**The Beat of a Heart**
“Jeremy, it really isn’t necessary for you to go to the branch office yourself. Let Charlotte take the documents,” the director said sternly.
“Apologies, but I’d like to. It’s my hometown. I haven’t been back in years,” Jeremy replied.
“Still got family there?” The director softened slightly.
“No. I moved Mum here, but…”
“I get it,” the director cut in. “Home is home. Fine, go. But we’ve got an important meeting tomorrow—can you make it back?”
“Absolutely,” Jeremy promised. “Thank you.” The director waved dismissively.
Jeremy returned to his office, cleared his desk, shut down his computer, and picked up the file. He locked the door behind him, leaving the key with security downstairs.
He didn’t bother stopping at home. From the car, he called his mother. “How are you feeling? I won’t be by tonight—important meeting.” He didn’t mention the trip. No need to worry her. Her heart wasn’t strong.
“Gotta go, Mum. Call if you need anything.” He ended the call and started the engine.
On the outskirts of the city, he filled the tank, grabbed a coffee and a couple of pastries—no more stops. If he hurried, he’d make it before closing. He could always phone ahead, ask them to wait.
He hadn’t planned to visit anyone. Old friends had all moved away. He just wanted to see his childhood town again. Flipping on the radio, the latest pop hit filled the car. He took a sip of scalding coffee.
**
The years had taken their toll on Mum. After Dad passed, her health worsened. The doctors blamed her heart. Jeremy begged her to move closer—better hospitals, better care. But she refused. “You’re grown, love. You need your space.” Still, she grew frailer.
In the end, he convinced her to sell her house, pooled his savings, and bought her a small flat near his own. Since then, he hadn’t returned—not once—though the memories lingered.
Could anyone forget their first love? Maybe she’d long since moved, but the town remained. The same street, the same house where he’d stood beneath her window, aching with unrequited love. Even now, thinking of Emily made his pulse race. He’d never felt that way again. It was as if he’d left his heart behind in that town.
She hadn’t stood out before sixth form—just another quiet girl in class. But after summer break, she returned taller, softer, radiant. That was when Jeremy first realised he had a heart at all, the way it hammered in his chest.
From then on, she was all he thought about. He counted the days till the Christmas dance, rehearsing how he’d ask her, how he’d confess. When the night finally came, the hall glittered with fairy lights. After the performances ended, the music started—too fast, too loud. Then, finally, a slow song.
His stomach twisted. *Now or never.*
He reached her before any of the others could. His hands shook, sweat prickling his collar. Words failed him. Desperate, he held out a trembling hand.
She glanced at her friends—then smiled.
They swayed awkwardly in the centre of the room. His legs were lead, his body stiff. He barely heard the music. All he smelled was the strawberry gloss on her lips.
The song ended. Emily stepped back, laughing with her friends. Jeremy fled.
On her birthday in April, he waited till his parents slept before sneaking out with a can of paint. On the pavement beneath her window, he scrawled: *Happy Birthday!* Below it, *J.W.*—his initials. But he meant them differently: *Just Wishes.*
At school, he waited for a reaction. None came. She invited half their year to her party—not him.
That evening, he loitered outside her house. Music drifted from the windows, laughter ringing. Someone stepped onto the balcony, lighting a cigarette. Jeremy turned away.
At prom, he tried one last time. “I’m leaving for uni soon,” he choked out. “Emily, I love you.”
She turned sharply. “Well, I don’t love you.”
He drank too much that night, went home early. At uni, he threw himself into studies. One winter break, he saw her in town, arm in arm with a stranger. He cut his trip short.
Later, he heard she’d married. He tried to forget, dated others—but the spark never came.
**
Lost in thought, Jeremy reached the town, handed over the documents. “Need a hotel?” the associate asked.
“No, just a quick bite then I’ll head back.”
The associate smirked. “Let me take you somewhere decent.”
Jeremy agreed. He’d grown up here, but never stepped foot in a proper restaurant.
They’d barely sat when a waitress approached—blonde, tight blouse, short skirt. Older now, but unmistakable. *Emily.*
He refused wine, ordered steak instead. His associate watched her walk away, leering. Jeremy felt only irritation. His heart stayed stubbornly calm.
Later, over coffee, he lingered after the associate left.
“You’ve changed,” Emily said, smiling. “More coffee?”
“No. Stay awhile.”
“I finish in an hour. Wait for me?”
He nodded.
Outside, he bought cigarettes, smoked restlessly. Part of him screamed to leave. But if he did—would that mean he was still afraid?
She emerged, heels clicking. He drove her home.
“Not staying?” she asked.
“Early meeting.”
Her makeup was thick, her eyes lined. She hesitated. “Come up. Just for tea.”
Upstairs, he wondered—*why?*
Her parents had retired to a cottage, leaving her the flat. She poured tea for him, vodka for herself.
“Don’t judge. The job’s exhausting,” she said, catching his look. “The customers, the hours…”
“Why not find something else?”
“Not easy here. Tips help.”
She drank, talked. Her first husband cheated. The second drank.
“Remember that dance?” she asked suddenly.
*Of course he remembered.*
She stood, pulled him close. They swayed in the dingy kitchen. Then she tipped her head back. “Kiss me.”
Her lips tasted of vodka, not strawberries. He felt nothing.
Later, in bed, she murmured regrets. “Could’ve been us. Kids, a family…”
He slipped out to smoke on the balcony, shivering. When he returned, she was asleep—makeup smudged, hair tangled. She looked worn.
He dressed, left silently. At a flower stall on the edge of town, he ordered a bouquet. *”Thank you for tonight.”* He still knew her address.
The motorway was empty. As he drove, the fantasy faded. There was nothing left between them.
He showered at home, changed. Within a week, it felt like a dream. Next time, he’d send Charlotte.
He was free.
Then, one morning, he saw Charlotte in the car park. “You’re lovely. How have I not noticed?”
She smiled. “Three years, four months we’ve worked together.”
“Dinner tonight?”
“I’d like that.”
*She likes me.* Sweet, dependable Charlotte. Mum would approve.
And for the first time in years, Jeremy felt his heart stir.
