I dont hate you
Nothings really changed, has it?
Harriet fidgeted with her sleeve as the taxi glided through the damp twilight, streets outside flickering past like half-remembered lullabies. London had never really left her not the echo of her steps on cobblestones, nor the ghost of Wills laughter trailing along the Thames. Seven years. Seven whole years since shed set foot home.
Were here, love, replied the driver, his voice drifting in and out like a voice at the end of a long corridor.
The cab rolled to a slow stopoutside her mothers creaking old block of flats in Southwark, all damp brick and broken satellite dishes. Harriet checked nervously for her mobile, counted out a handful of pounds, and waited as the taxis door thudded shut behind her. For a single drawn, dizzying second, she stood rootedair sharp with the green scent of grass from the communal square, a clinging haze of baked bread from the corner bakery, and something else, something that could only be called “home.” The air squeezed her lungspainful and sweet at once, as if she were both relieved to return and terrified of what lay in wait.
She told herself it was just for a few days. Officially, she was here to visit her mum, to help sort ancient paperwork that had been gathering dust. But she also wantedin the deepest, unnamed part of her heartto see Will again. Maybe, she whispered in some dark, private place, maybe everything could change.
Shed heard about Will in bits and pieces, mostly drifting in through Facebook or let slip between mutual friends. He lived nearby, had done well for himself, landed a solid job, bought a flat, moved his mum in. Whenever Harriet heard news of him, fleeting and sharp as starlight, her mind rushed to sketch what he might look like now, what thoughts filled his head, before quickly shooing them away for fear of letting them linger.
******************
The next afternoon, Harriet walked aimlessly through the city centre. She had no plan, surrendering herself to the peculiar, overcast rhythm of London daylight. She peered into shop windows here, smiled absently there, nostalgia looping snippets in her vision: the magazine kiosk where shed bought comics with sticky coins, the old green bench where she and her schoolmates would loaf after lessons, the café where shed first tasted the froth of cappuccino and nearly spilled the entire cup down her crisp new blouse.
Then she saw him.
Will was across the streeta shadow, a memory given shape, walking without noticing her, head inclined, as if thinking a thought that wouldnt quite leave him. Harriet froze. The world flipped as if she were falling through layers of time; she momentarily forgot how to breathe. He looked just as she remembered: tall, casual in his stride, an easy balance in his step, even his hair the same careful mess.
Without another thought, she darted across the road. Traffic lights blinked a phosphorescent yellow; somewhere, a horn blared, but she didnt care. Her feet remembered for her, carrying her forward, her heart thundering so fiercely it seemed everyone must surely hear it.
Will! She reached him just outside a newsagents, her voice trembling as if calling to him from across a great chilly expanse.
He turnedand she saw nothing in his gaze. No joy, no anger, simply nothing at all.
Harriet? he said quietly, almost neutrally.
That placid tone struck her harder than she expected. Everything she had balled up inside for seven years burst open. Her eyes filled with tears; her voice faltered.
Will, I Im so sorry, she stammered, words tumbling out unbidden. I know I have no right, but her voice caught, tears streaming openly now I still love you. Always. Forgive me. Please, please forgive me.
The words spilled in an anxious rush, as if pausing would turn them to ash. She clung to him, pressing her face to his chest, as if by force she could drag back the lost days. For a moment, the street vanished; there was only the warmth of him and the frantic wish that hed embrace her in turn.
Will didnt pull away straightaway. Barely a flicker passed through himhis shoulders dropped, arms half-rising as if tempted to hug her back. The glimmer of hope it kindled was sharp and dangerous, and it ached in her ribs.
But the instant dissolved. He took her gently but firmly by the shoulders, held her a few inches apart. His features were cool, remote, as unyielding as the slate sky. No longer the boy shed loved, but a man, all feelings boxed behind a heavy door.
Go on, get lost, he murmured in her ear.
He said it flat, empty, as if she meant nothing whatsoever. As if she were just another stranger in the London dusk.
I hate you, he added, and for a flickering second disdain seeped through his eyes, raw and unvarnished.
