**The Beat of a Heart**
“You don’t need to go to our branch yourself, Jeremy. Let Emily take the documents,” the director said with a frown.
“Sorry, but I’d like to. It’s my hometown. Been a while,” Jeremy replied.
“Your parents still there?” the director asked, softening slightly.
“No. I moved Mum here, but…”
“I understand,” the director interrupted. “Your roots mean something. Fine, go. But tomorrow’s a big day—you’ll be back in time?”
“Of course,” Jeremy promised. “Thanks.” The director waved him off, signaling the conversation was over.
Jeremy stepped into his office, cleared his desk, shut down his computer, grabbed the folder of documents, and locked the door behind him, leaving the key with the security guard downstairs.
He didn’t stop by his flat. From the car, he called his mother, asked how she was, and warned her he wouldn’t visit tonight—an important meeting. He didn’t mention his trip to their old town. No need to worry her, not with her weak heart.
“Alright, Mum, gotta go. Call me if anything.” He hung up and started the engine.
On the way out of London, he filled the tank at a petrol station, grabbing coffee and a couple of sausage rolls to avoid further stops. Best to deliver the papers before the workday ended. Still, he could always call ahead if needed.
He had no plans to see old friends—they’d all scattered. He just wanted to walk the streets of his childhood. Flipping on the radio, the car filled with the latest pop hit. He sipped his coffee.
***
After Dad’s death, Mum’s health worsened. Tests revealed a heart condition. Jeremy begged her to move to London—better hospitals, better care. But she refused. “You’re grown, you need your own life. I’ll just be in the way.” Yet she kept fading.
Eventually, he convinced her to sell their house, pooled his savings, and bought her a small flat near his. Since then, he hadn’t returned to his hometown, though memories lingered.
Could anyone forget their first love? Maybe Emma didn’t live there anymore, but the town remained—the same streets, the same house where he’d stood beneath her window, heartsick. Even now, thinking of Emma made his pulse quicken. He’d never felt that way about anyone else. It was as if he’d left his heart there forever.
For years, he’d barely noticed Emma—just another quiet girl in class—until sixth form. After summer break, she returned taller, radiant, different. That day, for the first time, Jeremy truly felt his own heartbeat.
From then on, he thought of nothing but her. He counted down to the Christmas dance, when he’d finally ask her out and confess his feelings. When the night came, the hall glittered with lights. After the performances, the music started. He hesitated through the first slow song.
As the night wore on, only upbeat tracks played. His chances slipped away. Jeremy stood by the wall, biting his lip. Finally, a ballad started—the floor cleared.
Now or never. He rushed toward Emma, determined to beat any competition.
His heart pounded so hard his vision blurred. He could barely breathe, let alone speak. Trembling, he held out a hand, desperation in his eyes.
Emma glanced at her friends, then surprised him with a smile. In front of everyone, Jeremy clumsily took her waist. She rested her hands on his shoulders, and they swayed in place.
His legs felt stiff, his body numb with nerves. Other couples might’ve been dancing, but Jeremy saw nothing, heard nothing. His pulse roared in his ears.
Emma’s strawberry lip gloss filled his senses. Years later, that scent still brought the memory rushing back.
Then the music stopped. Emma stepped away, rejoining her friends. She whispered something—they laughed, glancing at him. Blushing, Jeremy bolted from the hall.
Near her birthday in April, he waited for his parents to sleep before sneaking out with paint and a brush. Under her window, he scrawled *Happy Birthday!* and signed *J.R.*—his initials, but secretly, *Just Remember*.
At school, he waited for Emma to mention it. She never did. She invited classmates over—not him.
Confused, he skipped home, detouring to her street. His heart sank. Rain had smeared the water-based paint into a blur. She’d never known.
That evening, he lingered outside her house. Music and laughter drifted from her window. Someone stepped onto the balcony, lighting a cigarette. Jeremy left.
At graduation, he tried one last time. He asked her to dance.
“I don’t dance,” she said, turning away.
“I’m leaving for uni soon… Emma, I love you.”
She spun around. “Well, I don’t love *you*.”
He drank to numb the pain, left early, and never looked back. At university, he heard she’d married. He dated others but never felt the same.
***
Lost in thought, Jeremy reached town and delivered the documents.
“Staying at a hotel?” his client asked.
“No, just a quick bite, then I’m off,” Jeremy replied.
The man chuckled. “Come on, I’ll take you somewhere decent.”
Jeremy agreed. Though he’d grown up here, he’d never been inside a proper restaurant. Crystal chandeliers glowed, white tablecloths blindingly crisp.
Before they sat, a waitress approached—curvy in a tight blouse, short skirt—Emma, though barely recognizable.
He declined wine, ordering steak and salad instead. When she brought the food, his client ogled her.
*Why does she parade herself like this?* Jeremy felt only irritation. No skipped heartbeat.
Later, he ordered coffee. His client fidgeted.
“Go ahead,” Jeremy said. “I’ll leave soon.” Relieved, the man left.
Emma returned. “Hello. Took me a second to recognize you. More coffee?”
“No. Sit with me.”
“Can’t. My shift ends soon. Wait for me?”
He nodded, paid, and stepped outside. He hadn’t smoked in years but craved one now. He bought a pack at a nearby shop, returning to the restaurant entrance. His thoughts tangled. *Leave now. Just drive.* But if he did, he’d still be running.
Emma emerged. He drove her home.
“Staying at a hotel?” she asked.
“No, heading back. Early meeting.”
He studied her heavy makeup, listening to his steady pulse.
“Five minutes won’t change anything. Come up for tea.”
Inside, he wondered, *Why?*
Her parents had retired, leaving her the flat. She poured tea, then fetched vodka from the fridge.
“Don’t judge. Just takes the edge off,” she said. “Customers can be awful.”
“Why not find another job?”
“Not many options here. Tips help.” She drank, opening up—her first husband cheated, the second drank.
“Remember that dance?” she suddenly asked.
Of course he did. If only he’d been braver.
Emma stood, pulling him close. They swayed in the kitchen until she tilted her head back.
“Kiss me.”
Her eyes glittered—from tears or vodka? He kissed her. No strawberry taste, just bitterness. Once, he’d have died for this. Now—nothing.
Later, in bed, she murmured regrets—life hadn’t turned out as she dreamed. She wished they’d worked out. He thought, *If she quit drinking, dressed better…*
Smoking on the balcony, he watched the empty streets. Cold, he returned inside. Emma slept, makeup smudged, hair tangled. She looked old.
He dressed and left quietly. At a flower stall, he ordered a bouquet delivered to her flat at nine, with a note: *Thanks for tonight.*
The motorway was clear. As he drove, his thoughts spiraled. *She could change…* But the further he went, the more absurd it seemed.
The past was gone.
Back home, showered and changed, the week blurred. The trip had closed a chapter. He felt free.
Then, in the car park, he bumped into Emily. *She’s pretty. How’d I never notice?*
“What are you doing tonight? Three years working together—I barely know you.”
Emily smiled. “I’d love dinner.”
*She likes me. Mum would approve.* And for the first time in years, his heart fluttered.
