For Love
The young woman paused as a handsome lad with a large black satchel slung over his shoulder approached her. “Excuse me, miss—could you tell me where Suvorov Street is? I’ve been going in circles.”
“Is this your idea of a pick-up line?” she teased.
“I’m Christopher. And you?”
“Elizabeth,” she replied with a smirk, then turned to walk away—but Christopher caught up with her.
“Honestly, I really am looking for the street. A mate invited me to his wedding, and I don’t know this town at all.”
Only then did she notice his checkered shirt, loose trousers—nothing like the slim-fit fashion of the day—and a proper travel bag. Clearly an out-of-towner.
“Keep straight on down this road, turn right at the traffic lights into the side lane—that’s Suvorov Street,” she said, softening.
“Thank you.” His wide grin transformed his face. “So, what’s your real name?”
“Yours first.”
“My mother loved Shakespeare, so she named me Christopher. Could’ve been worse—might’ve been Hamlet!” He laughed heartily, a sound so genuine it caught her off guard.
“No idea if my mother’s much for literature, but she named me Victoria.” She laughed too.
“Come with me to the wedding tomorrow? It’s my mate’s big day, and I don’t know a soul here.” His hopeful gaze held her.
She hesitated. He seemed sincere, pleasant.
“Sorry, I’ve an exam tomorrow. I ought to study.” She made to leave again.
“Give me your number, and I’ll go. How else will I tell you the time?”
“Did I say I’d go?” Victoria raised an eyebrow.
“No, but… You’re a student, yes? Let me guess—medical school?”
“Yes. How’d you know?”
“Mum always says the kindest souls are teachers and doctors. I won’t leave till you give me your number. I’ll follow you home, stand in the courtyard shouting your name.”
Reluctantly, she dictated the digits.
“I’ll ring you!” he called as she walked away.
Christopher’s mother had hoped he’d continue studying after school, but his grades weren’t enough for a scholarship, and they couldn’t afford tuition. Like most lads, he’d rather kick a football than pore over books.
They lived just the two of them in a small market town with one school—where his mother taught English—and a modest clinic. Serious cases had to go to the county hospital.
Christopher found work at a garage owned by his father’s old friend. University could wait until after his service. Girls fancied him, but none had touched his heart. His father had died in a fire—a builder, he’d raised a fine house for his family.
One evening, walking home, Christopher’s father had seen smoke pouring from a timber-framed cottage. That summer had been cruel with heat, fires no rarity. A woman rushed to him, begging for help—she’d stepped out, but her son was still inside…
Flames already licked the windows as the neighbours gathered. The door was bolted from within. His father smashed a window and vanished into the blaze. He found the boy quickly—luck had led him straight to the child’s room—but the lad had inhaled too much smoke. His father passed the boy through the window, then the roof collapsed.
The woman’s husband had come home drunk, locked the door behind him, fallen onto the bed with a cigarette still lit…
The next day, Christopher rang Victoria. Had she passed her exam? The wedding was still on.
Saturday meant no lectures, so she agreed. May was warm, the cherry blossoms shed like snow over the pavement. When Christopher saw her step out, he stood transfixed.
After the wedding, he walked her home. They talked, kissed at her door.
“I leave tomorrow. You must visit me. It’s beautiful there—the church tower looks over the whole valley. Our house was my father’s work. The river splits the town in two.”
When his father lived, they’d fished at dawn, mist curling over the water, dew on the grass, silence so deep you heard the trout rise. “We’d bring home perch, bream—once even a pike this big.” He stretched his arms wide. “Well, nearly. In the service, I dreamt of home most nights…”
“Why not start university part-time?” Victoria asked.
“Mother insisted on a full education. But I think she just wanted me away—work’s scarce there. Visit after your term ends. You’ll see the beauty for yourself. The town’s grand—rows of brick terraces. Two hours by coach, and you’re in paradise.”
They lingered till dawn, though she was shivering.
From the coach next morning, he texted that he missed her already. Victoria smiled over breakfast.
“That lad from yesterday?” her mother asked.
“You saw us?”
“Naturally. Who is he? Also a student?”
“Yes, engineering,” she lied.
She knew her mother—who wanted nothing but the best for her only child—would disapprove of a garage mechanic from a small town.
They talked for hours after that, texting late into the night. One weekend, Christopher managed a visit—it was high season, the garage teeming with holidaymakers’ cars—but he left on the last coach.
“You promised to come. I’m waiting,” he said at parting.
Finals over, Victoria told her parents she’d visit a friend for a few days.
“Since when do you have friends out of town?” her mother pressed.
“Since now. It’s lovely there—a river, fishing.”
“So it’s fishing you’re after?” her mother scoffed.
“Leave her be. She’s grown,” her father cut in. “I wouldn’t mind a rod myself.”
Next morning, he drove her to the station.
“This isn’t about a friend, is it?”
“Don’t tell Mum. I’ll be careful.”
Her father sighed. “Ring us.”
Christopher met her as promised. Her small hand disappeared in his as they walked to his house. The town was just as he’d described. She worried how his mother would greet her—she wasn’t his bride, yet they’d share a roof.
She’d pictured a cottage, but Christopher led her to a two-storey stone house. His father had built for the future: a home to last a lifetime, room for generations.
Victoria’s room was snug, warm. His mother showed her round—hot water, a shower, gas heating, though the hearth still stood for winter. Just like a city flat. A framed photo of his father hung on the wall. The resemblance was unmistakable.
They wandered till dark, talking endlessly. That night, listening to the house settle around her, she couldn’t sleep.
Christopher took days off to help her settle in. Work was busy—a mechanic had broken his arm.
That afternoon, finishing early, he rang the client. “Your car’s ready.”
“Bring it over, won’t you? The wife’s expecting—can’t leave her.”
“No trouble.”
He changed to keep the seats clean, then drove to the newer estates across the river.
Teens always loitered by the bridge in summer—swimming, fishing, watching the current. From a distance, he saw a boy topple into the water. He braked, ready to scold them—bridge-jumping was reckless—but the lads were already shouting, dragging him toward the railing.
Part of it had crumbled. The boy had slipped through the gap. Christopher scanned the water—no sign of him surfacing. Without thinking, he jumped.
Below, a concrete slab jutted with rusted rebar. He was lucky not to dive headfirst. One iron rod gashed his back. He spotted the boy, tried lifting him—but a searing pain shot through his spine.
Gritting his teeth, he heaved the child up. The oldest lad clambered down to help. Another driver, halted by Christopher’s abandoned car, waded in. The boy was saved.
Christopher, fighting the current with just his arms, was fading when the stranger hauled him ashore.
At hospital, the doctors were grim. They lacked the specialists for spinal surgery. The city hospital, too, was helpless.
“A shattered vertebra. We can’t operate here—it’s too risky. He needs London.”
His mother wept. She hadn’t the means.
“Take him to London. I’ll find the money,” Victoria said, then fled.
Home, her mother raged. “I knew this trip would end badly!”
Victoria didn’t listen. She changed, then went to her father’s office.
“Dad, I need to talk…” She told him everything.
“It’s a fortune. And even if we scrape it together—what if he can’t walk again?”
“But how do we live if we don’t try? He saved that boy! His mother has no one else.”
Her father studied her. For her, he’d give anything—sell the house, his own health. But for a stranger? Yet if he refused, sheYet years later, under the same church tower where they’d first promised forever, their laughter echoed as their children chased butterflies through the wildflowers, proof that love had indeed healed all.
