“I knew we’d meet again someday,” he whispered to himself.
A year ago, Edward was driving home from work when he caught a glimpse of her. By the time he circled back, searching for the right turn, she had vanished. Ever since, whenever melancholy and memories crept in, he would return to that street, waiting in his car, hoping to see her once more. He pictured stepping out and saying, “Hello! What a lovely coincidence!”
They had been classmates. Just an ordinary girl, nothing remarkable—except perhaps for her sharp mind. He hadn’t paid her much attention back then. At that age, no girl had stirred his heart. They’d spent so many years growing up together, the girls in his class felt almost like sisters. How could you fall for someone you saw every day? It was impossible. He’d been closer to the lads, of course, though he chatted with the girls now and then. But her? She had simply faded into the background.
A-levels loomed ahead. Edward had never been overly concerned with marks before, but now, doubts gnawed at him. His mother dreamed of him studying law, becoming a barrister like his father, who had passed suddenly from a heart attack two years prior.
Edward had no interest in law. He wanted to work with computers, to master programming and artificial intelligence. For that, he needed mathematics.
School had grown wearisome, but university was different—there, you learned with purpose, not just for the sake of it.
Mr. Thompson, their maths teacher, reminded them at the start of class that they’d be sitting a test that day.
“Your mark for this test will be your half-year grade,” he said sternly. “The exams are coming. Get used to it. Past marks don’t matter now.”
Those who studied well braced themselves; those who struggled smiled faintly, sensing a slim chance to pull themselves up.
Edward breezed through the equations but stalled on the last problem. Time slipped away, and frustration mounted. He glanced around—who could he ask? In front of him sat plucky Charlie Dawson, unlikely to help. A tap of his pen against Charlie’s back earned no response.
Behind him sat Emily Whitmore, the top of the class. No hope there—she never shared answers.
His mate, Tom, sat beside him, equally hopeless at maths. Edward nudged his paper toward him, but Tom waved him off.
Across the aisle, Sarah Jenkins worked on the same problem set. He wouldn’t ask her—she’d fancied him for ages, and he didn’t want the attention.
Mr. Thompson stalked the aisles, hands behind his back. Tall and reed-thin in his sombre grey suit, he bent slightly at the waist, reminding Edward of a crane. He paused at Charlie’s desk, frowned at his work, then moved on.
Time was nearly up. Then, a light tap on his shoulder.
Edward turned, meeting Emily’s gaze. “Give it here,” she mouthed. He handed over his sheet and waited, pulse racing. Mr. Thompson was coming closer again, and Edward’s palms grew damp. Why was she taking so long?
“Pay attention, Edwards. Find your error and correct it. There’s still time.” Mr. Thompson lingered at the next desk, tapping a bony finger on the page of another boy.
Then—a slip of paper landed on Edward’s shoulder. He snatched it, eyes darting to the scribbled solution at the bottom. He copied it hastily, erasing the pencil marks just as Mr. Thompson’s shadow fell over his desk. His stomach lurched—had he been caught? But the bell rang, a blessed reprieve.
“Pens down. Place your papers on my desk,” Mr. Thompson commanded.
Relieved, Edward added his sheet to the pile and hurried into the corridor.
“Thanks. You saved me,” he said when Emily emerged.
She shrugged. “Same problem set. No trouble.”
He’d never expected quiet, studious Emily to help—especially unasked. She never had before. Nearby, Sarah shot him a poisonous look. Let her.
After school, Edward waited for Emily by the gates.
“How’d you know I was stuck?” he asked, falling into step beside her.
“You were fidgeting. It was obvious.”
“Could’ve been a disaster.”
“Law school still the plan?” she asked.
“You know about that? No. My mum wants it, but I’m set on programming. That’s where the future is.”
“Our mums work together. Didn’t you know?”
“No, mine never mentioned it…”
They walked on, trading idle remarks.
“Sarah’s following us. I can feel her glare. She fancies you,” Emily said suddenly.
