**When Dreams Come True**
*Diary Entry*
“Young man, you just scraped my car!” A slender woman stood on the pavement, wrapped in a white winter coat.
“Maybe learn to park properly,” muttered James. “Some people just buy their licenses and cause accidents. Honestly, women shouldn’t even be allowed to drive.”
“Do you see the snowbanks everywhere? Where was I supposed to park—on top of that pile?” She pointed at a massive drift with her delicate fingers. “I’m calling the police!”
James’ bravado vanished. He’d already been fined for speeding this month. Now this.
“I skidded into a snowbank too. It wasn’t intentional—cut me some slack.”
“And what do you propose?” she asked coldly.
“Let’s settle this now.”
“No. It’s the principle. I won’t tolerate misogyny.”
“Misogyny—what?”
“Dislike of women!”
“Fine, I was wrong,” James ground out. “I’ll pay for the scratch. Plus extra for the hassle. How much?”
After half an hour of haggling, she relented. James suspected she was dragging it out to squeeze more cash from him. Still, he paid a hefty sum to avoid further trouble.
He exhaled sharply. Another financial hit. And today was Emily’s birthday—he hadn’t even bought her gift yet.
James checked his banking app. Only £200 left, and payday was a week away. He called his mate, Tom.
“Mate, I’m skint myself,” Tom said. “Why’d you fork over so much? That woman was loaded. Should’ve gone through insurance—easy fix. Or just filed a report.”
“Look, I’m selling the car. If cops log the scrape, it’ll look like an accident. Who’d buy it then? You know anyone who could lend me a bit? Just for the week. Can’t show up to Emily’s empty-handed.”
“Fair, she’s not the ‘just a card’ type,” Tom laughed. “But sorry, mate—no one I know can spare it.”
James shoved his phone into the holder, cracked the window, and stewed. An hour had passed since the woman disappeared, and he was still parked there, fuming. He *had* tried to be careful—just a patch of ice sent the car skidding.
Then it hit him—the credit card he’d forgotten about. Relief flooded him. He sped to the jewellers, buying the earrings Emily had admired.
That evening, James hesitated outside her flat, clutching a bouquet of spray roses. The velvet box weighed heavy in his pocket.
A year ago, he’d never imagined Emily—a girl so far out of his league—would give him the time of day. Her dad co-owned a luxury department store; her mother ran three high-end salons. They’d bought her this flat. And now James stood there, petrified.
“Happy birthday, love!” He thrust the gifts at her.
“Hello! Thank you, darling,” Emily kissed his cheek. “Oh my God—*these*?”
“Yeah…” James flushed.
“You’re mad! They’re so expensive,” she whispered, lifting the earrings. “But stunning… Thank you!”
Typical Emily. Wealthy, yet frugal. She shopped at Tesco, cooked at home, and cleaned herself—only hiring help after breaking her ankle.
Still, James felt out of place. His family made do with spam fritters and liver-and-onion “cake” for birthdays.
“Hope you don’t mind… I’ve got guests,” Emily smiled.
“Thought it’d be packed by now,” he joked.
“You know I hate big parties. Come—dinner’s ready.” She led him to the kitchen. “Mum, Dad, this is my James.”
James froze but kept his cool, greeting them stiffly.
“You *could’ve* warned me,” he hissed in Emily’s ear.
“Thought they’d left for their holiday! Surprise visit two hours ago. Relax—they’re lovely.”
“Right,” James muttered.
Her parents studied him like a lab specimen. Unnerving.
“So, tell us about yourself,” her father said, smile strained.
“Yes, do share,” her mother added, not looking at him.
“Well… I’m a bank manager. Studied finance, then uni—part-time, though—”
“Any real prospects in banking?” Her mother turned to her husband.
“Limited, I’d say,” her father replied, equally dismissive.
“Respectfully disagree,” James cut in. All three turned. “I’ll be department head in a year. Regional in three—”
“*That’s* a career?” Her mother scoffed.
“Did you buy three salons overnight?” James asked bluntly.
Their polite smiles vanished.
“I *earned* them,” she snapped. “Started in a basement salon.”
“Then why shame me for starting as a bank manager?”
“Debating without me?” Emily reappeared, arms crossed. The new earrings glinted.
Dinner passed in silence until her mother spoke.
“James, your thoughts on misogyny?” She smirked.
“Strongly against it,” he said evenly.
“Surprised you even know the word,” she sneered.
“Oddly, I heard it this morning. From a lady.”
Emily glanced between them, baffled. James was tense; her mother’s eyes gleamed with malice.
A row was coming.
Then Emily remembered—her mum had ranted about an “aggressive misogynist” earlier.
“*Enough!*” Emily snapped. “Mum, was James the one from the car park?”
“What’s to tell? Your boyfriend ruined my morning!”
“James, why didn’t you *say* something?”
“Didn’t want to upset you. I *was* wrong—scratched the car, mouthed off. And now this…”
“Scratched *what*?” Her dad interrupted.
“Just a skid on ice—”
“Show me. Was it reported?”
“Hardly a mark!” her mother cut in. “We settled it. Right, James?”
James nodded. “Paid in full.”
She fidgeted. “Actually… there *is* no new scratch.”
“What?” James stiffened.
“You barely touched it. I just… wanted to teach you a lesson after that ‘women drivers’ rubbish. I’ll return the money. But Emily—men who disrespect strangers *will* turn on you!”
“Emily’s got *nothing* to do with this! You *were* parked badly—”
“*Stop!*” Emily yelled. “Party’s over. Everyone *out*.”
James tried apologising, but she pointed to the door.
Alone, Emily ate cake straight from the tub, staring at the grey sky. Then her phone buzged: *”Look outside.”*
Three figures waved wildly from the courtyard—her parents and James. Another text: *”Come down. We’ve made up.”*
She grabbed her coat and sprinted outside.
“I returned the money!” her mother admitted.
“And I apologised,” James added, offering his hand. “Now we’re apologising to *you*.”
“Where are we going?” Emily feigned indifference.
“The hills!” her mum chirped.
“The *hills*?”
“Yes!”
After kicking them out, James had insisted on talking properly. Over coffee, he’d apologised, explaining his stress over Emily’s gift.
“I’m stunned he knows you so well,” her mum said. “*His* idea!”
Emily’s eyes welled up. She’d *always* dreamed of sliding down snowy slopes on a scrap of linoleum for her birthday. But her parents insisted on lavish dinners in hired halls. She’d mentioned it once to James—never thinking he’d remember.
Her dad pulled a rolled-up linoleum sheet from the car.
*Sometimes, the smallest gestures mean the most. Even a snowy hill can mend a day—or a heart.*
