Moving into a new flat—it’s a proper headache, isn’t it? Everyone knows that.
So here was Emma with her husband, finally buying a bigger place, planning their move right after New Year’s.
They’d already started packing things into big boxes, sorting through them. Some went straight to the bin, some were wrapped carefully…
Then came the turn of the tall wardrobe with its top shelf. Before leaving for work, her husband pulled down a box of Christmas baubles, along with everything else up there, stacking it all neatly in a pile. Now it was her job to sort through it.
Of course, the top shelf was where things lived that you didn’t need day-to-day but couldn’t quite throw away—just in case they might come in handy one day.
Emma had taken a fortnight’s holiday off work just for this—packing, sorting, deciding what went to the new place and what didn’t. Not an easy task. What about her old school exercise books, her diaries, her certificates? When her parents were alive, they’d kept everything, and now it was hers, like an inheritance.
She sat beside the pile, methodically sifting through these little treasures, some landing straight in the big black bin bag, others set aside. And then—there it was. A small trinket box, covered in seashells and pebbles, tucked inside a soft linen pouch.
A gift from her granddad. He’d brought it back from a seaside holiday when she was ten, and it had become her little secret. She’d kept her most precious things inside—tiny mementos of moments that mattered.
“I wonder if Lily’s got one?” she thought about her daughter, then decided probably not.
Kids these days were far too practical, no room for sentiment. By ten, they already knew what they wanted to be, where they’d study.
At that age, she hadn’t a clue.
She’d just gone to an ordinary school, studied to become a technician, and ended up at the local biscuit factory.
Her husband, James, had been luckier.
He’d wanted to be an architect—and that’s exactly what he became.
Studied hard, came back to their hometown, now a top professional. His designs were in demand.
Lily was just as driven. Though at eleven, she hadn’t quite picked a career yet.
Emma held the box, suddenly afraid to open it. What waited inside? What childhood ghosts?
Finally, she lifted the lid—and really, what could be so valuable? A cheap necklace with a broken clasp, bought from a souvenir shop.
A brooch from her gran, shaped like a butterfly, missing a couple of stones.
A large mother-of-pearl button—lovely, but she couldn’t remember what it was from.
A lipstick in a gold case, a gift from a school friend, never used because her mother forbade it.
And then—there it was. A velvet bow tie! Dark blue, beautifully made.
Memories rushed back—that distant New Year’s Eve when boys from another school came to their dance.
Why? She couldn’t recall. Maybe their assembly hall was being renovated, or maybe it was the headmaster’s bright idea.
They performed, then came the dancing—her first ever. Year Five or Six? And that was when she’d had her first *crush*. Too strong a word, really.
But she’d liked him—the way he stood on stage reciting poems that felt far too grown-up for her.
Here was the crumpled notebook paper where she’d scribbled them down. He’d worn a dark blue suit and this very bow tie. How intense he’d seemed!
She’d dreamed he’d ask her to dance. She stood in her white dress, the one with the ribbon at the back, her hair loose for once—not in plaits. Eleven? Twelve? She couldn’t remember. But the feeling—that first flutter—stayed with her.
No, he’d never asked her. He’d left early, slipping out.
She and her friend had followed to the cloakroom. He’d shrugged off his jacket, tugged the bow tie loose, yanked his hat low, and gone. They’d watched from the side. Later, walking back, she’d found the bow tie on the floor. He must’ve tried to pocket it—but lost it.
She’d snatched it up, run outside, wanting to return it—but saw him already climbing into a car, the door shutting, and he was gone. His parents, probably. They never spoke. Never saw each other again. She didn’t even know his school.
How long ago that was! And yet this little box had kept the memory alive—seemingly insignificant, yet suddenly priceless. She tucked everything back inside, placed it on the windowsill, decided not to hide it away.
This was part of her childhood. Let it stay—a family relic. Maybe she’d tell Lily about it. How would she react? Probably say, *Mum, childhood’s over, none of this matters. Live in the present!*
But she was wrong.
When Lily came home from school, she spotted the box at once, rummaged through it, and asked—
“Is this your archive? Where’s this from?”
First the butterfly brooch, then the bow tie. Over tea, Emma told her about the boy.
“Did you ever try to find him? You should’ve gone to his school.”
“Oh, Lily, don’t be daft. Social media wasn’t a thing! I didn’t even know his name. Eat up, then homework. I’ve got loads to do.”
That evening, James came home from work, helped with the packing after supper. Lily marched in—
“Dad, guess what? Mum fancied a boy at school! She still keeps stuff about him!”
“Lily!” Emma gasped, but James just grinned—
“Not nice to spill secrets, is it? Didn’t you know?”
“And Gran’s brooch is in there too!” Lily unceremoniously pulled out the dark blue bow tie.
“Some boy lost it. She liked him, so she kept it.”
James’s eyes narrowed, as if studying it. Then he took it from Lily, turning it over in his hands.
“Where’d this come from?” he finally asked.
“Lily just said—a boy lost it, I found it. Couldn’t return it, so I kept it. Twenty years ago.”
And then—James remembered. That school dance he’d left early. The bow tie—his father’s, bought abroad on a work trip.
“I went back asking if anyone found it. Teachers just shrugged, the cleaner hadn’t seen it. And now—”
“So it was you, James…” Emma whispered, something like tiny bells chiming in her chest.
Fate, laughing with joy.
That evening, they lost themselves in memories—how they’d left school, gone to uni.
She stayed local; he moved away. They’d met up sometimes, friends among mutual friends.
But it never went further.
“I always felt like I was waiting for someone. Not you—not that boy. But my heart kept saying, *Don’t rush*,” Emma admitted.
“And I was never bothered about girls. My mates joked, got girlfriends, but I stayed on my own.”
Then they met again—another New Year’s Eve, this time at a club. One dance, and they’d clung to each other ever since.
“I saw you that night and knew—*That’s her*. The one I’d been waiting for.”
“I remember our first dance. I wished—if you walked me home, it was fate. If not… God, I was happy when you waited outside.”
Lily listened, then threw her arms around them—
“It’s not just *your* fate. If you hadn’t met, I wouldn’t *be here*. But look—here I am.”
Clever kids these days, no mistake.
All three laughed, then finally went to decorate the tree waiting on the balcony.
And the bow tie? James took it. Said he’d wear it for their New Year’s dinner.
