You know, Emma was really nervous, tugging at the edge of her sleeve as she stared out the taxi window. Outside, the streets she knew from when she was a kid were whizzing by the same ones she used to run along with Tom, laughing and making all sorts of plans for the future. Seven years… she hadn’t been back to her hometown in seven whole years.
The driver said they’d arrived, and the taxi stopped smoothly in front of the old block of flats. Emma checked her phone was there, pulled out some cash, paid him, and got out. The door shut, and for a moment she just stood there, breathing in the air of her old town. It really was different from the big city in London where she lived now. Every smell and sound seemed to wake up something deep inside her. There was the scent of freshly cut grass from the nearby park, a hint of baked bread from the little bakery on the corner, and something else you could only call home. It made her heart squeeze painful but sweet at the same time, like she was happy and scared about what was coming.
She was only there for a few days. Officially to visit her mum and help with some papers that needed sorting. She also wanted to walk around the familiar places, checking if they were still like she remembered. But deep down, there was another reason maybe the main one. She desperately wanted to see Tom! And who knows, maybe her life would change?
Emma knew he lived close by. It wasn’t like she was checking up on him no, she never asked about him directly. But friends, when they met or chatted online, would sometimes mention his name by accident. That’s how she got bits of news: he’d changed jobs and had a really good position now, he’d bought a flat, he’d moved his mum in with him… Every time she heard something, she’d picture for a second how he looked now, what he was up to, what he was thinking. But then she’d push those thoughts away, scared to let them take up too much space in her heart…
The next day Emma decided to take a walk around the town centre. She didn’t have any special plans just wanted to breathe the air, see the old spots in daylight, feel the rhythm of the streets that used to be part of her life. She walked slowly, peeking into shop windows, smiling a bit when she recognised something long forgotten: that newsstand where she used to buy comic books, the bench where she and her mates sat after school, the cafe where she first tried a cappuccino and nearly spilled it on her new blouse.
And suddenly, there he was.
Tom was walking on the other side of the street. He didn’t see her he was looking ahead, head slightly tilted, like he was thinking about something. Emma froze. Everything inside her flipped over so fast that for a moment she forgot how to breathe. He hadn’t changed at all still tall, with that same light, relaxed walk she remembered from when they were young. Same outline, same moves, even the same haircut.
Without thinking, she dashed across the road. The traffic light flashed yellow, a car honked somewhere, but she hardly noticed. Her legs just carried her forward, her heart pounding so loud it felt like everyone could hear it.
“Tom!” she called out when she caught up to him by the shop.
Her voice shook she didn’t realise she was that worked up. He turned around and… nothing. No joy in his eyes, no anger. Nothing at all.
“Emma?” he said calmly, almost like he didn’t care.
That tone so even and emotionless hit her harder than she expected. Everything she’d been holding in for seven years suddenly burst out. Her eyes filled with tears, her voice trembled, and she couldn’t stop.
“Tom, I… I’m so sorry,” she managed to say, struggling to find the words. “I know I don’t even have the right to come up to you, but I…” she sobbed, tried to pull herself together, but the tears were rolling down her cheeks and she didn’t even try to wipe them. “I love you. I still love you. Forgive me. Please, forgive me!”
She spoke fast and jumbled, like she was afraid if she stopped she wouldn’t be able to go on. There was so much in her head excuses, explanations, pleas but only the most important words came out. The ones she’d kept inside all those years.
She put her arms around him, pressed close to his chest, like that could bring back what was lost seven years ago. In that moment, the noisy street, the people, time none of it existed for her. Just the warmth of his body and the desperate hope that he’d hug her back.
Tom didn’t pull away right away. For a split second she thought he hesitated his shoulders dropped a bit, his hands lifted slightly, like he wanted to hug her too. That quick moment lit up a spark of hope in her: maybe it could still be fixed, maybe he had kept those memories too… Maybe they still had a future!
But it faded. Tom firmly held her shoulders and gently but firmly pushed her away. His face stayed calm, almost blank, and his look was steady, almost cold. There was no trace of the guy she used to laugh with till she cried and dream about the future with. In front of her was a grown man whose feelings were locked away behind a strong wall.
“Get lost,” he whispered in her ear.
He said it quietly and so without feeling, like she meant nothing to him at all. Like she was just some stranger not worth his time.
