**The Beat of a Heart**
“Jonathan, you really don’t need to go to the branch office yourself,” the director said with a hint of irritation. “Let Emily take the documents.”
“I’d rather go myself, if it’s all the same,” Jonathan replied. “It’s my hometown. I haven’t been back in ages.”
“Parents still there?” the director asked, softening a little.
“No. Mum lives here now, but…”
“Ah, got it,” the director cut in. “Home is home, isn’t it? Fine, go—just make sure you’re back by tomorrow. Big day at work.”
“Don’t worry, I’ll be back,” Jonathan assured him. The director waved him off, signaling the conversation was over.
Back in his office, Jonathan tidied his desk, shut down his computer, grabbed the file of documents, and locked the door behind him. He left the key with the security guard downstairs.
No point going home first. From the car, he rang his mum to check on her and let her know he wouldn’t be stopping by that evening—important meeting, he said. Didn’t mention the trip back to their old town. No need to get her worked up, not with her heart condition.
“Gotta go, Mum. Call me if you need anything.” He tossed the phone into the passenger seat and started the engine.
He topped up the petrol on the way out of London, grabbed a coffee and a couple of pastries so he wouldn’t have to stop again. Needed to deliver the paperwork before they closed for the day. Though he could always call ahead—ask them to wait if he was running late.
No plans to visit old mates, anyway. Most had moved on years ago. He just wanted to see the place where he grew up. Turning up the radio, he let the latest chart hit fill the car and took a sip of his coffee.
***
After Dad passed, Mum’s health went downhill fast. The doctors found a problem with her heart, and Jonathan begged her to move closer to him in the city—better hospitals, better care. She refused at first, insisting he needed space to build his own life without her in the way. But as she got worse, he finally talked her into selling the old house. He chipped in and bought her a small flat near his place.
After that, he never went back to his hometown—though he thought about it often.
How do you forget your first love? Even if she’d left years ago, the town was still there—same streets, same house where he’d stood under her window, heartbroken. Just thinking about Charlotte still made his pulse race. He’d never felt that way about anyone since. Like he’d left a piece of himself behind in that town forever.
Back in school, he hadn’t noticed Charlotte much at first—just another quiet girl in class. But when they came back after summer break in Year 13, something had changed. She’d grown into herself, and Jon felt his heart kick against his ribs like it had never done before.
From then on, he could hardly think of anything else. He counted down the days till the Christmas dance, rehearsing what he’d say when he finally asked her to dance.
The night came, the hall decked in tinsel and fairy lights. He watched her all evening, nerves twisting his stomach. Waited too long, missed the slow songs. Then, finally, another one came on—his last chance.
He took a deep breath and went for it, weaving through the crowd before anyone else could reach her. His heart hammered so hard his vision blurred. Couldn’t even speak—just held out a shaking hand like an idiot.
She glanced at her friends… then smiled and took it.
They swayed awkwardly in the middle of the dance floor. Jon barely remembered the steps, his body stiff, his pulse thundering in his ears. He caught the scent of strawberry lip balm—something he’d associate with her forever.
Then the music stopped. Charlotte pulled away sharply, rejoining her friends. She whispered something that made them laugh, glancing his way. Humiliated, Jon fled the hall.
On her birthday in April, he waited till his parents were asleep, sneaked out with a can of paint, and scrawled *”Happy Birthday, C.L.”* under her window—his initials, but also *”With Love.”*
Next day at school, he waited for some sign she’d seen it. Nothing. She didn’t even look at him—just invited half the class to her place, leaving him out.
Heart sinking, he walked past her house after school. The writing was already half-washed away by rain—cheap paint. She’d never known it was him.
That evening, he lingered outside her house, listening to music and laughter from her party. Someone stepped onto the balcony, lighter clicking. Jon turned and walked away.
At graduation, he tried one last time, catching her after the ceremony. *”I’m leaving for uni soon. Charlotte, I love you.”*
She looked him dead in the eye. *”Well, I don’t love you.”*
He got drunk that night, sick with misery. Left early for uni and never went back during holidays. Once, he spotted her in town with some bloke—locked himself in his dorm after that. Later, he heard through mates she’d married.
He tried to move on, dated other women. But none of them ever made his heart race like she had.
***
Lost in memories, Jon barely noticed the drive. He handed over the documents.
“Staying the night?” the client asked.
“No, just grabbing a bite before heading back.”
The client smirked. *”Let me take you somewhere decent, then.”*
Jon agreed. Grew up here, but never stepped foot in a proper restaurant as a kid. The place was all crisp tablecloths and chandeliers.
Before they could sit, a waitress approached—curvy in a tight black skirt, white blouse straining at the buttons. She’d changed, but Jon would know Charlotte anywhere.
He skipped the wine, ordered steak and salad. When she returned with the food, Jon caught the client eyeing her up.
*Why does she put up with this?* Annoyance flickered in his chest—but nothing more. No racing heart.
Later, over coffee, the client checked his watch. *”Go ahead,”* Jon said. *”I’ll head off soon.”* The man left, relieved.
Charlotte came back. *”Didn’t recognize you at first. Want another coffee?”*
*”No, I’m wired enough as it is. Sit with me?”*
*”Can’t. Shift ends in an hour. Wait for me?”*
He nodded.
Outside, craving a smoke, he bought a pack and paced. Part of him wanted to drive off—*Run. You’re still scared of her.* But that would’ve been cowardly.
Soon, Charlotte stepped out. He drove her home, idling outside.
*”You staying in town?”*
*”No, driving back. Early start tomorrow.”*
Her makeup was heavy, lashes thick with mascara. His pulse stayed steady.
*”Come up for a cuppa,”* she said. *”See where I live.”*
Up the stairs, he wondered—*Why am I doing this?*
Her parents had retired to the countryside, leaving her the flat. She made tea, then pulled a half-finished bottle of vodka from the fridge.
*”Not a drinker, honestly,”* she said, catching his look. *”Just takes the edge off. Tough job, you know?”*
*”Why not find something else?”*
*”Not much going round here. Tips help.”*
She drank, talking about her ex—first one cheated, second one drank. Halfway through the bottle, she suddenly asked—
*”Remember that dance? At school?”*
Of course he did.
She stood, pulling him up. Pressed close, head on his chest. He held her—then she tilted her face up.
*”Kiss me.”*
Her lips tasted of vodka, not strawberries. Years ago, he’d have died for this. Now? Nothing.
An hour later, they lay in bed. Just sex, no love. She talked—*”Life didn’t turn out how I dreamed. Maybe if we’d…”*
Jon needed air. He dressed, stepped onto the balcony, smoked. Cold out. When he came back, she was asleep, makeup smudged, looking exhausted.
He left quietly. Outside, he glanced at the spot where his paint had faded years ago—no light in her window now.
At a flower stall on the way out, he ordered a bouquet delivered to her flat at nine. Left a note: *”Thank you for last night.”*
The motorway was clear. He drove fast, imagining—*Gym membership, new clothes, quitting the drink. Maybe then…*
But the further he got, the sillier it seemed. Whatever he’d felt was long gone.
Fumbling for cigarettes, he realized he’d left them at hers. Didn’t bother stopping for more. A song came on—*the one* from that school dance. He switched it off.
Home by morning,He threw himself into work and, months later, met someone who made his heart race all over again—without him even realizing it had started beating properly.
