In certain relationships, there arrives a strange moment when one partners affection dissolves inexplicably, as if the feeling itself has decided to disappear like mist over the Thames at dawn. This was precisely what befell Edward. Until he turned seventeen, Edward had never entertained the notion of romance. Although quite the favourite among girls at his school in Brighton, he chose instead to invest his time in self-improvement, chasing the lofty ambition of becoming a surgeona path requiring diligent study and singular focus. It wasnt until he began his studies at Oxford, nudged kindly by his mother Doris, that Edward considered genuinely courting anyone.
At last, he discovered someone who genuinely caught his notice. It was Beatrice, a reserved and sharp-witted girl from his study group. Beatrice was quietly astonished the day Edward struck up conversation, as he was known to keep mostly to his close circle of male friends and rarely engaged with the girls beyond the requisite pleasantries. Slowly, their discussions lengthened, turning from casual talks in the library to shared laughter over Yorkshire pudding in the old pub on the corner. Edward mustered the nerve to invite Beatrice out for supper a few times, invitations she accepted with a smile.
Naturally, over russet-tinted afternoons and rainy walks through college quads, their friendship melted gently into a more serious relationship and they spoke openly to friends of seeing each other.
Edwards mother was over the moon, relieved her son might not wind up left to solitude with only a Persian cat for company in some chilly London flat. Yet, curiously, as soon as graduation caps fell, Beatrice’s feelings evaporatedjust swept away, as fleeting as dreams of winning the Lottery. This, while quietly heartbreaking, wasnt unheard of among their circle. When Edward heard of her withdrawal, he felt hollow and bruised, as if hed awakened to find the London Eye spinning backwards, the embankment foggy and unfamiliar. Though a grown man by then, it was the first time he tasted the sharp tang of heartbreak, stumbling through days where things made little sense, colours blurred and time inched its way past in a half-forgotten English summer.
