Moving to a new flat is a right hassle. Everyone knows that.
So, Emma and her husband Robert, having finally bought a bigger place, were preparing to move right after New Year’s.
They’d already started packing their things into large boxes, sorting as they went. Some stuff was tossed out, while other bits were carefully wrapped…
Then came the turn of the big wardrobe with its high shelf. Before leaving for work, Robert had pulled down a box of Christmas decorations, along with everything else stored up there, stacking it all neatly in a pile. Now it was Emma’s job to sort through it.
Of course, the things kept on top shelves were usually the ones you didn’t need daily but couldn’t bring yourself to throw away—just in case they might come in handy someday.
Emma had taken a two-week holiday just for this, to gather, sort, and decide what to take to the new flat and what to leave behind. It wasn’t easy. What about her old school exercise books, diaries, and certificates of merit? When her parents were alive, they’d kept them all, and now they’d passed to her like an heirloom.
She sat beside the pile, methodically sifting through the archive. Some things went straight into a large black bin bag, while others were set aside. Then, finally, she picked up a small wooden box, covered in seashells and pebbles, tucked inside a soft linen pouch.
It was a gift from her beloved grandfather, brought back from a seaside holiday when she was ten. That little box had become her secret treasure chest, where she kept all sorts of precious things—tiny mementos of moments she didn’t want to forget.
“Wonder if Sophie has anything like this?” Emma thought of her daughter, then decided probably not.
Kids these days were too practical, not a romantic bone in them. By ten, they already knew exactly what they wanted to be and where they’d study.
At that age, she and Robert hadn’t a clue.
She’d gone to an ordinary school, trained as a food technologist, and wound up working at the local confectionery factory.
Robert had been luckier.
He’d always wanted to be an architect—and he became one.
Studied hard, came back to his hometown, and now he was a leading specialist. His projects were in high demand.
Sophie was just as determined. Though at eleven, she still hadn’t settled on a career.
Emma held the box and hesitated before opening it. What childhood memories lay inside?
Finally, she lifted the lid. What could possibly be so valuable? A cheap pendant on a chain with a broken clasp—a souvenir shop gift from her mum.
Gran’s brooch shaped like a butterfly, missing a couple of stones.
A large mother-of-pearl button—beautiful, but she couldn’t remember what it had come from.
A lipstick in a gold case, a gift from a friend in Year 8, which her mother had never let her wear. So it had just sat there.
And then, in her hands—a dark blue velvet bow tie! Exquisitely made.
The memories rushed back. A New Year’s Eve party when boys from another school had visited.
She couldn’t recall why—maybe their hall was being renovated, or perhaps it was the headmaster’s idea.
They’d put on a little concert, then came the dancing—her first ever. Was it Year 6? Year 7? And that was when she’d had her first “crush.” Too strong a word, really.
But she’d liked that boy so much, standing on stage reciting poetry that had seemed terribly grown-up to her.
Here was the very notepaper with those verses scribbled down. He’d worn a dark blue suit and that bow tie. The way he spoke—like he knew things.
How she’d wished he’d ask her to dance. She’d stood in the corner in a pretty white dress with a bow at the back, satin shoes, her hair loose for once instead of in pigtails. How old had she been? Eleven? Twelve? Couldn’t remember now. But the feeling—that first flutter—still lingered.
No, he hadn’t asked her. And he’d left the party early.
She and a friend had followed to the cloakroom. He’d quickly shrugged on his coat, tossed the bow tie aside, pulled his cap low, and left. The girls watched from a distance. When they turned to go back, Emma spotted the bow tie on the floor. He must’ve tried to pocket it but… lost it.
She picked it up and dashed outside, hoping to return it—but saw him already climbing into a car. The door shut, and he was gone. Must’ve been his parents picking him up.
They never met again. She didn’t even know which school he was from.
How many years had passed? Yet her little box had kept that tiny, seemingly insignificant moment alive.
She tucked all the treasures back inside and placed the box on the windowsill, deciding not to hide such beauty away.
It was a piece of her childhood. Let it stay as a family relic. She’d tell Sophie about it later—though she’d probably say, “Mum, childhood’s over. These things don’t matter. Live in the present!” Or something like that…
But she was wrong.
When Sophie came home from school, she spotted the box at once, rummaged through it, and asked:
“Is this your archive? Where’d you get this?”
First, she pulled out the brooch, then the bow tie. Over dinner, Emma shared the story—even the one about the boy.
“Did you ever try to find him? You could’ve gone to his school.”
“Oh, Sophie! Social media wasn’t a thing then. And I didn’t even know his name or where he was from. Eat up, then homework. I’ve got loads to do.”
That evening, Robert came home from work and, after supper, helped Emma sort through more boxes. Sophie piped up:
“Dad, Mum fancied a boy at school. Can you believe it? She’s kept a souvenir all these years!”
“Sophie!” Emma flushed, but Robert just chuckled.
“Not nice to spill someone’s secrets. Didn’t you know?”
“Also, Mum’s got Gran’s brooch and this!” Sophie reached into the box and pulled out the dark blue velvet bow tie.
“A boy lost it. She really liked him, so she kept it.”
Robert’s eyes narrowed as he studied the tie. Then he took it from her, examining it closely.
“Where did this come from?”
“Sophie said—a boy lost it, I found it. Couldn’t give it back, so I kept it. Twenty years now.”
And then—Robert remembered. That school party he’d left early. The bow tie he’d lost. His father’s, bought abroad on a business trip.
“I came back later, asked if anyone had found it. Teachers just shrugged. Even the cleaner said no. Fancy that…”
“So it was you, Rob…” Emma murmured, her heart fluttering like tiny bells.
Fate must’ve been smiling down on her.
Well, there you have it. The whole evening, they reminisced—how they’d finished school, studied in different cities, met through mutual friends.
It had never gone beyond friendship.
“I always felt like I was waiting for someone. Not you—not the boy, I mean. But my heart kept saying: don’t rush,” Emma admitted.
“And I never cared much for girls. The lads joked about sweethearts, but I stayed on my own.”
Then they’d met again—another New Year’s Eve, but at a club. One dance, and they’d never parted.
“When I saw you that night, I just knew: she’s the one. The one I’d been waiting for.”
“I remember that dance. I wished—if you walked me home, it was fate. If not…” She smiled. “I was so happy when you waited outside.”
Sophie had heard it all. She 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 now—well, here I am!”
Clever kids these days, no question.
All three laughed, then finally went to decorate the Christmas tree waiting on the balcony.
As for the bow tie? Robert took it back. Said he’d wear it for their New Year’s Eve dinner…
