**Heartbeat**
“Jeremy, you don’t need to go to the branch office yourself. Let Emily take the documents,” the director said curtly, his tone unyielding.
“I’m sorry, but I’d prefer to go. It’s my hometown—I haven’t been back in years.”
“Your parents still there?” the director asked, softening slightly.
“No. I moved Mum here, but…”
“I understand,” the director cut in. “Home is home. Fine, go. But we’ve got an important day tomorrow—will you be back in time?”
“Absolutely,” Jeremy promised. “Thank you.”
The director waved a hand, dismissing him.
Jeremy returned to his office, cleared his desk, shut down his computer, and picked up the folder. He locked the door behind him, leaving the key with the security guard downstairs.
He didn’t stop at home. From the car, he called his mother.
“How are you feeling? I won’t make it tonight—important meeting,” he said, careful not to mention the trip. She’d worry, and her heart wasn’t strong.
“Alright, Mum. Call me if you need anything.” He ended the call and started the engine.
On the outskirts of London, he filled the tank, grabbed a coffee and a couple of sausage rolls—no more stops. He had to deliver the documents before closing. Maybe he’d call ahead, make sure they waited.
He had no plans to visit old friends. They’d all moved away. He just wanted to see the town where he grew up. The radio hummed with a pop song. He took a sip of hot coffee.
***
After his father’s death, his mother’s health declined. The doctors found a murmur in her heart. Jeremy begged her to move to London—better hospitals, better care. She refused. He needed his own life, she said. But she worsened.
Eventually, he convinced her to sell the house. He added his savings and bought her a flat near his. He never went back to his hometown—until now.
Could he ever forget his first love? She might’ve left, but the town remained—the same streets, the same house where he’d stood beneath her window, heartsick. Even now, the memory of Sophie made his pulse quicken. He’d never felt that way again. It was as if he’d left his heart there forever.
Skinny, quiet Sophie—just another girl in class—hadn’t caught his eye until Sixth Form. After summer break, she returned different. Radiant. And Jeremy’s heart, for the first time, betrayed him with its pounding.
From then on, he thought only of her. He waited impatiently for the Christmas Ball, rehearsing how he’d ask her to dance, how he’d confess. When the night finally came, the hall glittered with lights. The younger students had their party earlier; now, the seniors filled the space. After the obligatory performances, the music turned to slow songs. He hesitated, watching other boys step forward.
By the time he gathered his courage, only fast beats remained. He stood by the wall, chewing his lip. Then—finally—a ballad. The floor cleared.
Now or never. He crossed the room, blocking anyone else from reaching her. His heart hammered so hard his vision dimmed. He could barely breathe.
Wordlessly, he held out a shaky hand.
Sophie glanced at her friends, then smiled.
In front of everyone, he clumsily took her waist. She rested her hands on his shoulders. They swayed, barely moving—his legs stiff, his body rigid. He barely heard the music, barely saw the other couples.
The scent of her strawberry lip gloss stayed with him. Years later, the smell of strawberries still brought her back to him.
Then the music stopped. Sophie stepped back sharply, returning to her friends. They laughed, glancing his way. Burning with shame, he fled.
Months later, the night before her birthday, he waited until his parents slept. He crept out with a can of paint, scrawling “Happy Birthday!” beneath her window. Below, his initials—J.W. But in his heart, they meant something else: “With Love.”
At school, he waited for her reaction. Nothing. She didn’t even look at him. On her birthday, she invited half the class—not him.
After school, he walked to her house, stomach knotted. The paint had smeared in the rain—just a blur. She’d never known.
That evening, he lingered outside. Music and laughter drifted from her open window. Someone stepped onto the balcony, flicking a lighter. He left.
At graduation, he tried one last time.
“Dance with me?”
“I don’t dance,” she said, turning away.
“I’m leaving for uni soon,” he rasped. “Sophie, I love you.”
She whirled around.
“Well, I don’t love you!”
Devastated, he drank until he was sick, then left early. He never went back.
Years later, during winter break, he saw her on the arm of a stranger. He locked himself in his room, returning to London early.
He heard through friends she’d married. He dated other women, but none stirred his heart.
***
Lost in memory, Jeremy barely noticed the drive. He delivered the documents.
“Staying the night?” his agent asked.
“No. Just a quick bite, then back.”
The agent smirked. “Let me take you somewhere decent.”
Jeremy agreed. He’d grown up here but never set foot in a proper restaurant. Crystal chandeliers, white tablecloths—elegance he’d never known.
Before they sat, a waitress approached. The white blouse strained over her curves, the black skirt too tight. Time had changed her, but he knew her at once.
Sophie.
He skipped the wine, ordering steak and salad. When she returned with the food, his agent ogled her openly.
Why did she parade herself like this? Annoyance prickled—not a single flutter in his chest.
Later, he ordered coffee. His agent checked his watch.
“You go ahead. I’ll stay a bit longer.”
The agent left, relieved.
Minutes later, Sophie returned.
“Hi. I didn’t recognise you at first. More coffee?”
“No. My nerves are shot. Sit with me.”
“I can’t. My shift ends soon. Wait for me?”
He nodded.
After paying, he stepped outside. The craving for a cigarette hit hard. He bought a pack at the corner shop, lingering near the restaurant. Part of him screamed to leave. But if he did, he’d be running—still afraid.
Sophie emerged. He drove her home.
“Staying at a hotel?” she asked, lingering in the passenger seat.
“No. I’m heading back. Work early.”
Her makeup was thick now—well-applied, but heavy. His pulse stayed steady.
“Why are we sitting here? Fifteen minutes won’t change anything. Come upstairs. See where I live. Tea?” Her eyelashes flickered.
He followed, wondering why.
Her parents had retired to the countryside, leaving her the flat. She made tea, then pulled a half-empty vodka bottle from the fridge.
“I don’t usually drink,” she said, catching his look. “But the job… heels all day, rude customers. Not many options here. Tips help.”
She drank freely, opening up. Her first marriage lasted a year—he’d cheated with her friend. The second, she threw out—too much drink.
“Remember that dance?” she asked suddenly, cheeks flushed.
How could he forget? If he’d been braver then—
She stood, pulling him up. Pressed against him, she looked up.
“Kiss me.”
Her eyes shimmered—vodka or tears? He obliged. Her lips tasted bitter, nothing like strawberries. Once, he’d have died for that kiss. Now—nothing.
Later, they lay in bed. Just sex. She murmured regrets—life hadn’t turned out as she’d dreamed. If only they’d worked out. A family, children…
He wanted a cigarette.
On the balcony, he smoked, staring at the empty streets. The cold drove him back inside. She slept—makeup smudged, hair tangled. Older. Tired.
He dressed, shutting the door quietly. Outside, he glanced up at her windows.
At a late-night florist, he ordered the biggest bouquet.
“Delivery?” the drowsy girl asked.
“Yes. By nine.” He remembered the address—always had. The note read: “Thank you for tonight.”
The motorway was clear. He drove fast, imagining Sophie in a gym, sober, well-dressed. Maybe then—
But the farther he got, the more foolish the thought became. That love was dead.
He reached for his cigarettes. Gone—left at her place. The radio played *their* song—the one from the Christmas Ball. He changed the station.
By morning, showered and changed, the night felt like a dream. Next time, he’d send someone else. The trip had closed a chapter.
For the first time in years, he felt free.
Then, in the car park, he saw Emily.
“StartingJeremy smiled, watching Emily walk away, and for the first time in years, his heart beat not with longing for the past but with quiet hope for the future.
