**Diary Entry**
Everything is going to be different now. I promise…
My shift was nearly over. The shop would close in twenty minutes. Customers rarely came at this hour—it wasn’t a grocery store where you could grab things in a rush. Electronics took careful consideration. They weren’t cheap.
Emily glanced around the open space of the appliance shop. Empty. Even the sales assistants had retreated to the stockroom. Only the security guard lingered near the entrance, staring at his laptop screen. She suspected he was either playing solitaire or scrolling through the news.
She moved toward the back room to call her husband, ask him to peel the potatoes—something to cut down on dinner prep time. Using personal phones on the shop floor was forbidden. Management could check the CCTV feed at any moment and reprimand them.
Just then, a man entered and walked straight to the tablet displays. Still no assistants in sight. The security guard stepped out from his little booth but stayed near the entrance—he wasn’t allowed to leave his post. Emily exhaled and approached the customer.
“How can I help you?” she asked, forcing a professional smile.
The man turned abruptly.
“I need a tablet. This one,” he said, tapping a finger against one of the demo models.
Emily forgot to breathe. It was like seeing a ghost—because, in a way, it *was*. Him. The love she’d lost. No mistake. But how? *Why here?*
When she didn’t answer, he shifted his full attention to her.
“Emily? Is that really you?” His face lit up with surprise.
“Yes. What are you doing here? We close in—” She glanced at her watch. “Fifteen minutes.”
“Too late to buy something?” His gaze swept the near-empty shop. “Shame.”
“We stay until the last customer leaves. I’d recommend this one—slightly pricier, but better quality,” she said, slipping into consultant mode.
“All right. I’ll trust your expertise,” said James.
She bent down, retrieving a sealed box from beneath the display. “Follow me. I’ll process the sale.”
Her fingers trembled as she typed at the counter, fumbling keys, making errors. His gaze burned into her back. Flustered, she hurried toward the stockroom—anything to escape.
“Someone man the till. I’ve logged the sale,” she said to the cluster of younger staff huddled around a table. One of them scurried out. Emily checked her watch again—her shift was over. She could leave.
She never did call her husband. She’d forgotten about him entirely. Tremors still ran through her. *Why?* Why did they have to meet again? She’d prayed she’d never see him. Changing quickly, she slipped out the back exit—the one used for deliveries.
Wet pavement gleamed under streetlights. A light drizzle lingered, but she walked home anyway. Just three stops—she needed to clear her head, steady herself…
***
She’d fallen for James the moment she first saw him. Knew he was a final-year student, knew his name was James Whitmore, knew half the girls at uni swooned over him. But she couldn’t help it. Her heart hammered whenever he passed her in the corridors.
One day in the canteen, she found herself beside him. Too nervous to think straight, she barely noticed what she’d put on her tray.
“You got cash? Hey—you listening?”
“What?” Emily finally registered he was speaking to *her*.
“Cash. The card reader’s down. Cover me, I’ll pay you back.”
She nodded, fumbling in her bag for her purse.
As she stepped away from the till, he called her over. The canteen was packed—no spare seats. Her legs stiff, she carried her tray to his table and sat opposite him. James devoured his mashed potatoes and gravy. Emily stared at her own food, doubting she’d manage a bite.
“Not hungry?” he teased. “First year, right?”
“Yeah,” she muttered, finally meeting his eyes.
“You’re odd. What’s your name?”
“Emily.”
“Different. Emily,” he repeated.
“Named after my gran,” she mumbled.
He finished his meal, gulped his juice. She hadn’t touched hers.
“Don’t worry, I’ll get you back. Come here tomorrow, same time—we’ll eat together.” He smirked. “Enjoy your lunch.”
She finally exhaled. Had he really just asked her to meet him?
The next day, she barely paid attention in lectures, checking the clock constantly. He wasn’t in the canteen. Had she expected him to wait? Deflated, she grabbed a salad and a roll. At the till, James appeared—paid for her.
“Cheers,” she mumbled. He carried her tray to a table.
“Aren’t you eating?” she dared to ask.
“Already did. Got out early.”
He studied her openly.
“Listen, bunch of us are at Chris’s tonight. His parents are away. Fancy coming? Few drinks, bit of dancing. Where d’you live?”
“Near Grenfell Road.”
“That’s close. What number?” She told him. “I’ll pick you up at seven. Enjoy.”
At seven, he was there. The flat was packed—faces she didn’t know. Emily felt out of place. No one noticed her. Or James. He danced with other girls, vanished, reappeared. When another girl draped herself over him, Emily stood—time to leave. She had an exam tomorrow. Their coats were buried under others.
“Off already? I’ll walk you,” James said, suddenly beside her.
Outside, the wine made her bolder. She even managed conversation. He talked, asked questions—she barely registered the words, too lost in the moment. When he kissed her, she nearly melted. No revision happened that night. She lay awake, replaying it all.
They started dating. Emily floated on cloud nine, ignoring warnings from friends—*James isn’t serious, you know—*ignoring her mum’s scoffs. Who cared what anyone thought? *James Whitmore* loved *her*! She nearly flunked her summer exams—scraped by with two Cs, lost her scholarship.
“Mum, I *love* him. He’s perfect. We’ll get married!” she declared when her mum finally confronted her.
“Bit soon, isn’t it? Already sliding grades—next you’ll drop out,” her mum muttered.
Then James vanished. Stopped calling. Didn’t show up. Emily got his address from the uni office, marched to his flat. His mother answered.
“James isn’t here. Gone to his dad’s.”
“Gone? He didn’t— When’s he back?” Emily stammered.
“Doubt it’ll be soon. His father’s business is in Manchester. Better opportunities there.”
“Can I have his number?” Her voice shook.
“Love, if he didn’t give it to you, he didn’t *want* you calling. Surely you get that?” The door shut.
Emily walked home in a daze. How could he do this? No goodbye, no warning. All those promises—*we’ll always be together—*meant *nothing*?
She sobbed for days. Her mum called a doctor. Pills were prescribed—she chucked them away. Didn’t want to live. But by day four, she forced herself up. Went through the motions like a robot.
It took ages to recover. Then, at a clothes shop before New Year’s, she met Tom. He’d asked for help picking a dress for his sister, then invited her to the girl’s birthday. They spent New Year’s together.
“Tom’s a decent bloke. Give him a chance,” her mum urged, relieved Emily had moved on.
Emily didn’t care either way. When Tom proposed during fourth year, she said yes.
He knew she didn’t love him—hoped his devotion would be enough. When their son was born, Emily poured everything into the boy. Tom might as well have been invisible. Naturally, he strayed. Thought jealousy might spark something in her. It didn’t.
When he admitted to another woman, her face didn’t even flicker. She told him to go. He didn’t. They stayed—for their son, now finishing school.
***
Emily had convinced herself she’d forgotten James. But this chance meeting knocked her sideways, dredged up old feelings. Logic battled her heart—and won. She wouldn’t let him ruin her life again. They’d never cross paths after this.
At home, Tom was frying potatoes.
“Finally. Hungry? Food’s nearly ready. Get changed.”
When she returned, the table was set—even a bottle of white wine.
“Special occasion?” she asked, sitting.
“Just because.” He poured the wine. “Eat before it gets cold.”
Later, they sat by the telly.
“Why didn’t you leave me?” she asked suddenly.
He understood instantly. “Because I love you. I know you never loved me—never said a kind word. Maybe I was a fool to stay. Did you ever feel *As they sat in the quiet glow of the television, his hand found hers, and for the first time in years, she held on tight, realizing that love wasn’t always fireworks—sometimes it was the steady warmth of someone who’d never given up on her.
