In a quiet town nestled between shadowy pine forests and dull, sprawling fields, where the wind chased withered leaves down empty streets, life moved slowly, like a river lazily winding through the valley. Near the end of his shift, Ethan’s phone buzzed—a tune chosen by his girlfriend, Charlotte, shattering the stillness. He answered, hearing her voice on the other end.
*“Ethan, I’m at the salon. Pick me up—you know where.”*
*“Fine, I’ll be there soon,”* he replied curtly before hanging up.
He knew Charlotte could spend two hours in the salon without blinking, so he took his time. After parking outside the salon, he ducked into a nearby café to kill the wait.
*She’ll call when she’s done,* he thought, sliding into a booth. A waiter appeared in seconds to take his order.
Ethan ate, scrolled through news, watched a few clips—but still no call. *Wonder how much she’ll drop this time?* Not that it mattered. It was her father footing the bill—a wealthy businessman whose money flowed like water. Charlotte never skimped.
They’d been together seven months, sometimes staying in his modest flat. But when she grew tired of his *“cramped little box,”* she flounced back to her parents’ lavish countryside estate. An only child, she’d never been told no. She’d introduced him to her family, but her mother, Evelyn, had looked at him like something stuck to her shoe. A junior software developer, 27—what was there to respect? Charlotte must’ve convinced her to tolerate him, but the chill in the air was unmistakable.
Deep down, he knew Charlotte wasn’t the one. But the thought of marriage lingered, especially after her father’s words: *“Make my daughter happy, and you’ll want for nothing. Disappoint her, and you’ll regret it.”*
Charlotte was spoiled, but stunning. Ethan couldn’t fathom why she needed hours at the salon—she was flawless as she was. Clever, quick-witted, but arrogant, raised on her father’s fortune. Just last night, she’d announced:
*“Ethan, we’re flying to the Maldives in ten days. Daddy’s covering it all. I need a break.”*
*“From what? You don’t work,”* he’d said.
*“Daddy will sort your leave, don’t worry.”*
Her words grated. Their relationship was growing strained. Ethan knew they were from different worlds, yet he’d still planned to marry her. Lost in thought over coffee, a voice startled him.
*“Ethan? That you?”* A man across the room grinned like an old friend.
*“Oliver?”* Ethan shot up, recognizing his childhood mate. *“Blimey, it’s been—what, twelve years?”*
*“You’ve filled out, mate!”* Oliver clapped him on the shoulder. *“Looking sharp.”*
*“You’re not that scrawny kid anymore either,”* Ethan laughed. *“What brings you here?”*
*“Waiting for my sister, Emily. She’s at the conservatory, final year. There’s a recital tonight—not my thing—so I popped in here,”* Oliver said with a smirk.
*“Emily? How is she?”* Ethan brightened.
*“Brilliant. Just a village girl, but she got in on pure talent—no connections.”* Pride warmed Oliver’s voice.
*“I’d love to see her!”* Ethan blurted.
*“Give me half an hour, I’ll ring her. Fancy tagging along? You free?”*
*“Waiting for Charlotte, my fiancée. She’s in the salon.”*
*“Right, we’ll swing by,”* Oliver promised before stepping out.
Memories flooded Ethan’s mind—summers at his gran’s in the countryside, where Oliver and Emily lived. Their garden with apple trees, the pond, the river. Fishing, campfires, singing to Oliver’s out-of-tune guitar. Emily, a skinny girl with plaits and bright hazel eyes, had been his first crush. *Wonder what she’s like now?* His lips curled without realizing.
*“Smiling at thin air? That’s pathetic.”* Charlotte’s voice sliced through.
*“Finally,”* Ethan said, scanning her for any salon-induced transformation.
*“Well? How do I look?”* she purred.
*“Same.”*
*“Same?!”* Her nostrils flared. *“Do you know what this manicure cost? The skincare treatment? I’m radiant, aren’t I?”*
*“Always are,”* he conceded.
*“We’re going to mine. Guests are waiting.”*
*“Can’t. Made plans with old friends—they’re on their way.”*
Charlotte’s lips pursed, ready to snap, but Oliver and Emily walked in. Emily rushed over, pulling Ethan into a hug.
*“Ethan, it’s been ages! Look at you!”*
He froze, struck—she was luminous, effortless, her eyes warm as honey. He didn’t want to let go, but Charlotte’s icy tone cut in.
*“Hello.”*
*“This is Charlotte, my fiancée,”* Ethan said quickly. *“Oliver and Emily.”*
*“Alright, love?”* Oliver grinned.
They fell into old stories, laughter easy, while Charlotte scowled in silence.
*“Rather be under a parasol in the Maldives,”* she interrupted. *“Daddy’s pool’s bigger than your muddy pond.”*
*“Any fish in it?”* Oliver shot back.
*“Only the kind served on silver plates,”* she sneered.
Silence. Emily offered gently:
*“Ethan, come visit us in the village.”*
*“Definitely,”* he said, glancing at Charlotte. *“This weekend.”*
She scoffed. *“Fine, I’ll suffer through this backwater trip.”*
*“Don’t bother,”* Ethan said flatly. *“Mosquitoes, dirt, no spas. You’ll hate it.”*
*“I’ll bring bottled water. God knows what’s in yours.”*
*“And a microwave, since you can’t rough it,”* he muttered.
In the village, they were welcomed warmly—a feast beneath the apple tree, sizzling barbecue. Ethan felt alive, like a boy again. Charlotte whined nonstop:
*“Ethan, the grass itches. The meat smells weird. A mosquito bit me. The sun’s in my eyes!”*
*“Enough,”* he snapped. *“Either enjoy it or go inside.”*
*“It’s stuffy,”* she huffed, retreating indoors.
By the pond, fishing rod in hand, Ethan asked:
*“Emily, seeing anyone?”*
*“No, not for a while. Why?”* She smiled.
*“You’re just… lovely,”* he admitted.
*“And brilliant,”* Oliver added. *“Knit’s jumpers, makes a mean cottage pie.”*
*“Yeah, and your fiancée’s probably never turned on an oven,”* Emily teased.
*“True,”* Ethan said before he could stop himself. *“All she orders is takeaway.”*
*“Don’t worry, you’ll learn,”* Oliver chuckled.
Ethan stayed quiet, realizing marriage to Charlotte meant a life without warmth, without home. On the drive back, she announced:
*“Never taking me there again. Maldives next week.”*
*“I’m not going.”*
*“Then you’ll lose me.”*
*“I’m not going.”*
Silence hung thick. Ethan knew—he belonged among apple trees and fishing trips, not penthouse pools. He didn’t fear her father, and her mother’s disdain meant nothing.
Dropping her off, he met her glare.
*“Final answer?”*
*“Yes. The village’s where I’m happy. We’re too different.”*
*“Goodbye,”* she spat, slamming the door.
Ethan exhaled, relief washing over him. He dialed:
*“Emily, I’ll be there in two days. We’ll figure it out.”*
*“Alone?”* Her voice was soft.
*“Of course.”* His heart soared.
*“I’ll be waiting.”*
His phone buzzed—Charlotte’s father. Ethan ignored it. Some moments were too precious to ruin.