“I hate you,” he added a second later, and only then did his eyes show clear contempt.
He turned and walked off without looking back. Emma stood there like she’d been stunned. The world kept going: people hurrying about, cars honking at the crossing, kids laughing somewhere far off… Some passerby gave her a funny look, maybe wondering why she was standing in the middle of the street with a blank stare and pale face. But she didn’t notice any of it.
Just the sound of his footsteps fading away and her own breathing ragged, broken, helpless. Every second felt like forever, and in her head was the same thought: “This is the end. Forever.”
She slowly made her way home. Her legs didn’t want to work, every step was hard, but she kept going, staring ahead without seeing. Her mind was empty no thoughts, no feelings, just the echoing sound of his words bouncing around inside.
When Emma got to her mum’s flat, she didn’t even try to explain anything. She just went quietly into the room, sat down on a chair and stared out the window. Her mum saw her tear-streaked face and dull eyes but didn’t ask questions. She just sighed softly, like she’d been waiting for this, and went to put the kettle on. The familiar sound of boiling water, the smell of tea brewing it all seemed so normal, such a contrast to what was going on inside Emma. But that simplicity and routine helped bring her back to reality a bit.
“He didn’t forgive me,” Emma whispered, holding a cup of hot tea. The steam tickled her face, but she hardly noticed. Her fingers tightened on the cup, like she was trying to hold onto something slipping away, and her eyes stayed fixed on the amber surface of the drink, reflecting the dim light from the table lamp.
Her mum sat down next to her, quietly, without extra words, and patted her on the shoulder. The gesture was soft and familiar the kind from when Emma was little and came home with a scraped knee or after a row with a friend. That simple touch suddenly made her feel small and vulnerable, like all the grown-up decisions and actions from the last years had melted away.
“You knew it would be like this,” her mum said quietly, not blaming, more with a quiet sadness.
“I knew,” Emma nodded, finally looking up from the cup. Her voice was steady but tired, like she’d been turning this over in her head for a long time, getting ready for it. “But I hoped. Silly, right?”
“Not silly,” her mum said softly. “It’s just… you chose this path yourself. You really hurt Tom, and he couldn’t get over your breakup for a long time… It’s like his heart froze over, like the boy in that old fairy tale. No one could reach him anymore.”
Emma took a deep breath, set the cup aside and leaned back in the chair. Pictures from seven years ago floated up in front of her eyes.
Back then everything seemed so simple and clear. She was twenty-two an age when the future looks bright and any obstacles seem easy to overcome. Tom was there kind, reliable, the one person you could count on no matter what. He wasn’t great with words or saying how he felt, but his actions spoke louder: he was always there to help, good at listening, supportive even in small ways.
But there was one problem or rather, what Emma thought was a problem then. Tom worked on building sites, studied by correspondence, dreamed of starting his own business. His plans were serious and thought out, but they took time and she didn’t want to wait.
She didn’t dream of being rich, no. She wanted stability, not luxury, just certainty about the future. She wanted to know that in a year, two, five years she’d have a job, a place to live, a chance to build life on her terms. Next to Tom it all looked too uncertain: endless side jobs, evening classes, dreams of the future that were still just dreams.
And when her uncle in London offered her a job in his company, she said yes. No second thoughts, hardly any hesitation. It was a chance real, solid, one she couldn’t pass up.
There was more to it something Emma tried not to think about. Around the time she moved to London and started the job, Henry came into her life. He was a well-off businessman, twice her age, with confident ways and a habit of getting what he wanted. They met by chance at a work do, where Emma turned up in a new dress, feeling a bit out of place among the proper colleagues. Henry noticed her straight away: came over, started talking, asked about her work, plans, life.
He didn’t hold back on attention. First flowers not big bunches of roses, but neat bouquets delivered to the office with a note: “To the most beautiful.” Then invites to restaurants she could only have looked at from outside before, admiring the decor. He took her to shows, theatres, gave her things she’d never dared dream of: silk scarves, delicate jewellery, high-heeled shoes. Every gift came with words about how she deserved a better life, how she shouldn’t limit herself, how important it was to take what fate offered.
At first Emma resisted got embarrassed, said no, tried to explain she didn’t need those gifts. But Henry gently pushed, convincing her it was just a sign of attention, that he really admired her smarts and looks. Slowly she started accepting his courting. The shiny new reality pulled her in: evenings in cosy restaurants, rides in nice taxis, the chance to go into any shop and buy what she liked without checking the price. It all felt like a magical dream she didn’t want to wake from.
