What She Found in Him—Ten Years Later
We’d been waiting for this reunion for what felt like forever. Exactly ten years had passed since the last bell rang at our tiny village school near Gloucester, and here we were—almost the entire Year 11 class back in the same old classroom. Everyone, except for Will, who was always away on business these days, and Lucy, who was home with her newborn.
Then the door opened, and in she walked.
Emily.
The one. The girl half our class used to lose their breath over. The girl whose smile in the hallway could knock you off your feet. And there she was again, standing among us. Only now, a ring glinted on her left hand, and that same gentle smile—the one that seemed untouched by time—still lingered on her lips.
“James, you haven’t changed a bit!” she called across the table.
I wanted to say something clever, but my throat went dry. Just like back then. Only now, we weren’t seventeen anymore.
In Year 11, we lads had been complete idiots. Six lanky fools, all hopelessly in love with the same girl. Emily. Clever, beautiful, top of the class. And above all—she had this light inside her. Friendly with everyone, never leading anyone on, never playing favourites. Which only made us more desperate.
“Why do you lot follow her around like puppy dogs after a sausage?” hissed Emma Carter, the girl who sat at the next desk, her voice dripping with spite.
“Jealous, are you?” shot back Tom.
Back then, I didn’t notice how her hands clenched. Didn’t realise her eyes weren’t glittering with anger—but with tears.
Emily, meanwhile, stayed later and later after school with quiet, unassuming Ben Smith. The kind of bloke people called “nothing special.” Except—he carried her books. Walked her to the library. And he listened.
“What does she see in him?” I fumed. “He’s a total wet blanket!”
“Maybe he’s got more patience than the rest of us combined,” Tom muttered with a smirk.
The other girls hated Emily with a passion. Emma most of all. We didn’t see it—we were too blind. And then it happened—the thing that shattered us for good.
Just an ordinary day. Right before lunch. Emily walked in, sat down—then leapt up with a shriek. Her back and dress were drenched in thick crimson jelly. It had been on the menu in the canteen that day. The stain looked vile. Emily, scarlet with embarrassment, bolted from the room. And we—we turned on each other. Accusations flew like stones: “You did it out of spite!” “You planned this!” “It had to be Emma!” I was certain it was her. Couldn’t let it go.
After that, our “close-knit” class fell apart. Grudges festered, suspicion ate at us. We skipped prom. Didn’t take a single group photo. Just collected our GCSEs and disappeared. Our form tutor cried quietly in the staff room. We said nothing.
And now…
Now Emily sat across from me. Same smile, just calmer, wiser. Turned out, she was the one who’d tracked everyone down—through social media. Made a group. Gathered our scattered class online, then in person. And suddenly, we remembered we’d once been friends. That we were part of something bigger. We laughed in that same classroom, as if time had folded in on itself.
Then Emily called someone in from the corridor. A tall bloke stepped inside. His face—achingly familiar. Her little brother, Alex, who we remembered as a scrawny, sniffling teenager.
“Go on, tell them! You promised!” Emily nudged him.
Alex hesitated. Then blurted out:
“I’m the one who spilled the jelly. She made me rewrite my homework twice, so I… well… got my own back.”
Silence hung heavy. We’d missed our prom—because of a kid and a few spoonfuls of jelly. I wanted to laugh and cry at the same time.
Later, everyone shared updates—jobs, kids, life. I stayed quiet. My story wasn’t worth telling. Then Emily stood and slipped an arm around Ben. Quiet Ben. Unassuming Ben.
“We’ve been married five years,” she said, casual as if talking about 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 chatter died down, I cornered Ben.
“How’d you do it?”
He smiled. “Remember when she broke her leg after school? Skiing accident.”
I nodded. Remembered it well. Even dropped by once—with chocolates. Stood at the door, then left.
“I came every day,” he said. “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 my life.”
I nodded, drained my pint. “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, Emma caught me.
“James, hold up! One for the road?”
I turned. She held out a glass.
“Well then, Captain. Lose the battle?”
I glanced around the room: Alex, fast asleep with an empty bottle in his arms. Ben, tucking a loose strand behind Emily’s ear. And Emma—grown, striking—looking at me like I was a dream she’d waited too long for.
“No,” I said, clinking my glass to hers. “Just wasn’t worthy.”
“Waited ten years to hear that,” she murmured. “Now you’re free. Boy of my youth.”
And suddenly, I realised how blind I’d been. Never walking her home. Never noticing she’d always been there.
“Maybe… take a walk?” I nodded toward the door.
She froze. Then reached for her coat.
“No foolishness, James. I’m not that silly girl anymore.”
“Don’t have to be. I just… want to know you now.”
And we stepped out. Into the quiet Gloucestershire evening, where—maybe—ten years later, everything was just beginning.
