Come to Me…
Annie couldn’t stand her body. Since childhood, she’d been chubby and envied the slender girls around her. No matter how many diets she tried, the weight never came off.
“Stop torturing yourself. Eat properly. The right person will love you no matter what—whether you’re thin or curvy. Love isn’t about looks; it’s about heart and character,” her dad reassured her. “Your mum was never a waif, and that never stopped me from loving her. A woman should be soft and cosy.”
“Easy for you to say. You can eat all the pies and never gain a pound. Why couldn’t I take after you?” Annie grumbled.
“Did you suddenly decide to lose weight because you fancy someone?” her mum chimed in.
Annie looked down.
“I had a crush in school too, you know. Suffered terribly. He liked another girl—the prettiest in class. Then we left school, I stopped seeing him every day, and it passed. Years later, I bumped into him on the street, and d’you know what? I was glad nothing ever happened between us.”
“Why?” Annie asked.
“He married that pretty girl. But she demanded fancy clothes, and he earned little. So he pulled off some dodgy scheme, stole a load of money, and got jailed. Came out a different man. His wife left him, no one would hire him, and he turned to drink. Such a sad end to what started so well,” her mum sighed.
“Your dad and I struggled too, especially when you were born. But we managed. So if he doesn’t choose you, maybe it’s for the best. If it’s not meant to be, it’s not.”
“But if he had chosen you, he wouldn’t have stolen or gone to prison,” Annie mused.
“He never could’ve chosen me. He liked pretty, slim girls. And even if he had, he’d have strayed eventually. We’d have divorced anyway. But then I wouldn’t have met your dad,” her mum smiled. “Everything happens for a reason.”
“I still want to lose weight,” Annie insisted stubbornly.
That evening, she scoured the internet for diets, staring at before-and-after photos. If they could do it, so could she.
The next morning, Annie woke up, stretched, and checked the time. Plenty left to laze. Then she remembered—last night, she’d vowed to start anew. She went to the window. Clouds loomed, rain imminent. *Maybe postpone till tomorrow when it’s sunny? No*, she decided, *or I’ll keep putting it off forever*. Resolutely, she pulled on her tracksuit.
The streets of Manchester were empty. Good—no one to see her. She jogged out of the estate.
Soon, she was gasping, her side stabbing, throat raw with damp coughs. Sweat streamed down her back. She stopped to catch her breath, windmilled her arms, and jogged back. *Fine—I’ll get used to it.*
The next morning, every muscle ached. Fighting through it, she ran again, crawling home like a snail.
“Where’ve you been, soaked like this?” her mum asked as Annie trudged in.
“Running.”
“Exercise? Good on you. I never had the willpower. Tired? Shower, then breakfast—you’ll be late for school.”
“No pastries. Just coffee,” Annie said firmly.
“Your call. But starting too harsh and cutting everything won’t help. You pace a long race, or you’ll burn out before the finish,” her mum chided.
“Good girl,” her dad clapped her back. “Respect the determination,” he said, sitting down with his coffee.
“What, you dieting too? Who’ll eat these pastries, then?” her mum huffed.
“Don’t fret. I’ll eat Annie’s share,” he winked, taking a huge bite.
Annie swallowed. *One pastry won’t ruin me. Cutting out everything suddenly isn’t healthy.* But she resisted. Downing her coffee, she stood.
“Now she’ll starve herself,” her mum sighed as Annie left.
She didn’t hear her dad’s reply.
With time, Annie lengthened her runs. One day, she noticed her jeans looser. She rushed to the mirror—but saw no change.
Once, two lithe, swift girls overtook her. Annie moved aside. As they passed, one sneered, “No wonder it’s slippery—fat dripping off the fatty,” and laughed like chiming bells. The other shushed her, offering Annie an apologetic smile.
*I’ll never manage. Maybe dancing?* She signed up for beginners’ classes.
