**The Bouquet**
Faith lay on her bed, eyes half-closed. Across the narrow dorm room, Holly sat cross-legged on the opposite bed, reading aloud from a textbook. Faith’s phone erupted with the latest chart-topper. Holly snapped her book shut and shot her a disapproving look.
Sighing, Faith answered. Seconds later, she was upright, tossing the phone aside and darting around the cramped space, shoving clothes into a gym bag.
“Where are you going? What’s happened?” Holly fretted.
“It’s my neighbour—Mum’s had a heart attack. She’s been taken to hospital.” Faith zipped the bag and marched to the door, where their coats hung and wellies stood in a messy row.
“But our exam’s tomorrow! She’s in good hands. Sit it, then go,” Holly insisted, watching Faith wrestle her boots on.
“Listen, Hol, sort it with the faculty, yeah? I’ll fix it when I’m back—resit the term. My bus leaves in forty.” She was already shrugging into her jacket.
“Call me about your mum,” Holly called, but Faith was gone, the click-clack of her heels fading down the corridor.
Holly sighed, turning back—then spotted Faith’s charger on the bed. Barefoot, she bolted after her.
“Faith! Wait!” she yelled, thundering downstairs.
The front door slammed. Holly vaulted the last steps, shoved the door open, and nearly skidded onto the icy path outside.
“Faith!”
Faith turned, saw the cable, and jogged back for it.
“Cheers.” And off she sprinted.
“Good Lord, what’s the racket? One nearly takes the door off its hinges, the other’s out here in her socks.” The stern porter, Mrs. Whitmore, peered over her desk.
“Sorry, Mrs. Whitmore—Faith’s mum’s in hospital. It’s freezing, can I—?” Holly didn’t wait, already retreating upstairs, sandy grit biting her soles.
“Lord have mercy,” the porter muttered, crossing herself.
Back in their room, Holly brushed off her feet, tidied Faith’s mess, slipped on slippers, and filled the kettle. Tea. She’d warm up and revise. The exam loomed.
Darkness had fallen when a timid knock came.
“Who’s there?” No answer. Holly opened the door.
“Alright?” Tom stood there, clutching a modest bouquet.
“Come in.” She waited till he stepped inside before adding, “Faith’s gone home.”
“But her exam’s tomorrow,” he frowned.
“I’ll sort it with the faculty—she’ll resit next term.” Holly eyed the flowers.
“These are for you,” Tom said, offering them.
“Ta. Fancy a cuppa?” She took the bouquet to the window, fetching a jar.
“I’ll get water—you make yourself comfy.” She smiled and left.
Tom only removed his trainers. Two strides took him to Faith’s bed. He sat, fingers tracing the cheap duvet as if it were her.
Holly returned, arranging the flowers, stepping back to admire them.
“Lovely. What are they?”
“Sweet peas,” Tom said. “I should go.” He stood.
“Did you and Faith have plans?” Holly blurted, not wanting him to leave.
“Yeah. Scored tickets to that gig in Camden.”
“Serious? Take me, then. No sense wasting them.”
Tom hesitated.
“You’ve got an exam.”
“So? Been revising all day—need a break.”
He wavered. Faith was gone. Tickets unused. They’d only just started seeing each other—nothing serious. Going with her flatmate wasn’t betrayal, right?
“Alright. Let’s go.”
“Brilliant!” Holly clapped, bouncing. “Wait outside—I’ll just get changed.”
Tom laced his trainers and stepped into the hall.
Five minutes later, Holly emerged. Tom blinked—mascara, lip gloss, hair pinned up. How’d she manage that so fast?
“Let’s dash, or we’ll miss the opener,” he urged.
At the gig, Holly was a whirlwind—dancing, jumping, singing along, sneaking glances at Tom. He caught her energy, loosened up, shouting lyrics too.
After, they walked back, dissecting the night.
“That bit was mint—” Holly hummed a riff.
“Yeah, and when they—” Tom mimed a drumfill.
At the dorm, Holly jiggled the locked door.
“Mrs. Whitmore’s on. She’ll never let us in. Now what?”
