**What She Saw in Him—Ten Years Later**
We’d waited for this reunion what felt like forever. Exactly ten years had passed since the final bell at our little village school near York, and now—almost all of our Year 11 class had gathered again in that familiar classroom. Everyone except James, who was stuck in endless business trips, and Lucy, who was home with her newborn.
Then the door opened—and she walked in.
Emily.
The one. The girl who’d once left half the class breathless. The girl whose smile in the hallway could knock the wind out of you. And there she was again, standing among us. Only now, with a ring on her finger and the same soft smile that seemed untouched by time.
“Tom, you haven’t changed a bit!” she called across the table.
I tried to think of something clever to say, but my throat went dry. Just like back then. Except now, we weren’t seventeen anymore.
Back in Year 11, we lads had acted like idiots. Six overgrown fools, all hopelessly in love with the same girl. With Emily. Clever, beautiful, top of the class. And—most of all—she had this light inside her. She was friends with everyone, never flirted, never picked favourites. And that made us even crazier for her.
“Why do you lot follow her around like puppies begging for scraps?” hissed Rachel, the girl from the next desk over, her voice sharp with bitterness.
“Jealous?” shot back Ollie.
I didn’t notice how her hands clenched then. Didn’t realise her eyes weren’t bright with anger—but tears.
Emily, meanwhile, spent more and more time after school with quiet, unassuming Ben. The kind of lad people dismissed as “nothing special.” Except—he carried her books. Walked her to the library. And listened.
“What does she see in him?” I fumed. “He’s practically wallpaper!”
“At least he’s got more patience than the rest of us put together,” Ollie smirked.
The girls in our class hated Emily for it. Especially Rachel. But we were too blind to see. And then came the final blow that shattered us completely.
It was an ordinary day. Right before lunch. Emily walked in, sat down—and immediately jumped up with a cry. Her back and dress were soaked with thick, crimson jelly—the kind they’d served in the canteen that day. The stain was disgusting. Humiliated, Emily ran out. And we—we turned on each other, yelling accusations like stones: “You did it out of spite!” “This was you—Rachel!” I was certain it had been her. I never forgave her.
After that, our “close-knit” class fell apart. Grudges simmered, suspicions festered. We skipped prom. Didn’t take a single group photo. Just collected our A-levels and scattered. Our form teacher cried quietly in the staff room. None of us said a word.
And now…
Now Emily sits across from me. Same smile, just calmer, wiser. Turned out, she was the one who’d tracked us all down—through social media. Made a group. Gathered our lost class online first, then in person. And suddenly, we remembered we’d once been close. That we were part of something bigger. We were back in that same classroom, laughing. As if time had folded in on itself.
Then Emily called someone in from the hallway. A tall bloke walked in. His face was painfully familiar—her little brother, Alex, who we remembered as a scrawny, sniffling teen.
“Go on, tell them! You promised!” Emily nudged him.
Alex hesitated. Then blurted out:
“It was me who spilled the jelly. Emily made me rewrite my homework twice, so I… well… got her back.”
Silence hung in the air. We’d lost our prom—over a kid and a few spoonfuls of jelly. I wanted to laugh and cry at the same time.
Later, everyone swapped stories—jobs, kids, lives. I stayed quiet. Mine wasn’t worth telling. Then Emily stood and slipped an arm around Ben. The quiet one. The unassuming one.
“We’ve been married five years,” she said, casual as if discussing the weather.
I clenched my jaw. Not from anger. From pain. Because even after all this time, I hadn’t let go of that schoolboy dream.
Later, when the noise died down, I pulled Ben aside:
“How’d you pull it off?”
He smiled at me.
“Remember when she broke her leg after school? Skiing accident.”
I nodded. Of course I remembered. I’d even visited once—with chocolates. Stood at the door, chickened out, left.
“I went every day. Cleaned, cooked, helped. Read to her. Then just… sat with her. One day, she cried. Said she was scared she’d never walk again. I promised if she couldn’t, I’d carry her. For the rest of her life.”
I downed my drink.
“You earned her. You didn’t just wait—you were there.”
“I just loved her. No conditions. No calculations. No expecting anything back.”
As I turned to leave, Rachel caught up to me.
“Tom, wait. One for the road?”
She held out a glass.
“Well then, captain? Lost the war?”
I glanced around the room: Alex was asleep, hugging an empty bottle, Ben was smoothing Emily’s hair, and Rachel—grown, beautiful—looked at me like I was the dream she’d waited too long for.
“No,” I said, clinking her glass. “Just wasn’t worthy.”
“Waited ten years to hear that,” she whispered. “You’re free now. My boy from back then.”
And suddenly, I understood how blind I’d been. How I’d never walked her home. How I’d never seen that she’d always been there.
“Fancy a walk?” I asked, nodding toward the door.
She stilled. Then pulled on her coat.
“No silliness, Tom. I’m not that silly girl anymore.”
“Wouldn’t dream of it. I just… want to know you now.”
And we stepped outside. Into the quiet Yorkshire night, where maybe, ten years on, something was just beginning.
