“COULDN’T LOVE HER BACK”
“Girls, which one of you is Lily?” A stranger eyed me and my friend with playful curiosity.
“I’m Lily. Why?” I asked, puzzled.
“Here’s a letter for you, then. From William,” the woman said, pulling a crumpled envelope from her coat pocket.
“From William? Where is he?”
“He’s been moved to another care home. Waited for you, Lily, like rain in a drought. Nearly wore his eyes out staring out the window. Gave me this letter to check for mistakes—didn’t want to embarrass himself in front of you. Anyway, I must go. Lunch soon. I work here as a carer.” She gave me a reproachful look, sighed, and hurried off.
…It began one summer when my friend Sophie and I, wandering aimlessly, stumbled onto the grounds of an unfamiliar building. We were sixteen, restless with holiday energy, craving adventure.
We settled onto a bench, laughing over silly things, when two lads approached.
“Alright, girls? Bored? Fancy a chat?” The taller one—William—held out his hand. “I’m William.”
“Lily,” I replied. “This is Sophie. And your quiet friend?”
“Leon,” the other murmured.
They seemed oddly old-fashioned, too proper. William frowned critically.
“Why d’you wear such short skirts? And Sophie, that neckline’s a bit much.”
“Oy, eyes front, lads. Wouldn’t want them wandering off, now,” Sophie shot back, giggling.
“Hard not to look. We’re only human. You don’t smoke, do you?” William pressed.
“Course we do. Just not *properly*,” we teased.
It was only then we noticed—something wasn’t right with their legs. William shuffled stiffly; Leon had a pronounced limp.
“You here for treatment?” I guessed.
“Yeah. Motorbike crash,” William recited. “Leon took a bad dive off a cliff.”
We believed them. At the time, we had no idea they’d lived in that care home since childhood, their lives confined to its walls. To them, we were a taste of freedom.
Every resident had a crafted story—a car crash, a fall, a fight—anything but the truth. Yet William and Leon were sharp, well-read, wise beyond their years. Sophie and I started visiting weekly. At first, out of pity. Then because we liked them.
It became routine. William would hand me flowers plucked from the garden; Leon shyly gave Sophie origami he’d folded himself. We’d squeeze onto the bench together—William beside me, Leon turned toward Sophie, who’d blush but never refuse.
Summer faded into rain. School swallowed our time. We forgot them.
…Until exams ended, graduation passed, and summer returned. On a whim, we went back. Sat on that same bench, waiting. No one came.
Then a woman rushed over—the same carer—and thrust William’s letter into my hands.
*”Dearest Lily,
You were my sunshine. Those meetings were my whole world. Six months I’ve stared at that gate, hoping. You forgot me.
Our paths won’t cross again, but thank you—you taught me love. I remember your laugh, your smile, the way you’d play with your hair. It hurts, Lily. Just one more minute with you—that’s all I’d ask.
Leon and I turned eighteen. They’re moving us. Doubt I’ll see you again.
Goodbye, my love.”*
A dried flower fluttered out. My chest ached. Too late to fix it.
Years passed. The letter yellowed; the flower crumbled. But I still remember William’s jokes, Leon’s quiet smile.
Sophie? She married Leon. Works at a care home now. They’ve two grown sons.
William’s mother took him home eventually. No one knows what became of him.
Sometimes kindness sparks hope. And hope, when lost, leaves the deepest scars.
