Forgive Me If You Can, Friend
Squeezing into the overcrowded minibus, Lily quickly dropped into the only free seat before anyone else could. Her day had started badly—her hairdryer broke, her husband grumbled about burnt eggs. She skipped breakfast and bolted from the house, rushing to work.
Normally, she’d ride with her husband—it was on his way—but his car was in the shop for repairs. The journey was long, so she turned to the window, watching the blur of people and buildings pass by.
Something nagged at her. Then she felt it—a piercing gaze from the side. She turned and locked eyes with a familiar grey stare. It was Roman, her first and failed love. He smiled.
“Hello,” he said, sitting just across the narrow aisle. “Recognised you straight away—you haven’t changed a bit.”
“Hello,” she replied. “Last person I expected to see.”
“How’ve you been?” he asked.
“Fine,” she lied. “You?”
Part of her hoped he’d admit his life was a wreck—that his wife left him, or something like that. Instead:
“All good. Wife’s working, son finished uni and went off to the seaside.” He glanced out the window and sprang up. “Sorry—this is my stop.” He stepped out, waving through the glass before the minibus pulled away.
Lily sat stunned, replaying his words. It wasn’t true that she hadn’t changed. She’d been a slender girl; now she was a woman in her forties, softened but not drastically. Still, the compliment warmed her.
Her heart wouldn’t settle. She’d dreamed of this meeting—imagined herself wealthy, successful, him pitiful. Yet he wasn’t the lanky boy she remembered but a solid, balding man. Same eyes, though—nothing pitiful about them.
“Of course today’s the day,” she thought. “Just my luck.”
The ride dragged on, her mind tangled in the fleeting encounter. *Why now? Why stir up old feelings?* She remembered the wildflowers he’d picked for her, the clumsy poems, the whispered promises.
At her stop, she hurried to work. The day crawled. Her focus was gone.
“That man’s shaken me right out of my routine,” she mused on the way home.
The phone rang as soon as she stepped inside.
“Lily, I’m picking the car up from the garage,” said her husband, George. “Might stop by the shed after. Eat without me.”
She wasn’t hungry. She turned on the TV but saw nothing, lost in memories—especially the ugly ones. The petty fight that broke them. How she’d seen him arm-in-arm with another girl.
Lily had met Roman through her best friend, Vera. He was Vera’s neighbour. Vera fancied herself an expert on love, doling out advice. Lily should have followed her own heart.
With Roman, it had been real. First love—reckless, overwhelming. His awful poetry sounded like music. She thought it would last forever.
One day, walking entwined, they bumped into a woman who smiled and stopped.
“Hello,” the woman said, eyeing Lily. Roman’s arm slipped from her shoulders as he laughed.
“Mum, what are you doing here?”
Lily flushed. “H-Hello.”
“From Gran’s—she’s poorly. And you two—off somewhere? So you’re Lily.”
“Yes,” Roman said.
“Don’t be shy,” his mother said warmly. “Roman’s told me about you. Lovely to meet the girl who makes my son so happy.”
Lily liked her instantly—kind, steady.
But Vera kept meddling. Once, she advised:
“Lily, pick a fight with him. Making up is the sweetest part—he’ll love you more.”
Lily played along, inventing quarrels, then reconciling. Until she realised: *I don’t want to fight. Why am I listening to her?*
She ignored Vera’s schemes. Vera didn’t like that.
“Looks like you don’t need my help anymore,” she sniffed. “Just don’t come crying later.”
Then came Lily’s birthday. Roman never showed. Vera did.
“Happy birthday! Waiting for Roman? He’s gone to his gran’s—she’s ill. No idea when he’s back.”
No mobiles back then—no way to check. A week passed. She decided to visit his mother.
Outside a club, she spotted Roman with his mates. He looked right through her. Their laughter chased her home, where she sobbed.
*Why? What did I do?* Pride stopped her from confronting him. Later, she’d regret that.
She pined for months. Fantasised he’d burst in, beg forgiveness.
Then Vera returned.
“Still moping? He’s with someone else now. Forget him.”
She saw them together—his new girl. Hope flickered, died.
That spring, she stumbled upon a wedding crowd. The groom was Roman. He beamed at her.
“Hi,” he tossed carelessly.
She walked past, numb. At home, she wept until exhaustion.
“Last tears for you,” she vowed.
She left town. Started fresh. Met George—steady, kind. Married him. Had two sons. Life was calm.
Years later, visiting her mother, she ran into Vera—haggard, alone.
“Lily? Is that you?”
“Vera! I barely recognised you.”
“You look happy. Me? Well… I’m glad I saw you. Need to confess. Forgive me, if you can.”
“Confess what?”
“I sabotaged you and Roman. Told him you were seeing someone else. Set him up with his wife. Made sure she got pregnant. I envied you. No one ever loved me like that. I’m sorry.”
Lily was stunned. “Why?”
“Breaking someone’s heart—the shards cut you too. And they’ve cut me deep.”
She didn’t forgive Vera then.
But today, seeing Roman, she realised she’d forgiven them both. The meeting was a reckoning—proof nothing happens without reason. She had a good life. A loving family.
Who knows what might’ve been?