Hunger gnawed till she swayed. Passing the school canteen, she sped up. At dance, she overheard girls calling her a cow in the changing room. Humiliated, she waited till they left.
Her mum fretted, sneaking extra fish or a spare burger onto her plate. Annie refused, doubling down on morning runs.
By graduation, she’d slimmed. Not yet slender, but she liked her reflection.
After diplomas and speeches, slow dances began. Annie hesitated. *What if they call me a cow again?* Then she saw Mr Harris—the teacher—whisper to Jake. When a slow song played, Jake crossed the hall toward her.
*He’s only asking because the teacher told him.*
Still, she danced. Only a few couples joined.
“Oi, Jake, watch it! One stomp from Annie, and you’ll be crippled!” the prettiest girl jeered, flanked by giggling friends.
Annie bit her lip, tears pricking.
“Enough,” Jake snapped. “Not funny. You’re just bitter ’cause you’re starving yourselves?”
Silence.
“Ignore them. You dance gracefully,” Jake said, twirling her again.
Bliss. But he never asked her again. *No matter. That dance stays with me.*
At med school, Annie kept running through pain and breathlessness, dropping dance for studies.
Slowly, her curves softened.
She and Jake lost touch, though she stalked his socials—ski trips, trophies, occasionally girls beside him. His status still read “Single.”
She created “Angela”—cartoon avatar, postcards—and messaged him: *Well done on the win!* He replied. Soon they chatted daily. *How’s life? Favourite music?* She sent birthday wishes with a glittering e-card.
*”Meet up?”* he wrote.
Thrilled, she agreed—then panicked. *I’m still fat. He’ll laugh or pity me.*
She showed up but hid, watching him from a corner.
Then she texted: *Something came up.*
*”Tomorrow?”*
*”Exams. Too swamped.”*
She ghosted him. Months later, his page showed a ring photo: *”Found the one! What d’you think?”*
She wept into her pillow.
But no wedding pics followed. Had they married? She stopped checking.
During hospital rotations, she saw Jake in ICU—wired up, comatose.
“Motorbike crash. Two surgeries, four days unconscious,” the consultant said.
“Will he…?” she whispered.
“Why the interest, Annie?”
“We were classmates.”
“Severe head trauma, fractures. Too soon to tell. The longer the coma, the worse the odds.”
Afterward, she begged to stay with him.
“You’re not helping,” the consultant sighed.
“Please.”
He relented.
For hours, she talked to him: *”Spring’s here, trees budding. You’ll wake soon.”* She slipped out when his parents visited.
At last, he stirred.
“Hi,” she said. “How’re you feeling?”
“Who’re you?”
“You don’t remember? Annie—from school.”
“Mask,” he murmured.
She lowered it.
He studied her.
“You look great. Slimmed down.”
“You recognise me? You’re being moved tomorrow. I’ve got lectures now.”
“You’re studying medicine?”
“Yeah. I’ll visit after.”
Next day, she brought cherry blossoms.
“Against the rules, but just for a bit,” she smiled.
A month later, he could stand. She visited less—her rotations ended.
“You’re beautiful. Why settle for me? Pity?” he asked once.
“I hate pity. Remember graduation? You stood up for me. No one ever had.”
He looked away.
“What happened to the girl you gave the ring to? They said only your mum visits.”
“How’d you know?”
“Your socials.”
“She bolted, scared I’d be crippled.” His smile twisted. “You didn’t.”
“I knew you’d recover. You’re healing fast.”
“Why d’you visit less?”
“Exams. You’ll be discharged soon.”
Once, she found *her* at his bedside. Unseen, Annie left.
“You were buzzing, now you’re moping,” her mum said that night.
“She never went back to the hospital, but years later, while walking through a park with her own children, she spotted Jake—limping slightly, holding hands with a woman who wasn’t her, both of them laughing as their little girl chased pigeons, and Annie smiled, knowing life had given each of them exactly what they were meant to have.