Turning, he walked away without looking back. The city swelled around her as if she were underwaterpeople hurried, cars nagged their horns, somewhere children laughed. Someone stared curiously, perhaps wondering why a woman stands frozen in the street, all the colour drained from her face. She saw and heard none of it.
Only the echo of his fading footsteps, the jagged breath in her chest. The thought rang like a bell: This is it. The end. Forever.
Harriet drifted homeward, legs dull and unresponsive, vision a pale blur. Her mind was empty of all but the thudding resonance of his words.
Back at her mothers kitchen, she made no explanationsjust sat, silent, staring hollowly at the night windows. Her mum, seeing her puffy red eyes and flat stare, didnt pester. She merely sighed, quietly, as if shed long since expected this, and went to put the kettle on. The familiar warble of boiling water and the earthy perfume of black tea steadied Harriet faintly, as if the rituals of home could anchor a drifting soul.
He didnt forgive me, Harriet whispered, clutching her steaming mug. The rising warmth tickled her cheek, but she hardly felt it, her gaze locked in the amber swirl where the lamplight pooled.
Her mother sat beside her, laid a comforting hand on her shoulderjust as she had when Harriet skinned her knees or fell out with friends. That simple touch shrank her back to a small girl, nervy and exposed, her grand adult choices dissolving into mist.
You knew it might go like this, her mother said, not with reproach, but with the soft weariness of old sorrow.
I did, Harriet nodded, finally wrenching her eyes from the tea. Her voice was brittle with exhaustion, as if shed rehearsed this conversation her whole life. But I hoped. Silly of me, wasnt it?
Not silly, replied her mother gently. But, love, you walked down your own road. You broke Wills heartyou did. He turned into someone closed off, like the boy from the old fairytaleno warmth for anyone.
Harriet exhaled, set her mug down, and leaned back, scenes flashing behind her eyelids.
Seven years agolife was simple, sun-dappled. She was twenty-two, brimming with schemes and certainty that anything could be fixed. Will was always there: steady, kind, the one you could call at 2 a.m., who fixed broken shelves and sat through every disaster. He was no poet, and his I love you came in actionsrunning for takeaway, waiting at the bus, listening in quiet ways.
But one snag prickledwhat she saw then as a real problem. Will worked construction, studied nights, saving for his dream of starting a business. His hopes were solid and slow, but she didnt want to wait.
She craved not fancy things, but solidnessa flat, a job, a tomorrow she could count on. With Will everything felt blurry: part-time jobs, late-night lectures, hopes always a step away.
So when her uncle in Manchester offered her a job at his firm, she leapt. Almost without thinking. It was a real, touchable opportunity.
There was another truth, one Harriet tried to forget. Just after her move, she met Edwardforty, polished, oozing confidence. It was at a corporate do, Harriet feeling awkward in a borrowed dress, out of place among sharp-suited colleagues. Edward noticedbegan with flowers (not gaudy bouquets, tasteful arrangements with handwritten cards). Then restaurants with wine lists longer than novels, gallery nights, soft scarves and fine trinkets. Every gift was spun with his mantra: “You deserve better, never settle, take what the world gives.”
At first Harriet resisted, but Edward persisted gentlyconvincing her this was nothing, just attention. Soon her days blurred into candle-lit dinners, business-class taxis, shopping without peering at tags. It all felt like a shimmering dream she dared not wake from.
Between these glittering evenings, she began dating himnot out of love, but because with Edward, there were no storms, no uncertainties. He made life feather-light, buffered from every worry.
She revelled in it. Happy to forget the lovestruck lad in Southwark. More than thatshe began to look down on him, sneering that Will would never make anything of himself.
One day, Harriet went homenot to apologise, not to see Will, but to show him her new, improved life. Deep down, she wanted to prove shed made the winning choice, that breaking free from their old worries was the right move.
She plotted her visit precisely. Chose the trendiest café on Borough High Street, one she knew Will frequented for his post-work flat white. She wore Edwards gifta chic dress cinched at the waistand flashed the sparkling ring hed given her, the sleek designer handbag slung proudly on her arm.
Spotting Will as he entered, she laughed loudly at her companions joke, turning so Will couldnt miss her. Their eyes met. She glimpsed shock, pain, confusion in his gazeall of which shed worked so hard to ignore in herself. But her resolve was steely; she stared back, unflinching.