And somewhere in between all those glittering moments, she started seeing Henry. Not because she was head over heels for him, but because his world was tempting with its ease and certainty. With him she didn’t have to worry about tomorrow, wonder if there’d be enough for rent or a new outfit for an important meeting. He just took care of everything, wrapping her in a bubble of no worries.
And she really liked that life. So much that Emma completely forgot about the poor guy back home who was in love with her. Even more she started looking down on him, saying Tom would never amount to anything in life.
One time Emma went back to her hometown. Not to see Tom, not to explain or even just say hi. She wanted something else to show him her new life, prove what she was really “worth”. Deep down she had this thought: let him see she didn’t make a mistake, that her choice was right, that she’d managed to escape that uncertainty around their relationship.
She planned her visit carefully. Picked the cafe on the main street the one Tom sometimes went to for a coffee after work. Put on an expensive dress Henry had given her for her birthday elegant, with a thin belt that showed off her waist. On her finger was a ring with a big stone another gift from him. In her hands she held a bag from the latest collection she’d bought the day before after spotting it in a window.
When Tom came into the cafe, Emma noticed him right away. She was sitting by the window, laughing extra loud at something her companion said, and turned so Tom would definitely see her. Their eyes met. In his she saw confusion, pain, bewilderment all the things she’d been trying not to notice in herself for months. But instead of feeling awkward or looking away, she held his gaze without flinching.
In that moment it felt like a win. She’d proved to herself and him that she’d made the right choice. That her life now was real chances, luxury and confidence, not endless talks about the future. She told herself she felt satisfied, that she’d finally got what she deserved.
But when Tom left the cafe and she stayed sitting there, her laugh slowly died down. She looked at the ring, the bag, her companion who kept talking, and suddenly felt a strange emptiness. All of it the expensive stuff, the nice gestures, the attention suddenly seemed far away and not real. And even though she kept smiling and chatting, inside something quietly said: “Was it worth it?”
The win turned out bitter Emma realised that not straight away, but bit by bit, day after day, it became clearer. At first Henry still seemed like the same generous, attentive man: took her to restaurants, gave flowers, said nice things. But over time his interest started to fade, like a candle running out of wax.
It showed in small ways at first. Instead of warm words cool remarks. Instead of surprise gifts short messages: “Pop into that shop, pick something yourself.” And then came sharp digs. He started picking at her looks: “Maybe you should take a bit more care of yourself?”, her way of talking: “Why do you laugh so loud? It’s a bit common”, her friends she saw now and then: “Those mates from the small town again? Don’t you think it’s time to get a more interesting crowd?”
His presence in her life got rarer. He’d disappear for days, sometimes weeks, leaving her alone in the big flat he’d rented for her. Emma spent evenings by herself, listening to the clock tick or aimlessly sorting through clothes in the wardrobe. When she tried to talk to him, explain she missed their time together, he’d just brush it off, not looking at her:
“You got what you wanted. What more do you need?”
Emma tried to make excuses for his behaviour. “He’s got a tough business,” she’d think, “probably a lot of stress.” Or: “He’s just tired, needs some space.” She convinced herself it was temporary problems, that it’d all get better soon, that she was just too demanding. But deep down she knew: it wasn’t tiredness or work. She’d become just another pretty toy for him bright, new, eye-catching. And when the newness wore off, the interest faded.
She put up with it. Put up with his sharp words, his cold silence, his long absences. She put up with it because she was scared to admit one really important thing to herself: she’d been wrong. If she admitted the fancy life was empty, she’d have to admit she’d betrayed the only person who really loved her for who she was. That Tom, with his ordinary job and dreams of his own business, was the one who valued her just for being herself, not for the shine and fitting someone’s idea of a perfect partner.
Over time even the outer signs of luxury stopped bringing joy. The expensive dresses she used to love looking at in shops now hung lifeless in the wardrobe. The jewellery that once made her heart race lay in a box like it belonged to someone else. The restaurants she loved at first with their soft lights, fancy food and party vibe now just annoyed her to look at. The smell of expensive perfume, which used to seem like a sign of her new life, now made her feel a bit sick.
