Moving to a new flat is a right hassle—everyone knows that.
Emily and her husband Richard had finally bought a bigger place, and after the new year, they were set to make the move.
They’d already started packing things into boxes, sorting through it all. Some stuff went straight to the bin, while other things were wrapped carefully.
Then came the wardrobe with the top shelf—the one that collected dust and forgotten bits. Before leaving for work, Richard pulled down a box of Christmas decorations, along with everything else up there, stacking it neatly in a pile. Now it was Emily’s job to sort through it all.
Let’s be honest—those high shelves were where you kept things you didn’t need but couldn’t bring yourself to chuck out, just in case they might come in handy someday.
Emily had taken a fortnight off work just for this—to pack, sort, and decide what was coming with them and what wasn’t. No easy task. What about her old schoolbooks, diaries, and certificates? When her parents were alive, they’d kept them all, and now they were hers, like an inheritance she never asked for.
She sat beside the pile, methodically going through these little treasures. Some went straight into a black bin bag. Others were set aside. Then her fingers brushed against a small wooden box, covered in seashells and pebbles, tucked inside a linen pouch.
Her grandfather had given it to her when she was ten, brought back from a seaside holiday. It had become her secret keeper—the place she stored little treasures, reminders of moments she didn’t want to forget.
*I wonder if Sophie has something like this*, she thought about her daughter, then decided probably not. Kids these days were too practical, not a romantic bone in them. By ten, they already knew what they wanted to be and where they’d study.
At that age, she hadn’t a clue.
She’d just gone to a regular school, trained as a food technologist, and ended up at the local biscuit factory. Richard, though—he’d been luckier.
He’d always wanted to be an architect. And that’s exactly what he’d become.
Studied, came back to his hometown, and now he was a leading specialist in his field. His designs were in demand.
Sophie was just as driven. Though at eleven, she still hadn’t settled on a career.
Emily held the box, suddenly nervous to open it. What childhood ghosts waited inside?
Finally, she lifted the lid. What was even in here worth keeping?
A cheap locket with a broken clasp—her mum had bought it from a souvenir shop.
Her nan’s brooch, shaped like a butterfly with missing stones.
A large mother-of-pearl button—beautiful, but she couldn’t remember what it was from.
A lipstick in a gold case, a gift from a schoolfriend in Year Eight. Her mum hadn’t let her wear it, so it had just sat there, unused.
Then her fingers touched something soft—a velvet bow tie. Deep blue, finely made.
Memories rushed back. A school Christmas party, boys from another school had come—why, she couldn’t recall. Maybe their hall was being renovated, or maybe the head teacher had arranged it.
There’d been a concert, then dancing—her first ever. What year was that? Year Six? Seven? That was when she’d fallen for a boy. Well, as much as a kid could.
He’d stood on stage, reciting a poem that had seemed so grown-up to her then.
And here—a sheet of lined paper where she’d copied it down.
He’d worn a dark blue suit and that bow tie. The way he spoke—so intense.
She’d wanted him to ask her to dance. She’d stood in the corner in a white dress with a ribbon at the back, satin shoes, her hair down for once—not in plaits like usual. How old was she? Eleven? Twelve? Couldn’t remember now. But the feeling, that first flutter in her chest, had stayed with her.
No, he hadn’t asked her. And he’d left the party early.
She and her friends had followed him to the cloakroom. He’d shrugged on his coat, pulled his hat low, and left. The girls had watched from the side. When they turned to go back, Emily had spotted the bow tie on the floor. Probably meant to pocket it but dropped it instead.
She’d picked it up, run outside—but he was already in a car, door shutting behind him. His parents, probably. They never spoke. Never saw each other again. She didn’t even know which school he was from.
Decades had passed. This silly little box had kept that tiny, seemingly meaningless moment alive.
All her childhood treasures went back inside, and she set the box on the windowsill, deciding not to hide it away anymore.
This was part of her past. Let it stay as a family relic. Maybe she’d tell Sophie about it someday. What would she say, though? *Mum, childhood’s over—this junk doesn’t mean anything. Live in the present!* Or something like that.
But she was wrong.
When Sophie got home from school, she spotted the box straight away, rifled through it, and asked, *Is this your archive? Where’d you get this?*
She picked out the butterfly brooch first, then the bow tie. Over dinner, Emily told her about the boy, too.
*Did you ever try to find him?* Sophie asked. *Could’ve gone to his school.*
*Oh, right—social media wasn’t a thing back then. I didn’t even know his name or school. Eat your dinner and do your homework. I’ve got loads to sort.*
When Richard came home, he helped with the packing after supper. Sophie piped up, *Dad, Mum fancied a boy at school. Can you believe she still keeps stuff to remember him?*
*Sophie!* Emily flushed.
Richard just smiled. *Telling other people’s secrets isn’t nice. Didn’t you know that?*
*Oh, and Mum’s got Nan’s old brooch and—*
Sophie marched to the box and pulled out the dark blue velvet bow tie.
*Some boy lost it,* she said. *And she really liked him, so she kept it.*
Richard’s eyes narrowed as he studied the thing. Then he reached over, plucked it from Sophie’s hand, and stared.
*Where’d this come from?* he asked finally.
*Well, Sophie just said—some boy lost it, and I found it. Never got to return it, so I’ve kept it for, what, twenty years now.*
And then Richard remembered. The school party he’d left early. The bow tie he’d lost.
His dad had bought it for him abroad.
He’d gone back to the school, asked if anyone had found it. The teachers had shrugged, even called the caretaker—nothing.
*So it was you, Rich…* Emily murmured, her chest suddenly tight with something like bells ringing.
Fate must’ve been laughing at them.
They spent the rest of the evening remembering—how they’d left school, gone to uni.
She’d stayed local; he’d moved away. They’d met, hung out with mutual friends—but it never went beyond that.
*I always had this feeling I was waiting for someone,* Emily admitted. *I didn’t think of you—well, that boy. But my heart kept saying, Don’t rush.*
*I was the same. My mates all had girlfriends—I just stayed on my own.*
Then they’d met again—another Christmas party, but at a club this time. One dance, and they’d never let go.
*Soon as I saw you there, I knew—that’s her. The one I’d been waiting for.*
*I remember our first dance. I made a wish—if you walked me home, it was meant to be. And when you waited outside for me…*
Sophie had been listening. She came over, hugged them both, and said, *It’s not just your fate, Mum and Dad. If you hadn’t met, I wouldn’t be here. But I am.*
Smart kids these days, no denying it.
All three of them laughed, then finally got round to decorating the tree that had been waiting on the balcony.
As for the bow tie—Richard took it.
Said he’d wear it to their New Year’s dinner.
