**Could You Not Love Me?**
*Diary Entry*
“Listen up, girls—who here is Lily?” The stranger eyed us slyly, my mate Sophie and me.
“That’d be me. Why?” I frowned.
“Got a letter for you, then. From Victor,” she said, pulling a crumpled envelope from her coat pocket.
“Victor? Where is he?” I asked.
“Transferred to a care home for adults. Waited for you like you were rain in a drought, he did. Nearly wore his eyes out. Gave me this to check for mistakes—didn’t want to embarrass himself in front of you.” She sighed, gave me a look, then hurried off.
…
That summer, Sophie and I, sixteen and restless, had wandered onto the grounds of some unfamiliar building. We perched on a bench, chatting away, when two lads approached.
“Alright, girls? Bored, are we? Fancy a chat?” The taller one—Victor—stuck out his hand.
“Lily. This is Sophie. And your quiet friend?”
“Leon,” the other muttered.
They seemed oddly old-fashioned, too proper. Victor tutted, “Why’re you wearing skirts that short? And Sophie, that neckline’s a bit much.”
We laughed. “Eyes front, lads, or they might pop right out!”
“Hard not when you dress like that. Proper girls don’t smoke, do they?” Victor pressed.
“Course we do—just not properly,” I teased.
Only then did we notice—something wasn’t right with their legs. Victor shuffled, Leon had a limp.
“You here for treatment?” I asked.
“Yeah. Motocrash,” Victor rattled off. “Leon took a bad fall diving. They’ll discharge us soon.”
We believed them. Didn’t cross that Victor and Leon grew up in that home, their stories rehearsed—car crashes, fights gone wrong. For them, we were a fleeting taste of freedom.
They were sharp, well-read, wiser than their years. We started visiting weekly—pity at first, then genuine interest. Victor brought me stolen flowers; Leon folded origami for Sophie, shy as anything.
Then autumn came. School swallowed us whole. We forgot them entirely.
…
After exams, we wandered back, expecting Victor with daisies, Leon with paper cranes. No one came.
Then a woman darted out, thrusting a letter at me.
*”Dearest Lily,*
*You were my light. I waited half a year by that window. You never came. Different paths, I suppose. But thank you—you showed me love. Your laugh, your voice… God, I miss you. Maybe one more glimpse?*
*Leon and I turned eighteen. They’re moving us come spring. Doubt we’ll meet again. Hope I’ll recover from you someday.*
*Yours always, Victor.”*
A dried flower fluttered out.
Guilt twisted my gut. Nothing to fix now. That saying echoed—*we’re responsible for those we tame.*
I never guessed Victor’s feelings. I’d only flirted, stoking his fire without meaning to burn him.
…
Years later. The letter yellowed, the flower dust. But I remember—his jokes, our laughter.
Sophie? She fell for Leon. Became a teacher at a care home. Married him. Two grown sons now.
Victor? Lived alone till his mum fetched him at forty. Then—gone.
**Lesson:** Some hearts are fragile. Tread lightly, even when you think it’s just play.
