“Hello! I knew we’d meet again…”
A year ago, Oliver was driving home from work when he caught a glimpse of her. By the time he found the turn and doubled back, she’d already vanished. Ever since, whenever nostalgia weighed on him, he’d return to that spot, sitting in his car, hoping to see her again. He imagined stepping out and saying, “Hello! Fancy bumping into you here…”
They’d been in the same class. Just an ordinary girl, nothing special—except for being top of the year. He hadn’t paid her any mind. Back then, none of the girls interested him. They’d grown up together, shared so many years that his classmates felt almost like family. How could you fall for someone who felt like a sister? Impossible. He hung with the lads—that was different. Some girls he chatted with more, others less. But her? She’d been invisible.
A-levels loomed ahead. Oliver, who’d never cared much about grades, suddenly grew uneasy. His mum dreamed of him studying law, becoming a barrister like his father, who’d dropped dead of a heart attack two years prior.
Oliver didn’t want to be a barrister. He wanted to code, to master AI and emerging tech. For that, he needed maths.
School bored him senseless, but uni was different—you studied with purpose, not just to cram facts you’d never use.
Mr. Thompson, their maths teacher, reminded the class at the start of the lesson: *Today’s test result is your final mark for the term. Exams are coming—get used to it. Past grades don’t matter.*
The swots tensed; the strugglers smirked, seeing a slim chance to scrape a decent mark.
Oliver breezed through the equations but stalled on the problem. Time ticked away, his mind blank. Desperate, he scanned for someone to copy from. In front sat burly Charlie Wilkins—no help there. Still, Oliver tapped his pen against Charlie’s broad back. No response.
Behind him sat Emily Whitmore, the class brain. No hope there—she never shared answers.
Next to him was his mate, Jake. Useless. Oliver slid his paper toward him. Jake waved him off—*Not now, I’m drowning too.*
Across the aisle, Isabella Fletcher worked on the same problem. He’d never ask *her*. She fancied him—once she latched on, she’d never let go.
Mr. Thompson prowled the rows, hands clasped behind his back. Tall and gaunt in a sharp grey suit, he stooped like a heron over each desk. He paused at Charlie’s, frowned at his paper, then moved on.
Time was nearly up. Then—a faint tap on his shoulder.
Oliver turned. Emily’s eyes met his. *Go on*, she mouthed. He handed her his unsolved problem and waited, sweat prickling his neck. Mr. Thompson was circling back. What was taking her so long?
*Oliver, check your work. There’s time to fix it.* Mr. Thompson hovered by the next desk, rapping his bony finger on a classmate’s paper.
Then—a whisper of paper landed on his shoulder. He grabbed it. Scribbled at the bottom in pencil was the solution. He copied it frantically, erasing the evidence as Mr. Thompson’s shadow fell over him. His heart plunged. *Did he see?* But the bell rang.
*Pens down. Papers on my desk.*
Oliver exhaled, added his to the pile, and bolted.
In the corridor, he caught Emily. “Cheers. You saved my skin.”
She shrugged. “Same paper. No bother.”
Never in a million years had he expected silent, studious Emily to help—unprompted, no less. Isabella stalked past, shooting daggers. Let her.
After school, Oliver waited for Emily by the gates.
“Em, how’d you know I was stuck?” he asked, falling into step beside her.
“You were fidgeting like a madman.”
“Thought I’d flunk it.”
“Applying for law?”
“How’d you—? Nah. Mum’s dream. I’m aiming for comp sci. Future’s in tech.”
“Our mums work together. Didn’t you know?”
“She never said…”
They traded small talk as they walked.
“Isabella’s tailing us. Can *feel* her staring. She’s obsessed with you,” Emily said suddenly.
“Tell me about it. Won’t leave me alone. You?”
He barely registered Isabella’s presence anymore.
“Med school.”
“Blimey. Saving lives?”
“Paediatrics.”
