so ordinary, yet so at odds with the turmoil raging inside Heather. Yet perhaps it was this very simplicity that began, just a little, to bring her back to reality.
He didnt forgive me, Heather whispered, clutching her teacup. The steam tickled her cheek, but she barely noticed. Her fingers squeezed tighter, as if trying to hold onto something intangible, her eyes fixed on the amber reflection in the cup, surrounded by golden rings of lamplight.
Her mother sat down beside her, saying nothing, and gently stroked her shoulder. It was a familiar gestureone reserved for grazed knees and playground quarrels in childhood. Its simple kindness suddenly made Heather feel small and vulnerable, as if all her grown-up decisions and mistakes meant nothing at all.
You always knew it might end up like this, her mum said softlyno reproach, just a quiet sorrow.
I did, Heather nodded, finally tearing her eyes from the cup. Her voice was steady, but tired, as if she had been repeating this line inside her for a long time, practising for just this moment. But I hoped. Stupidly, maybe?
Not stupid, her mum replied gently. Just that you chose your path. You hurt William quite badlyhe took a long time to recover from what happened He was like like that boy from an old fairy tale, with ice in his heart. No one could reach him after you left.
Heather took a deep breath, set her cup aside, and leaned her head back. The days before her eyes replayed scenes from seven years ago.
Back then it had all seemed so simple, so clear. She was twenty-twoan age when the future blazes with colour and every obstacle feels conquerable. William was next to herdependable, kind, someone she could have trusted in any situation. He wasnt eloquent, but his actions spoke volumes: he was always there, always offering support, even in the smallest of ways.
But there was one hitchor rather, what Heather had thought was a hitch. William worked on a building site, doing his degree part-time, dreaming of starting his own business. His plans were solid, sensible, but they needed timeand Heather didnt want to wait.
She hadnt dreamed of riches, not at all. She just wanted some stability, a sense of security, the assurance that in one, five, ten years time shed have a job, a home, a sense of control over her life. But with William, nothing felt certainjust endless temp jobs, back-to-back shifts, his future plans, still only plans.
So when her uncle in London offered her a job in his company, she said yes. Without a second thought, barely a moments hesitation. It felt like a real, tangible chance she couldnt ignore.
But there was another truth she tried not to think about. In her first months in London, shed met Edward. He was a prosperous businessman, twice her age, confident and suave, used to getting his own way. The meeting was accidentalat a work do, where Heather wore a new dress and felt awkward among older, polished colleagues. Edward noticed her immediately: sat beside, struck up a conversation, asked about her work, ambitions, life.
He didnt hold back on attention. At first, flowers arrivedcarefully chosen, with notes reading, To the loveliest lady. Then came invitations to restaurants shed only dreamed of peering into before, tickets to the theatre, art exhibitions, gifts shed never even wished for: a silk scarf, delicate jewellery, designer heels. Each treat accompanied by some gentle assertion that she was worthy of better, or that it was important to accept what luck brought.
Heather initially resistedshe felt awkward, said no, explained she didnt need presents. But Edward was persistent, assuring her this was only kindness, admiring her wit and beauty. Slowly, she accepted his courtship. The sparkling new reality drew her in: nights in elegant restaurants, business-class taxis, picking whatever pleased her in a shop without checking the price. It all felt like a fairy tale she never wanted to end.
Before she quite realised, Heather was seeing Edward. Not from passion, but because his world was easy, assured. She no longer worried about bills or work or clothes for important meetings; he took care of it all, wrapping her in a cocoon of carelessness.
And she liked this new life, so much so that she all but forgot her heart-broken William. Worseshe started to look down on him, declaring to anyone whod listen that hed never amount to anything.
Then, one day, Heather returned to Manchester. Not for Williams sake, not to make amends or even to say hello. She had something else in mindto show him her new life, to prove what she deserved. Deep inside, a small thought lingered: let him see she was right, that shed escaped the uncertainty of their romance.
She planned her visit carefully. Chose the café on the high streetWilliams favourite stop for coffee after work. Wore an expensive dress, gift from Edward, elegant and perfectly fitted. A large ring gleamed on her fingeranother present. She carried a designer handbag shed just bought the day before.
When William came in, she spotted him instantly. Sitting by the window, she laughed exaggeratedly with her companion, making sure William saw her. Their eyes met. She saw confusion, pain, disbelief in his faceall things shed tried not to see in herself. But instead of flinching or turning away, she held his gaze.
She thought it was victory. Shed shown herselfand himthat shed chosen well. That her life now was real, tangible, full of confidence. She imagined she felt satisfaction: at last, she had what she deserved.
But when William left the café, and she sat alone, the laughter faded. She glanced at her ring, the bag, her dinner companionand suddenly a strange emptiness came over her. All the finery, the gestures and attention, suddenly seemed distant, unreal. She forced herself to smile and make small talk, but something quietly whispered, Was it worth it?
******************
Victory was bitterHeather realised this only gradually, with increasing clarity as the days wore on. At first, Edward maintained his persona: dinners out, flowers, compliments. But gradually, his affection ebbed, like a candle burning out.