She caught herself more and more looking out the window, watching people go by and thinking: “What if…” But then she’d cut off those thoughts, scared to let them loose. Because behind them came a question she had no answer for: “What next?”
On those lonely evenings, when the dark slowly gathered outside and the flat had this almost ringing quiet, Emma thought more and more about how her dreams of stability had turned out kind of empty. She pictured a life where there was certainty about tomorrow, where you didn’t have to worry about money, where everything was planned and in order. But now, sitting in that big, well-furnished flat, she suddenly saw clearly: without someone to share that stability with, it all meant nothing.
Her thoughts kept going back to Tom. She remembered his hands strong, a bit rough from work, but so warm when he took her hands in his. She remembered his smile not bright and showy, but quiet and real, the kind that came when he was truly happy. She remembered how he talked about the future: no big words or loud promises, just shared plans, believed they’d make it work. And that belief was so real, so solid, that back then Emma felt with him she didn’t have to be afraid of anything…
On the third day back home Emma decided to walk in the park where they used to go together. There was that same bench under the big spreading tree they often sat there, chatting about everything, laughing at silly things. Emma remembered how Tom, watching the falling leaves, suddenly said: “You know, I want us to have our own house. With big windows so the morning sun shines right into the room. And always lots of light and happiness.” Back then she just smiled, thinking it was just dreams. Now those words sounded different like something missed, lost.
She stopped, breathed in the cool air, trying to get her thoughts together. And right then she heard a familiar voice:
“Emma?”
She turned. There was Ben their mutual friend with Tom. He looked surprised but smiled right away, like he was glad to see her.
“Didn’t expect to see you here,” he said, raising his eyebrows a bit. “How are you?”
Emma hesitated for a second, picking words. She wanted to answer lightly, naturally, but her voice shook a little, even though she tried to hide it.
“Fine,” she tried to smile, and it came out not as forced as she feared. “Came to visit my mum.”
Ben nodded, giving her a careful look, but didn’t ask more. Instead he pointed to a bench nearby:
“Want to sit? I was just walking, wondering where to go next.”
Emma agreed, and they headed slowly to the bench. On the way Ben talked about how things were going for him, what was new in town lately. His voice was calm and friendly, and it relaxed Emma a bit. She listened, threw in short replies now and then, while thinking how strange it all was: she’d come back to her hometown where every corner reminded her of the past, and here she was meeting someone who was part of that life.
Ben nodded, was quiet for a bit, like choosing words, then asked calmly, without pressure:
“Have you seen Tom?”
Emma looked down without meaning to, her eyes sliding over the fallen leaves on the ground. She didn’t answer straight away memories of yesterday’s meeting, his cold look, those short hurting words flashed through her head. Finally she said quietly:
“Yes. Yesterday.”
“And how was it?” Ben asked, looking at her carefully.
“He… he doesn’t want to know me,” Emma breathed out, struggling to say each word. Her voice was even but sounded down, like she was trying to hold a storm of feelings inside. “He hates me.”
Ben sighed, sat on the bench next to her, leaned his elbows on his knees and looked off into the distance, where the park path went into the golden autumn haze. He was quiet for a few seconds, like weighing what to say, then spoke softly:
“You know, he couldn’t get over it for a long time. You just disappeared, Emma. No call, no letter. For him it was like a stab in the back.”
Emma clenched her fingers, feeling everything tighten inside. She knew this, understood it, but hearing it confirmed by someone else was harder than she expected.
“I know,” she whispered, not looking up. “It’s my fault.”
Ben turned his head slightly towards her but didn’t push or lecture. Instead he went on, still calm:
“He tried to forget you. Saw other people, but it didn’t work out. Says he can’t love anyone like he loved you. He was in a really bad way, you know? And after your showy visit… I thought he’d shut himself off completely!”
Emma nodded silently. She pictured Tom trying to get on with life, forcing himself not to think about her, probably jumping at similar voices or random memories. And that made it hurt even more not because he suffered, but because she was the one who caused that pain.
“I didn’t know it would be like this,” she said quietly, more to herself than Ben. “I thought I was making the right choice. I wanted stability.”
Ben didn’t argue or try to convince her otherwise. He just sat there with her, giving her time to take it in. The wind rustled in the park, leaves swirled in a slow dance, and somewhere far off kids were laughing, playing by the fountain. Life went on as usual.