“I know. Won’t leave me alone. What about you? What’ll you study?”
He was used to Sarah hovering—hardly noticed her anymore.
“Medicine.”
“Really? Saving lives?”
“Children. I want to be a paediatrician,” she said simply.
It surprised him. He’d never have guessed serious, reserved Emily Whitmore dreamed of working with children. What else didn’t he know about her? They reached her house. Soon she’d be gone, and Sarah would pounce.
“Wait—explain that problem again. What if it’s on the A-levels? You won’t be there to help.”
“Fine.” She set her bag on the bench, pulled out a notebook, and began working through the solution.
They leaned in, heads nearly touching. Edward felt Sarah’s breath near his ear but ignored it—until a loose strand of Emily’s hair, escaped from her knitted hat, brushed his cheek. A jolt ran through him. His breath hitched; his stomach twisted strangely. He wanted to lean closer.
“Understand now?” She looked up.
Golden flecks danced around the dark centres of her eyes. Her lips moved, but Edward heard nothing—just stared, as if seeing her for the first time.
“Well?” she pressed.
He flushed. He’d been too distracted to listen.
“Not really,” he admitted. “Hey—fancy the cinema?”
“You asked for my help, and now—” Annoyed, she shoved her things back into her bag. Before he could react, she’d vanished inside. Behind him, Sarah’s voice dripped with false sweetness.
“I’ll go with you.”
He barely heard her, still dazed by those golden-speckled eyes.
“Leave me alone,” he muttered, walking away. Sarah, for once, let him go.
The next day, he waited for Emily again.
“Need another maths lesson?” she teased.
“No. I like you,” he blurted, cheeks burning.
She studied him. Around them, kids shouted, friends called his name—but he saw only her.
“Come on,” she said suddenly.
“Where?”
“The cinema. You invited me, remember?”
He grinned. “Let’s go.”
Walking beside her, he mentally counted the coins in his pocket. Would it be enough? At her doorstep, she paused.
“Meet here in half an hour.” She disappeared inside.
Edward sprinted home, rummaged for cash, came up short.
“Not even taking your coat off?” his gran scolded.
“Need five quid. Cinema money.”
“Eat first. You’ll faint otherwise.”
He gulped down soup, barely tasting it. His gran sighed but handed him a tenner.
“Thanks!” He kissed her cheek and bolted.
Fifteen minutes later, he waited outside Emily’s flat. This was it—proper, dizzying first love. From then on, she filled his thoughts. He dreamt of her, woke thinking of her. The test? He aced it.
Now he waited for her every day after school, walked her home. For her birthday, he brought flowers and a small white teddy bear. He sought her in every room, felt her gaze burn his back in class.
After graduation, Edward applied to two programmes. Got into computing, just as he’d wanted. Luck had favoured him. Emily went to medical school.
They met less often now, sharing stories between kisses that left them breathless. But they never crossed certain lines. Edward would’ve gladly—but Emily wasn’t ready. He’d wait. Where was the rush? They had forever.
After their second year, the old gang arranged a summer reunion. Edward didn’t much miss his classmates, but Emily would be there. That was all that mattered.
Except she wasn’t at the station. He nearly left—what was the point? But Sarah latched onto him, sticking close the entire train ride. The “cottage” was ramshackle, with a wood stove and a hayloft. They grilled meat; the girls chopped salads. Wine and beer appeared.
They drank, laughed, sang to a badly played guitar. By midnight, the girls claimed the house’s lone bed and sofa; the lads climbed to the hayloft. The night was warm, stars bright.
Edward hadn’t drunk much, but fresh air and exhaustion pulled him under. He woke in the dark to a warm body pressing close, lips on his. “Emily… You came…” His sleep-fogged mind clung to the thought as he pulled her beneath him.
The next morning, Edward woke with a hollow ache in his chest, the taste of betrayal sharp on his tongue, knowing some choices could never be undone.