That surprised him. Stern, quiet Emily Whitmore, a children’s doctor? What *did* he know about her? They reached her block. Any second now, Isabella would pounce.
“Explain that problem to me. What if it’s on the A-level? You won’t be there to bail me out.”
“Fine.” She dropped her bag on a bench, pulled out a notebook, and broke it down.
They leaned in, heads nearly touching. Oliver felt Isabella’s breath on his neck. He moved to edge away—then a strand of Emily’s hair, escaped from her knit hat, brushed his cheek. His skin burned. His breath hitched. A dull ache bloomed in his gut. He wanted to close the gap between them.
“Get it?” She looked up.
Gold flecks sparked in her dark eyes between thick lashes. Her lips moved, but Oliver heard nothing, staring like he’d never seen her before.
“Well?” she pressed.
He’d been too busy memorising her face to listen.
“Nope,” he admitted. “Fancy the cinema?”
“You *asked* for help. I waste my breath, and you—” She shoved her notebook away. Before he could react, she vanished into the building.
“I’ll go with you,” Isabella purred. He’d forgotten she was there.
As she babbled, Oliver drowned in the memory of Emily’s gold-specked eyes, her soft mouth.
“Piss off,” he snapped, walking away. Finally, she let him be.
The next day, he waited for Emily again.
“Need another maths lesson?” she teased.
“No. I fancy you,” he blurted, flushing. Not what he’d rehearsed.
Emily studied him. Kids shrieked around them; mates called his name—he heard none of it. Only her, those golden eyes.
“Come on,” she said suddenly.
“Where?”
“Cinema. You *did* ask.”
“Right. Let’s.”
He mentally tallied the cash in his bag. Enough? At her doorstep, Emily paused.
“Meet back here in half an hour.”
Oliver sprinted home, dug out his money. Not much.
“Not even taking your coat off?” his nan called from the kitchen.
“Need twenty quid. Short for the pics.”
“Eat first. Where’s the rush?”
He wolfed down dinner, barely chewing. Nan tutted but handed him the cash.
“Ta, Nan!” He kissed her cheek and bolted.
Fifteen minutes later, he waited at Emily’s door.
Just like that, Oliver fell properly in love. Emily consumed his thoughts. He dreamed of her, woke thinking of her. He aced the test.
Now he waited for her daily, walking her home. For her birthday, he gave her flowers and a plush polar bear. He sought her in every room, felt her gaze like sunlight on his back during lessons.
After A-levels, Oliver applied to two uni courses. Got into comp sci—his dream. Luck was with him. Emily started med school.
They met less often, sharing study wins and kissing till their lips swelled. They never went further. Oliver would’ve gladly, but Emily wasn’t ready. He’d wait. They had time.
After second year, their class reunited over summer. Oliver didn’t miss the others, but Emily would be there. That’s all that mattered.
She didn’t show. He nearly left—until Isabella latched onto him, clinging in the train like a limpet. The “cottage” was a rustic farmhouse. They grilled burgers; girls chopped salads. Bottles of wine and vodka appeared.
They drank, goofed off, sang to a guitar. By midnight, the girls took the beds inside; the lads crashed in the hayloft. The night was warm, starry.
Oliver hadn’t drunk much, but fresh air and exhaustion knocked him out fast.
In the dark, a hot body pressed against him, lips searing his. *Emily. She came.* His foggy mind barely registered as he rolled over, pulling her under him.
“Quiet. Don’t wake them,” Isabella’s voice hissed.
He recoiled, shoving at her—but she clung, arms and legs locking around him, her tongue forcing his lips apart…
Oliver knew what he was doing, but the booze and months of longing overruled him.
Dawn broke. Isabella was gone. He crept down, drank from a bucket by the door, and fled to the station. *ItShe never answered his calls again, but years later, he saw her at a café—older, wiser, and smiling at someone new, and he finally understood some loves are meant to stay in the past.