At the time, she felt triumphant. Proof that she had done right, that real opportunities and security trumped pipedreams. She convinced herself she felt contentment, finally getting her due.
But when Will left, and the laughter died, her gaze drifted to her ring, her bag, her companion and a thin emptiness crept in. All thisthe gifts, the attentionfelt suddenly hollow, shifting under her like mist. She kept smiling, talking, but a voice deep down nagged: Was it worth it?
*********************
It took months for her hollow victory to show its teeth. At first, Edward remained the generous, attentive man: dinners, bouquets, compliments. But the magic flickered, then started to gutterthe way a candle dies of its own accord.
Little things changed first. Warm words turned critical. Flowers gave way to brief texts: Pop by that shop and get yourself something. Soon came outright criticismsher laugh was too much, her friends provincial. His visits grew infrequent, until she was left alone in the flat he paid for, spending solitary evenings counting clock ticks and sorting hangers. When she tried gently to talk, he only shrugged, eyes averted:
You got what you wanted. What more do you need?
Harriet made excusesEdwards work stress, the pressures of business, the city itself. She told herself it was only a phase, that things would smooth out soon, that maybe she was being ungrateful. But deep down she saw the truth: she was merely the latest trophy; once the shine faded, so did Edwards attention.
She endured itthe cold silences, the barbs, the absences. Endured it because conceding defeat meant admitting something far worse: that she had betrayed the only man whod ever really loved her, simply for the gutless promise of certainty. With Willhis calloused hands and quiet faithshe had been cherished for exactly the person she was.
Material pleasures dulled into drudgery. The dresses slumped limply in her wardrobe, jewellery lost its gleam. Even her beloved restaurants felt like empty echo chambers. Perfume, once intoxicating, now made her queasy.
Time and again she found her gaze drifting out the window, picturing a different life with Will. But she clipped the thought each time, unable to answer the question that quivered behind it: What now?
Those evenings, when dusk painted the river with silver, she grappled with the truth: all her promises of security had proved brittle. She imagined the life she might have hadfirst flats together, Will building his business, quiet laughter on rainy nights. Without something, someone, to share certainty with, what was it worth?
Her mind circled back to Wills hands, rough from work but gentle with hers; his shy smile, not showy but steady and real; how he spoke quietly of plans, trusting theyd manage together. It had felt solid, trueenough to fear nothing at all.
*************************
On her third day back, Harriet wandered the park where she and Will once walked endlessly. There, beneath a vast old plane tree, was their benchpaint nicked and fadedwhere theyd lounged, awash in chatter and trivial laughter. She remembered Will, watching showers of autumn leaves, saying, One day, I want us to have a home. With big windows for the morning sun. A place full of light and happiness. Shed only smiled then, thinkingjust a dream. Now it sounded like a life shed let fall through her fingers.
A familiar voice interrupted her reverie.
Harriet?
She turned. There stood Tomtheir old friend. Surprise lit his face, but his smile was genuine.
Didnt expect to see you here, he said. Hows life?
For a second, Harriet hesitated, fumbling for normalcy. Fine, she managed, her smile not quite as forced as shed feared. Visiting Mum.
Tom nodded, not prying, instead waving her to the bench. They sat, Tom chattering about life, the citys little changes, everything and nothing. For a while, Harriet let herself relax, listening, marvelling at the peculiarity of itreturning and sliding right back into old rhythms.
After a pause, Tom grew solemn. Seen Will?
Harriets gaze fluttered down to golden leaves drifting at their feet. Images from yesterday gathered in her mind: Wills cold stare, the lacerating words.
Yes, she replied quietly. Yesterday.
And? Tom pressed, gently.
He he wants nothing to do with me, Harriet murmured, fighting to keep her voice level. He hates me.
Tom exhaled, elbows braced on knees as he watched the tree-lined path fade into sunlit haze.
He struggled. You just vanished, Harrietno calls, no notes. It was like a punch in the gut.
Harriet clenched her hands, feeling them cramp. Shed known, but hearing it aloud drilled the nail in deeper.
I know, she whispered, I know. Im the one at fault.
