They sat on the riverbank, watching ducks snatch pieces of bread tossed by children midair. Exams were over, and two months of freedom stretched ahead—no lectures, no tedious seminars, no exhausting tests.
“What are your plans?” the boy asked, his eyes fixed on the shimmering trail of sunlight on the water.
“Sleeping in, reading, walking…” The girl answered without pause, as if reciting a well-rehearsed script. “What about you? Going back home?” Her voice faltered slightly, a shadow of worry flickering across her face.
“Nah. You know, I’ve always dreamed of seeing the sea. Can you believe I never have? My classmates used to come back tanned, bragging about shells and dolphins, and me? My parents never had the money. And after Mum died… well, the sea was the last thing on anyone’s mind.”
“We went to Cornwall every summer when Dad was still with us,” she murmured, gaze drifting into the distance as if chasing memories. “Wait—do you have money now?” she asked, snapping back to reality.
“No, but I could borrow some.”
“From who? Half our friends are already on their way home, and the other half blew their leftover student loan celebrating exams. And how would you even pay it back?” Emily frowned, studying Oliver’s sharp profile.
“Don’t need much—just enough for train tickets and food. It’s warm there. ‘Under every bush, a feast and shelter,'” he quoted, flashing a grin. “We can find a cheap place to stay. I’ll earn the money back. Just need a bit of time.”
“How do you know? Summer’s peak season—no such thing as a cheap room. Don’t be daft. A spot under a tree’d cost as much as a hotel. And how does that fable end, remember?” she scolded.
“You’re being such a… buzzkill. But if I do get the money, will you come?” Oliver turned fully to her, catching Emily’s hesitant glance.
“Doubt it. Mum would never let me,” she admitted.
Just then, one of the ducks flapped its wings, scattering the others. The pair watched as it swooped for another piece of bread, then paddled away, triumphant.
“Hold on.” Oliver pulled his phone from his back pocket and dialed. “Tom? Yeah, passed… Doesn’t matter, point is I’m done. Listen, can you lend me two hundred quid?… No? How much then? That’s it?… Fine, I’ll grab it later. You’ll be home? Cheers.” He tucked the phone away. “Sorted. So, coming?”
“Seriously? All the trains are booked till autumn,” Emily countered skeptically.
“We’ll hitch rides, take detours. Or just admit you’re chicken,” he teased.
“I’m not chicken,” she shot back. “It’s just… Mum won’t allow it.”
“Have you lost your mind? With a boy? To the coast?” Mum’s voice was sharp, her head shaking firmly. “You know the sort of girls who do that? Absolutely out of the question.”
“Mum, I’m an adult. Don’t make me sneak off.” Emily’s voice wavered, tears threatening.
“What did you just say? Run away from your own mother? For him?”
“I love him,” Emily whispered, the words slipping out—the worst possible argument.
“Sweetheart, you have your whole life ahead. Why rush? Finish uni, marry properly, then go wherever you like,” Mum sighed, exhaustion creeping in.
Emily sniffled.
“You’ve made up your mind, haven’t you? I won’t let us part as enemies. Go. Just promise you’ll call if anything goes wrong.”
“I promise.” Emily hugged her tightly, then pulled back, searching her face. “I’ll start packing? We leave tomorrow morning.”
“So soon? At least introduce us first—”
“He’ll come by tomorrow. You’ll like him,” Emily called over her shoulder, already halfway to her room.
Mum stood frozen, then trudged to the kitchen, doubts gnawing at her. She cursed Emily’s absent father—if he’d stayed, none of this would’ve happened. But what choice did she have? Chain her to the house? The clatter of dishes mirrored her turmoil.
At dawn, a sharp knock startled her. Emily was in the shower. No second knock came, but Mum opened the door anyway—and froze. A handsome boy with a backpack stood on the step.
“Hello. I’m Oliver,” he said, flashing a bright smile.
Mum, bleary from a sleepless night, barely processed his words.
“Coming!” Emily dashed out, toothbrush in hand.
Mum gestured Oliver inside.
