**Just Friends**
The phone call interrupted Sophie’s quiet evening. She rarely cooked for herself—mornings were just coffee, lunch was a quick bite at the café near work, and dinner was usually a glass of milk with biscuits. If she was particularly hungry, she’d fry an egg. Weekends were spent at her parents’ house, where her mother would pack containers of food for her to take home. Refusing would have been like declaring war.
Sophie was finishing her milk when the obnoxiously cheerful ringtone of her mobile pierced the air. She’d been meaning to change it—something less grating, less invasive. The sound clawed at her nerves, drilled into her skull. Reluctantly, she set her glass aside and walked to the bedroom. An unknown number, but persistence suggested urgency. She answered.
“Hello. I wasn’t sure you’d pick up.” The voice was painfully familiar. Years had passed, yet recognition was instant. *Hang up*, her mind screamed.
“Please, don’t. I need to talk to you,” the voice rushed, as if sensing her hesitation.
Sophie waited in silence.
“I’ve got no one else to turn to. Only you can help. Give me your address, I’ll come over. It’s important,” Emily added after a pause.
Something was wrong. Emily wouldn’t call otherwise. Once, they’d been inseparable—best friends in another lifetime.
“Fine, I’ll text it,” Sophie said flatly before hanging up.
Her heart hammered in her chest. Why now? Her fingers trembled as she typed her address. Emily replied immediately: *Wait for me*.
Sophie returned to the kitchen, washed her glass, and sat down.
Years had been spent burying thoughts of Emily. She’d assumed she’d moved on, forgiven, forgotten. But that call had unleashed a flood of memories—avalanche of the past crashing down on her.
***
Her mother adored *The School Waltz*, an old film that had outlived the era it depicted. She’d named Sophie after the lead character. People always made the connection when they heard her name.
Unlike the actress, Sophie wasn’t conventionally pretty. Her hair was mousy blonde, lashes pale, eyes small and grey. Her figure, too, had been a source of insecurity—her chest stubbornly small. “It’ll grow,” her mother had reassured her.
Emily, though, had been striking—curves she carried with effortless pride, drawing stares from every boy.
Every summer, Sophie was sent to her grandmother’s village—now little more than a holiday retreat. Only four houses remained occupied year-round: her grandmother’s, old Mrs. Norris’s, and two elderly families. Mrs. Norris’s grandson, Daniel, was Sophie’s summer companion.
One year, everything changed. She saw him not as the scruffy boy from childhood, but a handsome teen. She hesitated before running to him, suddenly self-conscious. Daniel, oblivious, grinned and dragged her to the river as if nothing had changed.
They chatted all the way, but when they reached the bank, Sophie couldn’t bring herself to strip down in front of him. She waited until he was in the water, then turned away, yanked off her sundress, and plunged in before he could glimpse her feeble chest. It never did grow, despite her mother’s promises.
At summer’s end, they parted without exchanging addresses. It was an unspoken rule—village life and city life didn’t mix.
The summer before their final school year, Daniel didn’t come. Mrs. Norris said he’d gone south with his mother. Bored, Sophie invited Emily to the village. Excited, Emily, who had no grandparents or country home, joined her.
Then, suddenly, Daniel returned—taller, broader, his dark lashes framing eyes that made Sophie envious. Handsome. Instantly, she regretted inviting Emily, who zeroed in on him the moment they met.
That night, Emily whispered, “Have you ever kissed him?”
“Don’t be ridiculous, we’re just friends,” Sophie scoffed.
She soon regretted those words.
Now the three of them were always together, Sophie feeling increasingly like a third wheel. For the first time, she was relieved when summer ended.
Daniel faded from her thoughts, but she and Emily stayed close. After graduation, Sophie didn’t return to the village. Her grandmother passed that winter. Would she ever see Daniel again? Regret gnawed at her—why hadn’t they exchanged details? But asking her parents for Mrs. Norris’s address felt desperate.
Emily, too, drifted away—different universities, different lives. Their meetings grew rushed, strained, until one day, Emily announced her wedding.