Emma clenched her fists so tight her nails dug a bit into her palms. She tried to hold back the tears, but they still welled up in her eyes, blurring her view. Everything inside tightened with the bitter realisation: she couldn’t fix anything, couldn’t turn back time, couldn’t undo what she’d done.
“I’m not asking him to forgive me,” she said in a shaky voice, struggling for words. “I just wanted him to know I’m sorry! I regret what I did every single day. These thoughts won’t leave me alone! I keep remembering how it was… and how I ruined everything.”
Ben looked at her carefully, without judging. He didn’t rush to answer you could see he was weighing every word.
“Maybe he doesn’t need to know that,” he finally said quietly but firmly. “Leave him be, don’t come back, you’re only making it worse. He took a long time to get over you leaving. And probably learned to cope somehow. But your showing up… it’s stirred everything up again! He called me yesterday and… he was really drunk. I haven’t seen him like that in ages, you know? Don’t ruin his life, Emma.”
The girl bit her lip hard but stayed quiet. She understood Ben was right. Her sudden return, trying to see Tom all that had just opened up old wounds he’d been trying to heal all these years. She wanted to make up for the guilt, but maybe this only caused him new pain…
That evening Emma sat by the window in her mum’s flat. Outside the lights of the town were slowly coming on yellow, orange, white blending into a weird mosaic, twinkling and shining, making it look like a celebration. But she wasn’t in the mood for the beauty of the evening streets. Her mind was turning over thoughts one after another, like scenes from an old film she couldn’t stop.
She imagined how things could have been if she’d stayed then. How they’d have rented their first flat together, how Tom would have built his business, how they’d have planned the future, laughed at small troubles, celebrated little wins. She thought about how many happy moments she’d missed, how many warm words she hadn’t said, how many touches she hadn’t shared. But the past can’t be changed she understood that clearly, more than ever.
The next day Emma left. She packed her things slowly, without rushing, like she wanted to put off the goodbye. Her mum stood in the doorway of the room, watching her quietly, and in her eyes was a quiet sadness not a telling off, just sadness that her daughter was leaving again.
“Look after yourself,” her mum said when Emma was already in the hallway, holding her suitcase.
Emma nodded, kissed her on the cheek, paused for a second breathing in the familiar smell of home, then stepped out onto the street.
At the station she bought a ticket to London she wanted to think. A couple of days on the train, with strangers around… Maybe that would help her figure out how to go on.
The train moved off smoothly, swaying a little on the tracks. Emma kept her eyes on the window. Outside the familiar shapes of the town slowly passed by: blocks of flats with balconies full of flowers, the playground where she used to hang out with her friends, the little bakery with its bright sign. People were hurrying about their business someone with a bag of shopping, someone with an umbrella up even though it was clear, someone rushing to the bus stop. It was all so ordinary, so normal, but now it felt endlessly far away.
Somewhere there, among those streets and houses, was the person she loved more than anything. The person whose eyes lit up when he talked about the future, whose hands could do hard work and hold her hand gently. The person she hadn’t found time to explain her leaving to, hadn’t given a chance to say goodbye. And now he was lost to her forever she understood that clearly, no matter how much she tried to tell herself it wasn’t over yet…
Six months went by. Emma kept living in London, going to work, meeting friends for coffee at weekends, answering questions about how she was and her plans. On the outside everything looked the same as before: same routine, same places, same chats. But inside something had changed for good. She no longer ran from the past, didn’t try to hide it behind new people, expensive buys or a busy schedule. Now she looked at it straight on, without fear: accepted her mistake, owned the pain she’d caused, and her real regret.
She’d learned to wake up with the thought that life goes on. Learned to tell herself: “I did what I did. It was wrong, but nothing can change it now.” And in that acceptance there was a strange, quiet relief not happiness, no, but at least a chance to breathe steadier, look ahead without panicking.
One evening, while Emma was making dinner, her phone pinged quietly with a new message. She wiped her hands on a towel, picked up the smartphone and saw an unknown number. Just one sentence on the screen: “I don’t hate you. But I can’t forgive you.”
Emma froze. Her fingers gripped the phone tight, and her heart seemed to stop for a second, then beat faster. She slowly sank down onto the floor, holding the phone to her chest, like she was trying to feel another heartbeat through it the one belonging to the person who wrote those words.