It started in little ways. Instead of warmth, clipped remarks. Instead of surprises, hurried texts: Pop into that shop, buy yourself something. Then the jabs appeared: Shouldnt you take better care with your looks? hed say, or, Why do you laugh so loudly? Its unladylike. He turned his nose up at old friends: Those mates from up North again? Dont you think you should mingle with better company?
He became more and more scarce, sometimes away for days or even weeks, leaving Heather alone in the fancy flat hed rented for her. Shed spend evenings on her own, listening to the ticking clock, flicking aimlessly through her wardrobe. If she tried to talk about it, tell him she missed him, Edward would just wave her off, avoiding her eyes:
You got what you wanted. What more is there?
Heather tried to excuse him. Works stressful, she told herself, hes probably tired. Or: Hell snap out of it. But deep down, she knew it wasnt tiredness or work. She was just a pretty new toy. Once the shine wore off, so did his interest.
She endured it. His cutting words, silence, absencesshe put up with it because she feared admitting the most important thing of all: shed made a mistake. To accept that her glossy new life was an empty thing would mean accepting, too, that shed betrayed the only person who had ever loved her truly. William, with his ordinary job and quiet dreams, was the one who valued her for herselfnot for what she could provide for someone else, nor what she represented as arm-candy.
Eventually even the perks of luxury lost their thrill. The expensive clothes hung limp in the wardrobe. The jewellery had lost its sparkle. Restaurants she once adoredsoft lighting, elegant food, a constant sense of occasionbegan to irritate her. The expensive perfume, once the symbol of a fresh start, now made her nauseous.
More and more, she found herself staring out the window, listening to the rain on the glass, thinking: What if But she never finished the thought, afraid of the answer. After all, hovering beneath it was always: Now what?
In the deepening shadows of her solitary London evenings, Heather began to realise how empty dreams of stability truly were, when they had no one to share them with. Shed pictured a life where nothing could go wrong, where the path was sure, every day planned and safe. Yet now, sitting alone in her expensive flat, it all felt insignificant. Without someone to share it with, nothing else mattered.
Her mind trailed, over and over, to William. She remembered his handsstrong, roughened by work, but gentle when they held hers. She remembered his smilenot broad or boastful, but genuine, appearing only when totally happy. She remembered the way hed talk about the future: no speeches, no grand promisesjust his plans, his belief that together, theyd make it. That sense of certainty had been so real, so solid, that shed felt she could face anything, if only he was there beside her
************************
On the third day at home, Heather decided to stroll through the park where she and William once walked together. There was the old bench under the spreading maple treetheyd sat often, chatting for hours, laughing at nothing in particular. She remembered how William, staring up at the falling leaves, once said, Id love us to have our own place one day, with big windowsso the sunlight would pour in every morning. So it would always be bright and happy. Back then, shed just smiled, thinking them only dreams. Now those words sounded like something lost forever.
She stopped, drawing in a breath of crisp autumn air, pulling her thoughts together. Then she heard a familiar voice:
Heather?
She turned. Before her stood Simon, a mutual friend from the old days. He looked surprised, but smiled, clearly pleased to see her.
Wasnt expecting to bump into you here, he said, raising his eyebrow. How are you keeping?
Heather hesitated for a moment, searching for words. She wanted to sound light, at ease, but her voice fluttered slightly, though she tried to hide it.
Im alright, she managed a smile, more genuine than shed expected. Im just visiting Mum.
Simon nodded, taking her in with a keen but gentle eye, but asking nothing more. Instead, he gestured to the nearby bench.
Fancy a sit down? I was thinking of heading that way.
Heather agreed and they walked slowly over. Along the way, Simon told her about his job, the latest changes in town. His voice was calm, friendly; it was a relief. Heather listened, sometimes offering a comment or two, silently marvelling at how odd it felt to be back, surrounded by reminders of a life once left behind.
Simon paused, then, after a while, asked quietly:
Seen William?
Heathers eyes drifted down to the scattered leaves. Memories of yesterdays encounter tumbled through her mind: his cold stare, those cutting words. At last she whispered:
Yes. Yesterday.
And? Simons gaze searched her face.
He he wants nothing to do with me, Heather choked out, each word heavy and strained. Her voice stayed even, but carried a muted pain, as if she held back a whole storm inside. He hates me.
Simon sighed, sat down beside her, elbows on knees, gazing thoughtfully into the distance, where the path melted into golden autumn haze. After a moment, he began in a quiet voice:
You know, he never really got over you. You just disappeared, Heather. No calls, no letters. He felt you stabbed him in the back.
Heathers hands tightened, nails leaving gentle crescents in her skin. Shed always known it, but hearing it from someone else cut deeper than shed imagined.
I know, she whispered, eyes down. I was wrong.
Simon glanced at her but didnt judge, didnt lecture. He continued, calm as ever:
He tried to move on. Met a few women. Never worked out. Said he couldnt care for anyone the same way. It nearly broke him, you know. And after that showy visit of yours I thought hed never come back to himself.
Heather merely nodded. She pictured William trying to forget, forcing himself not to think about her, probably jumping at every familiar voice or reminder. The pain grew sharper, not because hed suffered, but because shed been the cause.