“Seriously? First year of uni? Isn’t it too soon?” Sophie gaped.
“What’s she going to do? She’ll be a grandma soon,” Emily laughed. “Be my maid of honour?”
The wedding was right before New Year’s. Sophie’s breath caught when she saw Daniel at her doorstep. She wanted to wake up, run, vanish—anything to escape the way they looked at each other. But she was the maid of honour. She couldn’t abandon Emily.
In every photo, Sophie looked hollow, the only guest not smiling. She left halfway through.
Emily never apologized. “You said you were just friends,” she’d argue. For a while, she called. Then she had a baby, and their paths diverged completely. Sophie forbade herself from thinking of either of them.
But dating never worked out. Every man was measured against Daniel…
***
How long had it been? Ten years? Her mother said Mrs. Norris had died, the house sold to strangers. And now, this call. Emily was coming. What would they even say? *Why did I agree?* Sophie cursed herself.
When she opened the door, she barely recognized Emily. Could a person change so much? This gaunt, hollowed-out woman bore no resemblance to the vibrant girl from her memories. Sunken cheeks, dark circles, her once-lush frame withered.
“Hello. Shocking, isn’t it?” Emily’s voice was the same, though brittle. “Can I come in?”
Sophie led her to the kitchen, putting the kettle on. Silence stretched between them.
“You haven’t changed. I’m dying,” Emily said matter-of-factly. “They’re offering surgery, but I won’t survive it.”
“Cancer?” Sophie ventured.
“Yeah. Thought I’d beat it. I was wrong. Look after my son when I’m gone.”
“Em, don’t talk like that—”
“Stop. Lucas is nine. Daniel can’t do it alone.”
“His parents?”
“His mum’s remarried. Mine—well, you know her. I’ve got no one else, Soph. Please.”
“But I—I don’t know the first thing about kids—”
The kettle screamed. Sophie seized the distraction, hiding her tears.
“This your place?” Emily asked.
“Yeah. Dad’s colleague was moving abroad, sold it cheap. Thought it’d help me settle down,” Sophie muttered, avoiding her gaze.
“I knew you liked him. You have every right to hate me. Just help me. I’m checking in tomorrow. Don’t visit. They’ll call you when…” Emily stood. Sophie was struck again by how frail she looked.
“Your tea—” Sophie gestured.
Emily ignored her, heading for the door.
“I’ll see you out.” Sophie followed.
“Don’t pity me,” Emily snapped, stopping her with a cold stare.
The door clicked shut. Sophie sank into a chair, struggling to reconcile the vibrant girl with the ghost who’d just left. It couldn’t be real.
A week passed. Then two. No calls. Sophie wrestled with the urge to phone the hospital, but Emily’s warning glare held her back. *No news is good news*, she lied to herself.
Then Daniel called. Emily had died in the night. He gave his address. Sophie went immediately.
He was a shell of himself. The door opened, and he slumped onto the sofa, staring blankly. Lucas sat on the floor, glued to cartoons. The air reeked of despair.
“Daniel, Emily asked… How can I help?”
“Take Lucas. Just till the funeral,” he grated out.
“No!” Lucas sprang up. “I’m not a baby!”
Sophie understood—this wasn’t the first time they’d had this argument.
“Let him say goodbye,” she urged.
Daniel said nothing. Lucas shot her a grateful look.
“Have you eaten?” Sophie asked.
No answer. The fridge was empty. She dug out potatoes, fried them, found pickles under the sink. Lucas wolfed his food; Daniel barely touched his, retreating back to the sofa.
“Daniel, you have to keep it together—for Lucas. You lost a wife, but he lost his mum.”
“Why her? I loved her so much…”
Sophie left her number, made Lucas promise to call if needed, and left.
The next morning, a sleepy Lucas let her in. Daniel was passed out, the room thick with stale alcohol.
“How often does this happen?” she asked.
“Since Mum got sick,”She stayed, and in time, the pain faded—forgiveness settled like dust, and the boy who once reminded her of lost love became the son she’d never had, filling the empty spaces in a life that had somehow, quietly, become whole again.