She didn’t know what it meant. Didn’t understand how to read those lines whether it was a step forward or a final “goodbye”. But for the first time in a long while it seemed like there was still some thread between them. Thin, fragile, ready to snap at the slightest wrong move, but still a connection. Someone out there, in another town, was thinking about her. Someone had decided to write, despite the pain and hurt. Someone hadn’t shut the door completely.
Emma smiled through her tears. The smile was shy, unsure, but real. Maybe it wasn’t the end. Maybe one day they could talk calmly, without accusations, without trying to justify themselves or the other. Maybe they’d find words that would help them both move on together or apart, but with a clear understanding.
For now… for now it was enough to know that he was still thinking about her. That somewhere there, hundreds of miles away, lived a person who remembered her not just as a mistake from the past, but as part of his story.
And that for now was enough.You know, Emma was really nervous, tugging at the edge of her sleeve as she stared out the taxi window. Outside, the streets she knew from when she was a kid were whizzing by the same ones she used to run along with Tom, laughing and making all sorts of plans for the future. Seven years… she hadn’t been back to her hometown in seven whole years.
The driver said they’d arrived, and the taxi stopped smoothly in front of the old block of flats. Emma checked her phone was there, pulled out some cash, paid him, and got out. The door shut, and for a moment she just stood there, breathing in the air of her old town. It really was different from the big city in London where she lived now. Every smell and sound seemed to wake up something deep inside her. There was the scent of freshly cut grass from the nearby park, a hint of baked bread from the little bakery on the corner, and something else you could only call home. It made her heart squeeze painful but sweet at the same time, like she was happy and scared about what was coming.
She was only there for a few days. Officially to visit her mum and help with some papers that needed sorting. She also wanted to walk around the familiar places, checking if they were still like she remembered. But deep down, there was another reason maybe the main one. She desperately wanted to see Tom! And who knows, maybe her life would change?
Emma knew he lived close by. It wasn’t like she was checking up on him no, she never asked about him directly. But friends, when they met or chatted online, would sometimes mention his name by accident. That’s how she got bits of news: he’d changed jobs and had a really good position now, he’d bought a flat, he’d moved his mum in with him… Every time she heard something, she’d picture for a second how he looked now, what he was up to, what he was thinking. But then she’d push those thoughts away, scared to let them take up too much space in her heart…
The next day Emma decided to take a walk around the town centre. She didn’t have any special plans just wanted to breathe the air, see the old spots in daylight, feel the rhythm of the streets that used to be part of her life. She walked slowly, peeking into shop windows, smiling a bit when she recognised something long forgotten: that newsstand where she used to buy comic books, the bench where she and her mates sat after school, the cafe where she first tried a cappuccino and nearly spilled it on her new blouse.
And suddenly, there he was.
Tom was walking on the other side of the street. He didn’t see her he was looking ahead, head slightly tilted, like he was thinking about something. Emma froze. Everything inside her flipped over so fast that for a moment she forgot how to breathe. He hadn’t changed at all still tall, with that same light, relaxed walk she remembered from when they were young. Same outline, same moves, even the same haircut.
Without thinking, she dashed across the road. The traffic light flashed yellow, a car honked somewhere, but she hardly noticed. Her legs just carried her forward, her heart pounding so loud it felt like everyone could hear it.
“Tom!” she called out when she caught up to him by the shop.
Her voice shook she didn’t realise she was that worked up. He turned around and… nothing. No joy in his eyes, no anger. Nothing at all.
“Emma?” he said calmly, almost like he didn’t care.
That tone so even and emotionless hit her harder than she expected. Everything she’d been holding in for seven years suddenly burst out. Her eyes filled with tears, her voice trembled, and she couldn’t stop.
“Tom, I… I’m so sorry,” she managed to say, struggling to find the words. “I know I don’t even have the right to come up to you, but I…” she sobbed, tried to pull herself together, but the tears were rolling down her cheeks and she didn’t even try to wipe them. “I love you. I still love you. Forgive me. Please, forgive me!”
She spoke fast and jumbled, like she was afraid if she stopped she wouldn’t be able to go on. There was so much in her head excuses, explanations, pleas but only the most important words came out. The ones she’d kept inside all those years.