Tom turned, face understanding, offering no lecture.
He tried. Dated. It never stuck. Said he couldnt feel for anyone else. After youespecially when you came waltzing home as if I worried hed never come out his shell again.
Harriet nodded mutely, picturing Wills blank face, the years hed spent patching himself up. The realisation ached, less from his pain than from the certainty that she, and she alone, had caused it.
I didnt thinkI just wanted stability
Tom didnt contradict her, just sat, letting the leaves whisper their verdict. Childrens laughter echoed from the lake. The world ticked on.
Harriet dug her nails into her palms, fighting tears that refused to be denied. The truth pressed down on her chest: she couldn’t change anything, couldn’t turn back the clock, couldnt undo the ruin shed sown.
Im not asking him to forgive me, she began, voice shaking. I just want him to know Im sorry. I regret it, every day. I go over it constantlyhow I ruined everything.
Tom studied her, soft and serious.
Maybe Will doesnt need to hear it, he said at last, gentle but firm. Let him be. Stay away, you only open old wounds. Hes managed these years, found his own way. But your return just undid it all. He called me last nightabsolutely legless. Dont ruin him, Harriet.
She bit her lip and said nothing. Tom was righther attempt to ease her guilt had only scraped raw what Will had spent years trying to mend.
*************************
That evening, Harriet sat at her mothers kitchen window. Night pressed incity lights twinkled, car headlights stitched erratic patterns on wet concrete. She watched, remembering: what could have been, if shed stayed rent on their first flat, Wills fledgling business, dreams folded into everyday moments. She counted the small joys shed chosen to miss, the words not spoken, the little acts left undone.
The past couldnt be reshapedof this she was now sure. The next morning, she packed her bag without hurry, drawing out the moment. Her mother stood quietly by, sorrow in her eyes but no anger.
Take care of yourself, her mother said softly as Harriet paused on the threshold, suitcase in hand.
Harriet kissed her, breathing in the comforting, musty smell of home, then stepped out to the street.
At Kings Cross, Harriet bought a train ticket northtime to think. Maybe a few hours with strangers rattling up their newspapers, basking in the amnesia of travel, would mend the raw edges.
The train rolled from the city, rocking gently as grey buildings gave way to rolling suburbs, playgrounds and flower-filled balconies, the familiar giving way to the distant. People hurried with their livesbags of groceries, umbrellas open for no rain, the daily commute marching on. All the world seemed the same, unremarkableonly now it was impossibly remote.
Somewhere back there was the man shed loved beyond words, whose hands had known both work and tenderness, whose mind shed never given the chance to understand her leaving. Now he was lost to herforever, she knew, for all the delusions she might spin.
*************************
Half a year flickered past. Harriet stayed in Manchester: office, flat, the parade of lunch dates and weekend coffeeoutwardly unchanged. Inside, something broke, or perhaps healed askew. She no longer ran from her old life, no longer hid behind schedules or bright city lights. She could look back, unblinking: admit her mistake, her pain, her remorse.
She learnt to get up, tell herself: Its done. It was wrong, but theres no changing it. In that, she found a hesitant, fragile kind of peace. Not joynobut at least permission to breathe again.
One silent evening, as she stirred pasta on the hob, her phone buzzed with a new message from an unknown number.
I dont hate you. But I cant forgive you, either.
Harriet stood very, very still. Her hand clenched the phone, heart stuttering, then surging. She slid down to the linoleum, clutching the handset to her chest, as if she could feel Wills pulse through it.
She didnt know what the words meantif they were a step forward or a final farewell. But for the first time in an age, she sensed a filament still tethered them, fine as spun sugar, ready to break or to bind. He was out there, somewhere, remembering too. Hed messaged despite everything. The door wasnt fully closed.
Harriet smiled through tears. The smile was tentative, wounded, but real. Perhaps this wasnt the end. Perhaps, someday, conversation would comecalmer, honest, stripped of old guilt and accusations. Perhaps theyd find words to move ontogether or apart, but knowing.
For now for now, it was enough to know she still lived in a corner of his mind. Enough that she could be more than a regret, but a piece of his history.
And for now, for tonight, that was enough.
