Oliver stood by the window, gazing at the sunlit courtyard below. Next door was a Tesco Express, where people cut through the yard to save time. But Oliver wasn’t interested in them. He was waiting for just one person—Sophie.
He’d lived in this building for years, and for just as long, he’d been in love with her. Sophie was two years older and lived two floors down. Nothing extraordinary—just an ordinary girl, one of millions. But to Oliver, she was everything. You can’t command the heart. It loves who it loves, and there’s nothing you can do about it.
She’d just finished her A-levels and was preparing to study nursing. Soon, he wouldn’t see her in the school corridors or between classes. All he could do was keep watch from his window, hoping for a glimpse.
Sophie never noticed him. To her, Oliver was just the kid next door. So he kept his feelings hidden, afraid she’d push him away. He waited until he was older, until he’d finished school, before he dared to confess. But just as he got his diploma and prepared for university, Sophie got married—in the most dramatic way possible.
From his window, Oliver watched as a silver Mercedes decked with ribbons pulled up. A tall man in a navy suit paced impatiently by the car, glancing up at the second-floor windows. Then Sophie burst out of the building in a cloud of lace and tulle, rushing down the steps—only to twist her ankle and fall straight into her fiancé’s arms. He scooped her up, placed her in the car, then examined her shoe, exchanging urgent words with the driver. Oliver guessed the heel had snapped.
Sophie’s mum ran out with a pair of white trainers. That was how Sophie got married—no time to buy new shoes.
The whole building gossiped about it. Bad omen, they said. The marriage wouldn’t last, and happiness wouldn’t follow.
After the wedding, Oliver spent two days lying on his bed, facing the wall. His mum nearly called the doctor, convinced he was ill. On the third day, he returned to his post by the window—but Sophie was gone. His mum said the newlyweds had left for a holiday in Spain. Oliver feared she’d moved out for good. Then, two weeks later, Sophie reappeared—tanned, radiant, walking through the yard as if nothing had changed. She was back! His heart nearly leapt from his chest.
Sophie’s mum moved in with her eldest son, who’d just had a baby, wanting to give the newlyweds space. Time passed, and against all predictions, Sophie and her husband seemed happy.
Life settled. Oliver saw Sophie every day—though now, her husband often tagged along. Then, six months later, they divorced.
His mum broke the news over dinner. The omen had come true. The marriage hadn’t lasted. Rumor had it the husband’s ex-wife had shown up—they had a young son together. The couple had split in a heated argument, then reconciled after he’d rushed into remarrying Sophie. The ex-wife had intervened, telling Sophie everything.
*”He loves his son. I’ve forgiven him. Let him go—you’ll find happiness elsewhere.”*
Sophie let him go. Oliver imagined he could hear her crying through the walls, though that was impossible. He waited by the window for three days, but she didn’t appear. What if she’d hurt herself? The thought chilled him, and he bolted to her door.
She answered, tear-streaked and hollow-eyed but with a flicker of hope. Seeing Oliver, she collapsed onto the sofa, burying her face in a cushion. He hesitated, then stepped inside, crouching beside her, gently stroking her back.
Slowly, her trembling faded. She turned her puffy face toward him, and in that moment, he loved her more than ever—messy, vulnerable, real.
*”Don’t cry,”* he whispered. *”Wait for me. After uni, I’ll marry you.”*
He started university. Sometimes he’d spot Sophie trudging home from work, head down, groceries in hand. His chest ached with pity and love. He’d take her bags, crack jokes, tell silly stories. At her door, she’d reclaim the shopping and say goodbye—never inviting him in.
His mum knew. She hoped he’d grow out of it, fall for a girl his own age. Then she delivered another blow: Sophie was seeing someone—a doctor, twice her age, married, with a daughter Sophie’s age.
Who spread these rumors? The man never visited, never walked her home. Oliver seethed with jealousy. At least she wouldn’t marry him.
Winter came, snow blanketing the courtyard, fairy lights twinkling in every window. Then, one evening, Sophie knocked on his door. His mum was out.
*”Got an onion?”* she asked, cheeks flushed, eyes bright. *”None left, and no time to shop. Please?”*
Disappointment gnawed at him. He fetched one. She turned it in her hands, then smiled. *”Maybe two? I’ll replace them.”*
He gave her another. *”Expecting company?”* he ventured.
She didn’t answer, just thanked him and left.
Resentment burned. Why didn’t she see him? He was a man now—couldn’t she tell how he felt? He glued himself to the window, scanning the yard. He knew every neighbor by silhouette—even in the dark, against the snow.
There—a stranger. A man in a fur hat and long coat strode toward the building. Oliver pictured Sophie kissing him, sharing wine, dinner, then—
Agitated, he paced like a caged animal. Then he watched as the man left barely twenty minutes later. Too soon for—whatever he’d feared. Heart pounding, Oliver rang Sophie’s bell.
She answered, eyes dull. *”What? Need salt now?”*
Mocking him? *”You alone? Can I come in?”*
She let him pass. The table was set for two, wine uncorked but untouched. Sophie blew out the candle.
*”Let’s drink,”* she said, reaching for the bottle.
He poured instead. *”Hungry?”* she asked bitterly. *”Plenty to eat—no one to share it.”*
The wine was rich and sweet. After two glasses, courage surged. *”Your doctor left fast. You split?”*
*”Came to say he’s staying with his wife. Why does no one love me? I’m not hideous.”*
*”I love you,”* Oliver blurted. *”Since Year 6.”* The floodgates opened—how he’d watched her, waited, seethed when she’d married. How he’d rejoiced at her divorce, panicked tonight.
She listened, then took his hand, leading him to the bedroom. At the edge of the bed, she undid the buttons of her blouse. He froze. Her lace bra, white as fresh snow, clung to her curves—nothing like the worn, practical ones his mum hung to dry. Heat flooded him.
She shrugged off her blouse, reached for her skirt. He stopped her.
*”Don’t.”* The wine, her scent—his head spun. He stepped back. *”Not like this.”*
Tears welled in her eyes. He draped her blouse over her shoulders. She sank onto the bed, crying silently. He sat beside her, wiping sweaty palms on his jeans—too afraid to hold her. She leaned into him anyway.
*”You’re the best,”* he murmured. *”I promised Mum I wouldn’t marry before graduating. She raised me alone—I can’t hurt her. But will you marry me?”*
She looked up. His stomach dropped. She’d laugh—he’d die of shame.
Instead, she smiled. *”Yes.”*
Joy exploded in his chest. *”I’ll work, we’ll—”* A knock. They flinched. Sophie opened the door to his furious mum.
*”I knew it. Home. Now.”*
Back upstairs, she hissed, *”Plenty of girls your age—why her?”*
*”I love her. After uni, I’m marrying her. But if you interfere, I’ll move in with her today.”*
His mum deflated. He’d won.
Time passed. He visited Sophie often, took her to films, made her laugh with uni stories. She shared hospital anecdotes.
After graduation, he landed a job at a top firm. One evening, he arrived at her door with red roses. Her mum answered, the flat smelling of baking.
*”Oliver! How grown-up. Come in—Sophie’s shopping. She’ll be back.”*
They drank tea, ate cake. When Sophie walked in, she wasn’t surprised. Her mum excused herself.
Oliver stood. *”Remember my promise?”* He pulled out a ring. *”Marry me?”*
She opened the box. *”Yes.”*
People talked. Some pitied Oliver—*”good lad, wasting himself on her.”* Others shrugged. But as theyThe following year, Oliver pushed the pram through the courtyard while Sophie waved to him from their window, her smile brighter than the morning sun.