She put her arms around him, pressed close to his chest, like that could bring back what was lost seven years ago. In that moment, the noisy street, the people, time none of it existed for her. Just the warmth of his body and the desperate hope that he’d hug her back.
Tom didn’t pull away right away. For a split second she thought he hesitated his shoulders dropped a bit, his hands lifted slightly, like he wanted to hug her too. That quick moment lit up a spark of hope in her: maybe it could still be fixed, maybe he had kept those memories too… Maybe they still had a future!
But it faded. Tom firmly held her shoulders and gently but firmly pushed her away. His face stayed calm, almost blank, and his look was steady, almost cold. There was no trace of the guy she used to laugh with till she cried and dream about the future with. In front of her was a grown man whose feelings were locked away behind a strong wall.
“Get lost,” he whispered in her ear.
He said it quietly and so without feeling, like she meant nothing to him at all. Like she was just some stranger not worth his time.
“I hate you,” he added a second later, and only then did his eyes show clear contempt.
He turned and walked off without looking back. Emma stood there like she’d been stunned. The world kept going: people hurrying about, cars honking at the crossing, kids laughing somewhere far off… Some passerby gave her a funny look, maybe wondering why she was standing in the middle of the street with a blank stare and pale face. But she didn’t notice any of it.
Just the sound of his footsteps fading away and her own breathing ragged, broken, helpless. Every second felt like forever, and in her head was the same thought: “This is the end. Forever.”
She slowly made her way home. Her legs didn’t want to work, every step was hard, but she kept going, staring ahead without seeing. Her mind was empty no thoughts, no feelings, just the echoing sound of his words bouncing around inside.
When Emma got to her mum’s flat, she didn’t even try to explain anything. She just went quietly into the room, sat down on a chair and stared out the window. Her mum saw her tear-streaked face and dull eyes but didn’t ask questions. She just sighed softly, like she’d been waiting for this, and went to put the kettle on. The familiar sound of boiling water, the smell of tea brewing it all seemed so normal, such a contrast to what was going on inside Emma. But that simplicity and routine helped bring her back to reality a bit.
“He didn’t forgive me,” Emma whispered, holding a cup of hot tea. The steam tickled her face, but she hardly noticed. Her fingers tightened on the cup, like she was trying to hold onto something slipping away, and her eyes stayed fixed on the amber surface of the drink, reflecting the dim light from the table lamp.
Her mum sat down next to her, quietly, without extra words, and patted her on the shoulder. The gesture was soft and familiar the kind from when Emma was little and came home with a scraped knee or after a row with a friend. That simple touch suddenly made her feel small and vulnerable, like all the grown-up decisions and actions from the last years had melted away.
“You knew it would be like this,” her mum said quietly, not blaming, more with a quiet sadness.
“I knew,” Emma nodded, finally looking up from the cup. Her voice was steady but tired, like she’d been turning this over in her head for a long time, getting ready for it. “But I hoped. Silly, right?”
“Not silly,” her mum said softly. “It’s just… you chose this path yourself. You really hurt Tom, and he couldn’t get over your breakup for a long time… It’s like his heart froze over, like the boy in that old fairy tale. No one could reach him anymore.”
Emma took a deep breath, set the cup aside and leaned back in the chair. Pictures from seven years ago floated up in front of her eyes.
Back then everything seemed so simple and clear. She was twenty-two an age when the future looks bright and any obstacles seem easy to overcome. Tom was there kind, reliable, the one person you could count on no matter what. He wasn’t great with words or saying how he felt, but his actions spoke louder: he was always there to help, good at listening, supportive even in small ways.
But there was one problem or rather, what Emma thought was a problem then. Tom worked on building sites, studied by correspondence, dreamed of starting his own business. His plans were serious and thought out, but they took time and she didn’t want to wait.
She didn’t dream of being rich, no. She wanted stability, not luxury, just certainty about the future. She wanted to know that in a year, two, five years she’d have a job, a place to live, a chance to build life on her terms. Next to Tom it all looked too uncertain: endless side jobs, evening classes, dreams of the future that were still just dreams.
And when her uncle in London offered her a job in his company, she said yes. No second thoughts, hardly any hesitation. It was a chance real, solid, one she couldn’t pass up.