I didnt knowI just thought I was doing the right thing, looking out for myself. I wanted security.
Simon didnt disagree or try to convince her otherwise. He simply sat with her, letting her turn things over in her mind. The wind shuffled the leaves, childrens laughter drifted from the distant playpark. Life carried on.
Heather clenched her fists so tightly it hurt, determined to resist the tears that still blurred her vision. Inside, everything shrank under the weight of realisation: she couldnt fix any of it. Couldnt turn back time, could only live with what shed done.
I dont expect forgiveness, she finally said, voice shaking, words tumbling awkwardly out. I just wanted him to know Im sorry. I regret it, every single day. The guilttheres no escaping it. I keep replaying what we had, and how I threw it all away
Simon studied her, not with judgement, just understanding. For a few moments he said nothing, then replied, calm but firm:
Maybe its best for him not to know, he said. Let him be. Dont come back again. He needed so long to get over it. You popping up like this stirs everything up again. Last night he rang me, drunk as anything. I havent seen him like that in years. Dont ruin it for him again, Heather.
She bit her lip hard, but stayed silent. She knew Simon was right. Her sudden arrival, her attempt to see Williamif anything, shed only ripped open wounds hed tried so hard to heal. Shed wanted to make amends, but perhaps all shed done was inflict more pain
*************************
That evening, Heather sat by the window in her mothers flat. Beyond the glass, the city lights glowedyellow, orange, whitestreaming together in a shifting mosaic, shining and gleaming, conjuring the illusion of celebration. None of it mattered to Heather now. Her mind circled and circledmemories flickering by like an old black-and-white film, impossible to pause.
She pictured what could have been, had she stayed: sharing a tiny flat, William starting his business, planning for the future, laughing over little mishaps, celebrating small victories. She counted all the happy moments shed missed, the kind words left unspoken, the touches never shared. She saw, all too starkly, that the past could never be changed.
The next morning, Heather packed to leave. She took her time, as if by making small delays she could avoid saying goodbye. Her mum watched from the doorway, quiet resignation in her eyesno blame, just sorrow that her daughter was setting off again.
Take care, love, her mum said as she hugged Heather in the hallway, suitcase in hand.
Heather nodded, kissed her cheek, lingered for a second, soaking up all the familiar smells of home, then stepped out into the morning.
At the station, she bought a ticket back to Londonshe needed to think. A few hours on the train, among strangers maybe the journey would help her work out her next steps.
The train rolled out of the station, gently swaying along the tracks. Heather didnt take her eyes from the window. The familiar patches of her childhood city passed by: the red-brick terraces, tiny balconies lush with flowers, the playground shed once ruled with her best friends, the bakery with its cheery red sign. People bustled on their waysomeone with shopping bags, someone sheltering with an umbrella despite the sun, someone rushing for the bus. All of it seemed so ordinary, so habitual, and yet now impossibly distant.
Somewhere there, in those winding streets, lived the man she loved above everything. The man whose eyes sparkled when he spoke about their plans, whose hands could both build and cradle. The man she never gave a chance to say goodbye. Lost to her nowshe realised it with all the painful clarity shed tried in vain to avoid.
*************************
Six months passed. Heather kept on in London, went to work, met friends for coffee at weekends, answered questions about her health and her plans. Outwardly, nothing much had changed: same routine, same faces, same conversations. But inside, something fundamental had shifted. She no longer ran from her past, didnt try to bury it under new friendships, flashy purchases, or a packed diary. She looked it squarely in the face: accepted her mistake, owned the pain shed caused, and acknowledged her regret.
She learnt to wake up telling herself, Life goes on. I did what I did. It was wrong, but nothing can change it. Even in this admission there was a quiet reliefnot happiness, but space enough to breathe, to look ahead without panic.
One evening as Heather was cooking supper, her phone buzzed. She wiped her hands, glanced at the screen. A message from an unfamiliar number. Just a single sentence: I dont hate you. But I cant forgive you either.
Heather paused. Her hand tightened round the phone, heart stuttering, then beating faster. She half-collapsed onto the kitchen floor, pressing the phone to her chest, as if she could somehow feel another heartbeat through that thin pane of glassthe heartbeat of the one whod written those words.
She didnt know what it meant, how to interpret ita step towards reconciliation, or a last farewell. But for the first time in a long while, she felt a thread remain between them. Fine, fragile, ready to snap at the gentlest touch, but, unbroken. Somewhere out there, in another city, someone was still thinking of her. Someone decided to write, despite pain and resentment. Someone hadnt closed the door.
Heather smiled through her tearsa hesitant, wobbly, but true smile. Perhaps this was not the end. Perhaps, one day, they would have a real conversation, calmly, without blame or excuses. Perhaps theyd find words to help them both move ontogether, or separately, but with clarity and peace.
For now it was enough to know she was not erased from his story. That somewhere out there lived a man who remembered her, not just as a mistake, but as a part of his life.
Sometimes, the hardest and most important thing is to face the truth about the choices weve madeand to carry on living, not in the shadow of regret, but in the light of understanding.