“Come on.” He steered her along the building. Round the corner, two girls were clambering through a ground-floor window. “Quick—after them!”
He boosted Holly up; hands yanked her inside. A whistle trilled nearby.
“Hurry!” Holly hissed from the windowsill.
Tom hauled himself in. Holly snapped the window shut just as the whistle faded. The room’s occupants giggled.
“Cheers, we’re off,” Tom muttered, nudging Holly toward the door.
They bolted upstairs, collapsed into her room, and burst out laughing.
“Best turn in,” Tom said, catching his breath.
The room was dark—neither had bothered with the light.
“Stay. I fancy you. Properly,” Holly whispered, as if walls had ears.
She pressed close, tilted her head, lips parted—
—
Faith returned to the silent dorm at term’s end. Holly and Tom were still away, like most students. Faith navigated her missed exam with a hospital note. Mum was out of danger but recovering.
She scraped through the resit. Lectures resumed, but Holly never came back—calls went unanswered. The faculty said she’d taken leave for health reasons.
Soon, a new girl moved in. Studies, Tom… No time to wonder about Holly. She faded from memory. Tom never mentioned the gig, or what followed. It all felt like a dream.
Twenty-one years later—
“Mum, Dad, I’m home!” A girl—Tom’s double—breezed in.
“How’s uni?” He lowered his paper.
“Let her change first,” Faith called from the kitchen. “Dinner’s nearly ready.”
At the table, their daughter dropped a bombshell.
“Met this girl today—my absolute twin. Everyone noticed.”
“Funny how that happens,” Faith mused. “They say everyone’s got one. More mash?”
“Dad, you’ve gone miles away,” Emily prodded.
“Sorry. Full. You talked to her?”
“Course! She’s final year. Get this—her name’s Lucy Bright. Spooky, yeah?”
Faith’s fork paused. “My old roommate was Holly Bright. Left after first year. Remember, Tom?”
“That’s it! Lucy Bright. Gorgeous name,” Emily trilled.
“Had eyes only for you. Other girls didn’t exist.” Tom sipped tea, then choked. “Blimey—scalded my tongue!”
Faith fetched cold water. Tom excused himself, feigned sleep on the sofa.
*Coincidence? No chance. Admit it—you remember. That’s why she left. Idiot. What were you thinking?*
“Tom, don’t nap now—you’ll ruin tonight’s sleep.” Faith hovered. “Feeling alright?”
“Fine.”
He barely slept. Next morning, he called in sick—dentist, he claimed—but drove to the dorm.
“Does Lucy Bright live here?” he asked the porter—a dead ringer for Mrs. Whitmore.
“Who’s asking?”
“Her uncle. Passing through…”
The porter eyed him skeptically. Just then, three girls descended the stairs.
“There she is. Bright, visitor!”
Lucy scanned him. “Do I know you?”
Her friends waited by the door. “Go ahead. Who are you?”
“Not here.” He gestured outside, but she stood firm.
“So *not* her uncle?” the porter cut in. “I’m calling security—”
“No need.” Tom met Lucy’s gaze. “Your mum—was she Holly Bright? Born September 25th?”
Lucy stiffened. “…Yeah. Wait—are *you*—? Where’ve you been all my life?”
The porter’s ears practically twitched.
“Outside. Now.”
On the pavement, Lucy folded her arms.
“I didn’t know about you. Your mum and I… it was one night. I’d no idea she was— She left uni after. If I’d known…”
“And what? Ditched your wife?”
“No. I’d have stood by her.” He handed her a card. “My details. Need anything—call.”
“Wife won’t mind?” Lucy smirked.
“No secrets now. I’ll tell her.”
“Done? I’ve lectures.” She walked off.
That evening, Tom came clean. Faith listened in deepening dusk, lamp unlit.
“Twenty-one years. Why now?”
“Lucy resembles Emily. You’d have found out.And as the years passed, the bouquet of sweet peas—now dried and framed—hung in Lucy’s flat, a quiet testament to the tangled, enduring threads of love and chance that bound them all.
