**COULD NOT LOVE**
“Girls, which one of you is Lily?” The stranger studied us with a sly, knowing look as my friend and I exchanged glances.
“I’m Lily. Why?” I said, puzzled.
“Here. A letter for you. From William.” She pulled a crumpled envelope from her dressing gown pocket and handed it to me.
“William? Where is he?”
“Hes been moved to a care home for adults. Waited for you, Lily, like a fool waiting for rain. Wore his eyes out hoping. Asked me to check this letter for mistakesdidnt want to embarrass himself in front of you. Anyway, Ive got to go. Lunch soon. I work here as a carer.” She gave me a reproachful sigh before hurrying off.
Once, during the endless stretch of summer when we were sixteen, my friend and I wandered onto the grounds of a strange institution. Adventure called, and we answered.
We settled on a bench, giggling. Then, two boys approached.
“Afternoon, girls. Bored, are you? Fancy a chat?” The taller one stuck out his hand. “William.”
“Lily,” I replied. “And this is my mate, Sophie. What about your quiet friend here?”
“Leonard,” the other mumbled.
They seemed oddly old-fashioned, oddly stern. William tutted disapprovingly.
“Why dyou wear skirts so short? And Sophie, that necklines downright scandalous.”
“Oi, eyes front, lads. Dont want them popping out of your heads,” Sophie shot back, and we cackled.
“Cant help looking. Were only human. Do you smoke, as well?” William pressed.
“Course we do. Just not properly,” I teased.
Only then did we notice something off about their legs. William shuffled awkwardly; Leonard had a pronounced limp.
“You here for treatment?” I ventured.
“Right. Motorcycle crash,” William recited flatly. “Leonard here took a bad dive off the cliffs. Getting discharged soon.”
We believed themthen. We didnt know theyd been disabled since childhood, doomed to live behind those walls, spinning tales of accidents and fights to spare themselves pity. To them, we were a taste of the outside.
But they were sharp, well-read, wise beyond their years. Soon, Sophie and I visited weeklypartly out of pity, partly because they fascinated us. It became routine. William plucked flowers for me; Leonard folded origami for Sophie, bashful as a schoolboy.
Wed squeeze onto that bench, William beside me, Leonard angled toward Sophie, whod blush furiously. We talked about everything and nothing as summer melted away.
Then autumn came. School swallowed us whole. We forgot them entirely.
Exams passed. Prom night. Freedom.
On a whim, we returned. Sat on that bench, waiting for Williams daisies, Leonards paper swans. No one came.
Then the carer appeared with the letter. I tore it open:
*”Dearest Lily, my sweet, unattainable star. You never realised, did you? I loved you from the first. Those afternoons were my only breath. Six months Ive watched that gate. You forgot me. Our paths divergebut thank you for teaching me love. I remember your voice, your laugh, your hands. It aches, Lily. One more glimpsethats all Id ask. But theres no air left.
Leonard and I turned eighteen. Theyll move us come spring. Doubt well meet again. My hearts in tatters. Maybe one day Ill recover.
Goodbye, my darling.”*
*Yours always, William.*
A dried flower fluttered out. Shame crushed me. That saying flickered through my mind: *Were responsible for those weve tamed.*
Id had no idea. To me, hed been a curious, clever boy. Id flirted, yesfed the fire without knowing itd consume him.
Years passed. The letter yellowed; the flower crumbled. But I remember the laughter, the idle chatter, the way summer felt then.
Theres a postscript. Sophie fell for Leonardthe boy abandoned by parents ashamed of his “defect” (one leg shorter than the other). She became a teacher at a care home. Married him. Theyve two grown sons.
William, Leonard said, lived alone. At forty, his mother came, wept, took him to her village. After thatsilence.
