“Hello! I knew we’d meet again someday…”
A year ago, James was driving home from work when he spotted her by chance. By the time he found the turn, doubled back, she’d already vanished. Since then, on days when sadness crept in, he returned to that spot, sitting in his car, hoping for another glimpse. He imagined stepping out, saying, “Hello! What a surprise seeing you here…”
They’d been in the same class at school. Just an ordinary girl, nothing special—except for being top of the class. He’d never paid her much mind. Back then, none of the girls really caught his eye. Spending years together, growing up, they all felt almost like sisters. How could you fancy someone like that? Impossible. She was just… there. He’d hung around with his mates instead, and that was different. Of course, he chatted more with some girls than others. But her? He’d barely noticed.
A-levels loomed ahead. While James had always been easygoing about grades, the pressure was mounting. His mum dreamed of him studying law, becoming a barrister—just like his father, who’d died suddenly of a heart attack two years ago.
James had no interest in law. He wanted to code, dive into tech, AI. Uni required maths, though. School bored him senseless, but university was different. You studied with purpose, not just random facts you’d never need.
Mr. Thompson, their maths teacher, reminded them at the start of class: today’s test would count as their half-term grade.
“Whatever mark you get today, that’s what goes in. Exams are coming—get used to it. Past marks don’t matter.”
The clever kids tensed; the strugglers brightened—a slim chance to scrape a decent grade.
James breezed through the problems but stalled on the final question. Time slipped away. Desperate, he glanced around. Tom Perkins sat ahead—wider than he was tall—no help there, but James tapped his back with a pen anyway. No response.
Behind him, Emily Whitaker, the class brain. She’d never helped anyone in her life. His mate Dave was nearby—useless at maths. James nudged his sheet over; Dave batted it away, muttering, “Piss off, I’m drowning here.”
Across the aisle, Sarah Langley worked on the same set. Asking her was out of the question—she’d fancied him forever. No way was he inviting that mess.
Mr. Thompson prowled between desks, hands clasped behind his back. Tall, gaunt, in a stiff grey suit, he bent slightly at the waist—like a heron. He paused behind Tom, frowned at his work, then moved on.
Time was almost up. Then—a light tap on his shoulder.
James turned. Emily met his eyes. “Give it,” she mouthed. He handed over his worksheet, heart hammering as Mr. Thompson circled closer. Sweat prickled his neck. What was taking her so long?
“Watson, look again. Find your error,” Mr. Thompson said, rapping a bony finger on another student’s desk.
A folded paper landed on James’ shoulder. He grabbed it. At the bottom, in pencil, was the solution. He copied it quickly, erasing the evidence just as Mr. Thompson’s shadow fell across his desk. His stomach lurched. Had he seen? Then—the bell.
“Pens down. Pass your papers forward,” Mr. Thompson commanded.
James exhaled, added his sheet to the pile, and bolted into the corridor.
“Cheers, Emily. You saved my neck,” he said when she stepped out.
She shrugged. “Same paper. No bother.”
Never in his life had he expected Emily—silent, rule-bound Emily—to bail him out. No pleading required. Sarah Langley stormed past, shooting daggers. Whatever.
After school, James waited by the gates.
“Em, how’d you know I was stuck?” he asked, falling into step beside her.
“You were fidgeting like mad. Obvious.”
“Thought I was heading for a D.”
“Law, then?” she asked.
“How’d you know? Nah. Mum’s dead set on it. I’m doing computer science. Future’s in tech.”
“Our mums work together. Didn’t you know?”
“Nope. Mine never mentioned…”
They walked, trading idle chatter.
“Sarah’s tailing us. Can feel her glare burning my back. Jealous. She’s mad about you,” Emily said suddenly.
“Tell me about it. Won’t leave me alone. You?”
He was used to Sarah lurking—hardly noticed anymore.
“Medicine.”
“Blimey. Saving lives?”
“Kids. Paediatrics,” she said simply.
That stunned him. Never pegged stern, quiet Emily Whitaker as the nurturing type. What did he even know about her? Her house came into view. Once she left, Sarah would pounce.
“Listen—Explain the problem again? Might come up in the exams,” he blurted.
“Fine.” She dropped her bag onto a bench, pulled out a notebook, and broke it down.
They leaned in, heads nearly touching. James felt Sarah’s breath hot by his ear. He started to shift away—then a strand of Emily’s hair, loose from her knitted hat, brushed his cheek. Like a spark. His breath caught; his stomach twisted. He wanted to close the gap between them.
“Got it?” she asked, looking up.
Gold flecks flashed in her dark eyes. Her lips moved, but James had gone deaf—just stared, as if seeing her for the first time.
“Well?” she repeated sharply.
He floundered. Too busy studying her to listen.
“Nah,” he admitted. “Fancy the cinema?”
“You asked for help. I waste my breath, and—” She shoved her notebook away. Before he could react, she vanished through her front door.
“I’ll go,” Sarah purred, smirking. He’d forgotten she was there.
James stood frozen, replaying Emily’s gold-specked eyes, the curve of her mouth.
“Piss off,” he muttered, walking away. Finally, Sarah let him be.
Next day, he waited again at the gates.
“More maths?” Emily teased.
“No. I fancy you,” he blurted, flushing. God, where had that come from?
She studied him. Kids shoved past, mates called out—he heard none of it. Just her, those golden flecks.
“Come on,” she said suddenly.
“Where?”
“Cinema. Your invite—forget already?”
“Nope. Let’s go.”
Walking beside her, he mentally counted the cash in his pocket. Enough? At her door, she stopped.
“Meet here in half an hour.” Gone.
James sprinted home, dumped his bag, scavenged his stash. Barely enough.
“Oi. You eating or what?” His nan stood hands on hips.
“Loan me twenty quid? Short for tickets.”
“Food first. Starving yourself?”
He wolfed down spaghetti, barely chewing. Nan tutted but handed over the cash.
“Ta!” He kissed her cheek and fled.
Fifteen minutes later, he paced outside Emily’s. Just like that, he’d fallen—properly. She consumed his thoughts. He dreamed of her. That test? Full marks.
Now he waited for her daily, walking her home. For her birthday, flowers and a stuffed polar bear. He tracked her in every room, burned under her gaze in class.
After sixth form, James applied to two uni courses. Got into computer science—his dream. Luck was with him. Emily started med school.
They met rarely now, swapping study wins, kissing till their lips throbbed. Never further—she wasn’t ready. Fine. He’d wait. They had time.
After second year, a reunion was planned. James couldn’t care less about the others—but Emily would be there.
She didn’t show. He nearly bailed, but Sarah latched onto him in the train, wedged beside him the whole ride. The “cottage” was a creaky farmhouse. Barbecue in the yard, girls chopping salads. Booze materialised.
They drank, sang, goofed off. Bed well past midnight. Girls took the house; lads crashed in the hayloft. Warm, starry night.
James hadn’t drunk much, but the air, exhaustion, and wine knocked him out.
Then—heat. Lips on his. “Em… You came…” his foggy brain supplied. He rolled, pulling her under him.
“Quiet. Don’t wake them,” Sarah whispered.
He recoiled, but she clung—arms, legs, tongue forcing past his lips.
He knew what he was doing—but the buzz, the months of longing, his body betrayed him.
At dawn, she was gone. He slunk to the station. “Didn’t happen. Her fault. Em mustn’t know,” he chanted the whole ride.
No answer from Emily. Sarah rang.
“Where are you? Everyone’s—”
“I hate you,” he spat, hanging up.
Home,Years later, they met again by chance, and as Emily smiled at him with those same golden-flecked eyes, James finally understood that some loves never fade—they simply wait.
