**Diary Entry: A Sting of Fate**
I woke just before dawn, the sun barely brushing the treetops. My mother, Margaret, had reminded me the night before with her usual firmness:
“Tom, make sure you’re up early to finish mowing. The cows need feeding, and winter’s coming.”
“I’ll manage, Mum. No need to drag John into it—he’s got his own hay to cut,” I replied before heading to bed, never imagining that a single bee sting would change everything.
People in the village always saw me as a bit different. Not strange, exactly, but not like the rest. Quiet, thoughtful, polite—never one to waste words, always with a book tucked under my arm. I worked as a mechanic in the local garage—skilled, trusted, respected. Yet my heart stayed empty, as if waiting for something extraordinary.
The women here had long since given up—”Good luck getting through to him!” The younger lads called me “the scholar.” My brother John, ever the joker, teased, “You’ll die alone, mate! Even old Mrs. Higgins is trying to set you up, and she’s pushing eighty!”
“Go bother your Jane,” I’d mutter back.
But inside, it wasn’t funny. The loneliness ached. The thought of meeting someone new? Terrifying.
That hot July afternoon, I’d nearly finished the field—just the far corner left. Exhausted, I sat for a drink. Then—a voice.
“Oh, blimey! That really stings!”
I turned. A young woman stood there—pretty, in jeans and a printed t-shirt—clutching her forearm, wincing. Without thinking, I rushed over, my usual hesitation forgotten.
“What happened?”
“A bee,” she said, voice tight. “It stung me. What do I do?”
“Easy now. First, we get the stinger out. Don’t panic.”
I plucked it free. She gasped, then blinked in surprise.
“Wait—you already did it?”
“Job done,” I nodded. “Didn’t even feel it. What’s your name?”
“Emily. And you?”
“Tom.”
“Thank you, Tom. You saved me. Do you live around here?”
“Just up the lane. Cutting hay for the winter. You?”
“Staying with my aunt, Margaret. She runs the local clinic. I’ve just moved—teaching the little ones at the village school. Needed a change.”
I nodded, words failing me. She walked away, never knowing how fiercely my chest tightened.
Emily had her own scars—left the city after a betrayal, abandoned her career rather than face the flat where she’d caught her ex with her best friend. She came for peace. Instead, she found Tom’s quiet gaze.
I floated home that evening, silent through supper. Then, unprompted, I picked up my guitar and played—soft, earnest. John and Mum exchanged glances.
“What’s got into you?” John grinned. “Find a mermaid in the hayfield? Spill it!”
So I did. The bee. The woman. Her hands, her voice—how badly I wanted to see her again. John slapped his knee.
“Right, tomorrow we’re off to see George, Margaret’s husband. We work together. Emily, eh? Lovely name.”
“I’m not going,” I mumbled.
“You are. This is your shot, mate. Don’t waste it.”
Margaret welcomed us warmly; Emily offered a shy smile. I couldn’t meet her eyes. John did all the talking. But when the chatter faded, Emily turned to me.
“Such a lovely evening… Fancy a walk down to the river?”
I barely managed a nod, my heart hammering. We walked slowly, the dusty path smelling of cut grass and something like hope.
We talked—about loneliness, books, betrayals, about wanting someone to trust. When dawn broke, we stood by the water, fingers linked, unwilling to let go.
“You know…” I said softly, “I don’t know how I ever lived without you.”
“Me neither,” she whispered. “Never thought I’d find someone like you… here, of all places.”
Two months later, the village celebrated our wedding. I wasn’t the quiet loner anymore. I was hers—exactly who Emily had dreamed of.
“Two halves, finally whole,” Margaret murmured, watching us dance. “Found in a hayfield. Thanks to a bee.”
John just chuckled. “Sometimes, that’s all it takes. One summer’s day—and a lifetime after.”
