Rivals Since Childhood: A Tale of Hope
Andrew stepped onto the porch of his parents’ house, breathing in the warm evening air of the village before settling onto the old wooden bench that creaked beneath him—just as it had when they were boys. Moments later, Alex approached the house at an easy pace. He was the same friend Andrew had grown up alongside, inseparable back then, before something between them had fractured years ago…
“So, how’ve you been?” Alex asked, clapping Andrew on the shoulder—firm, like men do.
“Alright, I suppose,” Andrew nodded. “Got a job. Bought a flat in the city.”
“Nice,” Alex grinned approvingly. “Always were the clever one. Not like me…”
“Come off it,” Andrew chuckled. “Mum and Dad told me you’ve got the finest house in the village. Said the neighbors look up to you.”
“Could say the same—you’ve got a flat. Bought it, same as I built mine.”
They laughed, and then—as if out of old habit—they wandered to Alex’s place. Bread, eggs, bacon came out. A bottle of whisky followed. They took a shot each, both wincing—neither drank much.
And then Alex said it:
“Listen… You heard about… Emily?”
Andrew stiffened.
“What about her?”
“She’s married. To some bloke… from the next village over. Teaches at our old school now.”
“Emily?” Andrew repeated, and something ached sharply in his chest. “Didn’t know that…”
“Didn’t believe it either at first. Thought I’d get over it… Spent three days on the tractor—didn’t help. You know?”
He poured another. They drank. Then sat in silence, staring into their mugs of tea.
Suddenly, both looked up and burst into laughter—deep, unrestrained, the way they had as kids. Until their sides hurt, until tears came.
“Well,” Alex wiped his eyes. “All these years over her… and look how it turned out.”
“Yeah,” Andrew agreed softly. “A bloody contest. Who was better, who lasted longer, who was louder. And she just—gone, with someone else.”
“Good on her,” Alex said, unexpectedly. “Chose for herself. We tried, though…”
“Aye,” Andrew mused. “But not for nothing. You built this house. I run a ward at the hospital. We’re something now.”
“Exactly!” Alex brightened. “Twenty-nine, mate. Life’s only starting!”
“You started it first,” Andrew reminded him.
“Maybe. But you kept it going. Bloody know-it-all.”
“Makes me just as daft. Both of us were,” Andrew smirked.
“Remember how she’d sit on that bench after school? Watching us both the same way. Neither yours nor mine—just hers.”
They fell quiet again. Remembering.
Andrew had known Alex since the cradle—born days apart. Grew up side by side, lived across the fence. Played together, sat at the same desk, shared every scrap of their lives. Inseparable—until Year Nine.
And then Emily walked in.
She’d changed over that summer. No longer the lanky girl on a bicycle, but a young woman with a long, wheat-gold braid. And everything shifted. Friends became rivals.
Alex was drawn to engines, tinkering with his dad’s tractor. Andrew—to books and biology. One went to the fields, the other to the lab.
Emily watched them both with a look that could stop a heart.
After school, Andrew left for university. Alex joined the crew. Emily did distance learning, drifting between them. She brought news—who’d earned more, who got the better grant. But she never chose.
Not even the Army reconciled them. They became men, each on his own path. Alex built his house, bought the first car in the village. Andrew became a doctor, earned his degree. Yet both were unmarried. Still alone. Still carrying that memory of the girl with the braid.
And now, here they sat—weathered, eyes shadowed by time—laughing. Bitter and bright.
“Maybe it’s better this way,” Andrew finally said. “Honestly. Maybe he really loves her.”
“Maybe…” Alex murmured. “Hope he does. Otherwise… What was it all for?”
A pause. Then Alex slapped the table:
“You know what? Let’s have another. For her. For us. For life moving on.”
“Aye,” Andrew smirked. “For still being here. And not enemies.”
Alex poured the last round.
“To Emily.”
“To Emily.”
Glasses clinked. Outside, dusk bled into night. Over the old bench, two silhouettes lingered—no longer boys, not yet old men. Just two lives, tangled once and never undone.
And Emily? Well—let her be happy. She bloody well deserved it.