“Don’t worry, we’ll be careful,” he said warmly.
As Mum struggled to respond, Emily tugged him toward her room. Minutes later, they reappeared, Oliver shouldering her backpack.
“Time to go. I’ll call, yeah?” Emily kissed Mum’s stunned cheek.
“Breakfast?” Mum blurted.
“Could we take sandwiches? Thanks,” Oliver added with a grin.
Mum hurried to the kitchen, returning with a bag of food. She closed the door behind them, heart heavy yet somehow lighter. It was hard not to like him.
“Where to?” Emily asked outside. “Mum liked you.”
“Good. Train station.”
Two days of hitchhiking, sweltering on roadside benches, but when they finally saw the sea, exhaustion vanished. They sprinted to the water, shedding backpacks and shoes, laughing as waves soaked them.
Days were spent swimming, sunbathing, exploring. Nights were for stargazing on the cool sand, avoiding their cramped, stuffy rented room.
By week two, the magic faded. Crowds, heat, and each other grated. Twenty-four hours together was too much. Bickering began.
Yet at the train station, all was forgiven. Oliver was heading further north to visit his dad. Emily clung to him, sobbing—he’d become her whole world.
“Em, it’ll fly by. I’ll call every day.”
She kept murmuring she couldn’t live without him.
“Listen, I can’t move in with you and mooch off your mum. No cash for a flat either. Hang in there, yeah?” Oliver kissed her forehead.
At home, Emily dumped her laundry in the machine, then soaked in the bath. Sipping tea in her robe later, life felt almost normal again.
“Emily! Look at your tan!” Mum hugged her, scanning for any sign of the disasters she’d imagined. “You’ve grown up.”
“Just tired. It was fine, Mum.” Emily forced a smile.
Oliver called, but his replies grew brief—he was working to repay the loan.
He returned late, three days into term, thinner and worn.
“Finally! I thought you weren’t coming,” Emily blurted after class.
“Had to work the full six weeks. Got you something.” He pulled a velvet box from his bag.
Emily’s breath hitched. Inside were stud earrings with sea-blue stones—not the ring she’d hoped for.
“You don’t like them?”
“No, they’re lovely. Just… unexpected.” She kissed his chin. “I’ve got news too. Not as nice. I’m pregnant.”
Oliver stared. “You were on the pill, right?”
“Yes! I don’t know how—”
“Em, we can’t keep it.” His voice was calm, eyes unreadable. “I won’t drop out—promised Mum I’d graduate. We’ve nowhere to live, no money. Night shifts would kill me. You’d be exhausted. Your mum can’t babysit. We’d hate each other by the end.”
Emily looked down. She wasn’t ready either, but she’d wanted—just once—to see joy in his face.
“You’re right,” she said finally, dry-eyed.
That night, she told Mum, craving the comfort Oliver hadn’t given. They cried together, Mum vowing to “sort it” quickly.
After, something between them shifted. Emily still loved Oliver but avoided being alone with him. He bristled at her distance.
“We agreed to wait till after uni. Wasn’t that your idea?”
“Yeah, but I miss you. Feels like you’re avoiding me.”
Emily had no answer.
***
Years later, Dr. Emily Whitmore finished her rounds, updating discharge papers.
“Dr. Whitmore? The father of that motorbike accident victim’s here. Asked for you,” said Nurse Clara.
Emily walked into the room. A man sat by the bed, his back to her.
“Hello, I’m the attending physician—” She froze as he turned. Older, grayer, but unmistakable.
“Emily?” Oliver stood.
“Your son?” She nodded at the injured boy. The surname “Sinclair” hadn’t tipped her off.
“How is he?” Oliver’s voice was tight.
Emily steadied herself. “Complex fractures, but stable. Recovery’s up to him now.” She stressed “him,” watching Oliver flinchThey stood in silence for a moment, the weight of years and choices stretching between them like the sea they once chased, and in the end, neither could find the words to bridge what had been lost—so they simply let go, the past slipping away like waves retreating from the shore.
