The Old Cottage Where Happiness Came Alive Again
Andrew invited his friends to his family’s cottage. Their faces said it all—they weren’t impressed. One even wrinkled their nose at the peeling paint and overgrown garden.
“What did they expect?” Andrew thought, watching their reactions. “A mansion? It’s just Nan’s old place, not some luxury countryside home.”
But soon, the barbecue was smoking, meat sizzled, and speakers blared music. Laughter, jokes, the smell of smoke and grilled food—the evening quickly grew lively. The barbecue was a hit, beer flowed, and the mood lifted.
There was space for everyone to sleep. Some crashed on the old sofa, others on mattresses on the veranda. By morning, they all headed home—full and content.
Andrew stayed. He didn’t fancy returning to the noisy city. Sitting quietly, he studied the old crockery in the sideboard when a voice called from outside:
“Hello? Anyone home?”
He stepped onto the porch and froze. A girl stood on the path—pretty, with a slightly awkward smile. She eyed him cautiously.
“Are you… the owner? Nan and Grandad used to live here. Who are you?”
“Who’s asking?” Andrew shot back. “Do I look like a squatter?”
But then she grinned, warm and genuine.
“No, it’s just… I haven’t been here in years. I used to know Nan’s grandson. You don’t look much like him, honestly.”
“Don’t I?” Andrew scoffed. “Well, I am that grandson—Andrew. Must’ve got me mixed up with someone.”
The girl flushed.
“I’m Emily. Your mate Jake’s little sister. You used to let me tag along, remember? You gave me a sweet by the campfire once when we were roasting sausages…”
Andrew studied her. Something *was* familiar—especially that eager look. Ten years ago, she’d trailed after him and Jake, who’d always tried to shake her off.
“That’s you?” he said, surprised. “The freckle-faced kid?”
“Well, not so little now,” she laughed.
They went inside. Andrew boiled the kettle while Emily pulled Nan’s old teacups from the sideboard.
“Mind if I use these? I always wanted to drink tea from them. They’re lovely…”
They sipped tea, nibbling leftover biscuits. The wall clock ticked again—Andrew had wound it for the first time in years. Like the house itself, long forgotten, was waking up.
“I came mushroom hunting but got cold feet alone,” Emily admitted, cradling her cup like a child.
“Fancy mushrooms, eh?” Andrew grinned. “Fancy joining me next weekend?”
He surprised himself at how easy it felt with her.
After that, they kept meeting. Everything Emily touched seemed to come alive. She washed the windows, polished the old cabinets, neatly arranged the linen—just as Nan used to.
“It’s all like new,” she marvelled. “Like Nan knew we’d end up here together.”
And the cottage *did* feel alive again. Andrew fixed the porch, painted the shutters. Grandad’s old scooter even started up. Life was stirring.
“Never thought I could feel like this,” Andrew murmured one evening by the fire.
“Me neither,” Emily admitted.
When Andrew decided to work remotely and move to the cottage, his parents were baffled.
“You’re mad! That old place?” Mum gasped.
But Andrew just shrugged. Here felt *real*—the woods, the river, the cottage… and Emily.
Nan and Grandad visited one day, just to see it.
Nan ran her hands over the wooden walls. “Like the house waited for us,” she whispered.
Grandad, usually quiet, lit up. He revved the scooter, cracked jokes, even asked Andrew to set up the old toy train he’d repaired.
“Glad you didn’t let it rot,” Grandad said, pride in his eyes. “Your nan and I were happy here. Now it’s your turn.”
“Thanks for the cottage,” Andrew said as they left. “I’d never have met Emily without it.”
And Emily, beside him, added quietly, “Thanks for all the love left behind. It’s still here—in every floorboard, every ticking clock…”
And the cottage, creaky and worn, breathed again. Lived. And inside, laughter rang out. Life, laughing.
