In a quiet little town surrounded by gloomy pine forests and misty fields, where the wind sent autumn leaves swirling down the lanes, life moved slow, like a sluggish river. Near the end of his shift, Oliver’s phone buzzed—some cheesy pop ringtone his girlfriend Charlotte had picked. He answered, and her voice chimed through:
“Oliver, I’m at the salon. Come pick me up, you know the one.”
“Alright, be there soon,” he replied shortly before hanging up.
Oliver knew Charlotte spent at least two hours at the salon, so he took his time. He parked near the place but, figuring he’d wait it out, ducked into a café down the street.
“She’ll call when she’s done,” he thought, sliding into a booth. A waiter took his order straight away.
Oliver ate, scrolled the news, watched a couple of reels, but still no word from Charlotte. “Wonder how much she’s dropping today?” Not that she paid—her dad, a wealthy investor, footed the bills without a second thought. Charlotte never held back.
They’d been together seven months, sometimes crashing at his modest flat. But when his place felt too “shabby,” she’d flounce back to her parents’ grand country house. An only child, she’d never been told no. Charlotte had introduced him to her parents, but her mum, Margaret, barely hid her disdain. Just a 27-year-old software developer—what did he have to offer? Still, Charlotte must’ve convinced her to play nice, so she stayed frosty but civil. Oliver always felt out of place there.
Deep down, he’d started realizing Charlotte wasn’t the one he’d dreamed of. But the thought of marriage tugged at him, especially after her dad’s not-so-subtle hint: “Make my girl happy, and you’re set. Disappoint her? You’ll regret it.” Message received.
Charlotte was high-maintenance but stunning. Oliver never got why she needed hours at the salon—she was already flawless. Smart, witty, but spoiled rotten by Daddy’s money. The night before, she’d announced:
“Oliver, we’re flying to the Maldives in ten days. Dad’s covering everything. I need a break.”
“From what? You don’t even work,” he’d muttered.
“Dad’ll sort your time off, don’t worry.”
Her words grated. Things between them were getting messy. Oliver knew they were from different worlds, yet he’d still planned to propose. Nursing his coffee, he suddenly heard:
“Oliver? That you?” A bloke across the room grinned like they were old mates.
“Harry?” Oliver shot up, recognizing his childhood best mate. “Bloody hell, it’s been—what, twelve years?”
“Look at you, mate—proper grown now!” Harry clapped him on the back.
“Same to you,” Oliver laughed. “What brings you here?”
“Waiting for my sister, Emily. She’s at the Royal Academy—final year. Got a recital tonight, but classical music’s not my thing, so I popped in here.”
“Emily? How is she?” Oliver’s face lit up.
“Brilliant! Just a village girl, but she got in on pure talent, no connections,” Harry said proudly.
“I’ve got to see her!” Oliver blurted.
“I’ll call her in half an hour, swing by to pick her up. Fancy joining? You here alone?”
“Waiting for Charlotte, my fiancée. She’s at the salon, should be out soon.”
“Perfect, we’ll meet you after,” Harry said before heading off.
Oliver sank into memories. Summers at his gran’s in the countryside, where Harry and Emily lived. Their garden with apple trees, the lake, the river. Fishing, campfires, singing badly to guitar tunes. Emily, a skinny girl with dark braids, had been his first crush. “Wonder what she’s like now?” He caught himself smiling.
“Bit daft, grinning at thin air,” Charlotte’s voice cut in.
“Finally,” Oliver said, scanning her for changes after three salon hours.
“Well? How do I look?” she simpered.
“Fine,” he said.
“Fine?! Do you know what this manicure and facial cost? I’m gorgeous, admit it.”
“As always,” Oliver nodded, avoiding the fight.
“Let’s go to mine. Guests are waiting.”
“Can’t—just ran into some old mates. They’ll be here soon.”
Charlotte pouted, ready to kick off, but Harry and Emily walked in. Emily dashed over and hugged Oliver.
“Oliver, ages! You’re all grown up—look at you!”
He froze. She was radiant—warm, effortless, with hazel eyes that lit up when she laughed. He didn’t want to let go, but Charlotte’s icy voice sliced through:
“Hello.”
“This is Charlotte, my fiancée,” Oliver fumbled. “And Harry and Emily.”
“Alright, love?” Harry grinned.
They fell into easy chatter about the old days, while Charlotte sulked in silence. Oliver’s mind drifted to apple trees and sunlit lakes.
“Honestly, I’d rather be under a palm tree in the Maldives,” Charlotte interrupted. “Dad’s pool’s bigger than your puddle anyway.”
“Any fish in it?” Harry shot back.
“Only the ones on my dinner plate,” she snipped.
The mood tanked. Emily rescued it:
“Oliver, come visit us in the village.”
“Definitely,” he said, glancing at Charlotte. “Weekend trip?”
She scoffed, “Fine, I’ll suffer through this backwater.”
“Don’t bother,” Oliver sighed. “It’s all bugs and mud. You’d hate it.”
“I’ll bring bottled water. Doubt they’ve got proper plumbing.”
“Right, and a microwave oven for the cowshed,” he muttered.
The village welcomed them warmly. A picnic under the apple tree, barbecue sizzling. Oliver felt alive, like a kid again. Charlotte whined nonstop:
“Oliver, the grass itches. The meat smells weird. A bug bit me. The sun’s in my eyes!”
“Enough,” he snapped. “Either enjoy it or go inside.”
“It’s stuffy in there,” she huffed but stomped off.
By the lake, fishing rod in hand, Oliver asked,
“Emily, you seeing anyone?”
“Nope, broke up ages ago. Why?” she teased.
“You’re just… lovely. Easy to be around.”
“And a genius,” Harry added. “Knit you a jumper and whip up a roast after.”
“Yeah, and your fiancée’s probably just whipped up a bill at Harrods,” Emily laughed.
“Spot on,” Oliver admitted, surprising himself. “No roasts there. Just overpriced salads.”
“Don”Don’t worry, mate,” Harry said with a grin, tossing him a beer, “you’ll figure it out.”