There was more to it something Emma tried not to think about. Around the time she moved to London and started the job, Henry came into her life. He was a well-off businessman, twice her age, with confident ways and a habit of getting what he wanted. They met by chance at a work do, where Emma turned up in a new dress, feeling a bit out of place among the proper colleagues. Henry noticed her straight away: came over, started talking, asked about her work, plans, life.
He didn’t hold back on attention. First flowers not big bunches of roses, but neat bouquets delivered to the office with a note: “To the most beautiful.” Then invites to restaurants she could only have looked at from outside before, admiring the decor. He took her to shows, theatres, gave her things she’d never dared dream of: silk scarves, delicate jewellery, high-heeled shoes. Every gift came with words about how she deserved a better life, how she shouldn’t limit herself, how important it was to take what fate offered.
At first Emma resisted got embarrassed, said no, tried to explain she didn’t need those gifts. But Henry gently pushed, convincing her it was just a sign of attention, that he really admired her smarts and looks. Slowly she started accepting his courting. The shiny new reality pulled her in: evenings in cosy restaurants, rides in nice taxis, the chance to go into any shop and buy what she liked without checking the price. It all felt like a magical dream she didn’t want to wake from.
And somewhere in between all those glittering moments, she started seeing Henry. Not because she was head over heels for him, but because his world was tempting with its ease and certainty. With him she didn’t have to worry about tomorrow, wonder if there’d be enough for rent or a new outfit for an important meeting. He just took care of everything, wrapping her in a bubble of no worries.
And she really liked that life. So much that Emma completely forgot about the poor guy back home who was in love with her. Even more she started looking down on him, saying Tom would never amount to anything in life.
One time Emma went back to her hometown. Not to see Tom, not to explain or even just say hi. She wanted something else to show him her new life, prove what she was really “worth”. Deep down she had this thought: let him see she didn’t make a mistake, that her choice was right, that she’d managed to escape that uncertainty around their relationship.
She planned her visit carefully. Picked the cafe on the main street the one Tom sometimes went to for a coffee after work. Put on an expensive dress Henry had given her for her birthday elegant, with a thin belt that showed off her waist. On her finger was a ring with a big stone another gift from him. In her hands she held a bag from the latest collection she’d bought the day before after spotting it in a window.
When Tom came into the cafe, Emma noticed him right away. She was sitting by the window, laughing extra loud at something her companion said, and turned so Tom would definitely see her. Their eyes met. In his she saw confusion, pain, bewilderment all the things she’d been trying not to notice in herself for months. But instead of feeling awkward or looking away, she held his gaze without flinching.
In that moment it felt like a win. She’d proved to herself and him that she’d made the right choice. That her life now was real chances, luxury and confidence, not endless talks about the future. She told herself she felt satisfied, that she’d finally got what she deserved.
But when Tom left the cafe and she stayed sitting there, her laugh slowly died down. She looked at the ring, the bag, her companion who kept talking, and suddenly felt a strange emptiness. All of it the expensive stuff, the nice gestures, the attention suddenly seemed far away and not real. And even though she kept smiling and chatting, inside something quietly said: “Was it worth it?”
The win turned out bitter Emma realised that not straight away, but bit by bit, day after day, it became clearer. At first Henry still seemed like the same generous, attentive man: took her to restaurants, gave flowers, said nice things. But over time his interest started to fade, like a candle running out of wax.
It showed in small ways at first. Instead of warm words cool remarks. Instead of surprise gifts short messages: “Pop into that shop, pick something yourself.” And then came sharp digs. He started picking at her looks: “Maybe you should take a bit more care of yourself?”, her way of talking: “Why do you laugh so loud? It’s a bit common”, her friends she saw now and then: “Those mates from the small town again? Don’t you think it’s time to get a more interesting crowd?”
His presence in her life got rarer. He’d disappear for days, sometimes weeks, leaving her alone in the big flat he’d rented for her. Emma spent evenings by herself, listening to the clock tick or aimlessly sorting through clothes in the wardrobe. When she tried to talk to him, explain she missed their time together, he’d just brush it off, not looking at her:
“You got what you wanted. What more do you need?”
Emma tried to make excuses for his behaviour. “He’s got a tough business,” she’d think, “probably a lot of stress.” Or: “He’s just tired, needs some space.” She convinced herself it was temporary problems, that it’d all get better soon, that she was just too demanding. But deep down she knew: it wasn’t tiredness or work. She’d become just another pretty toy for him bright, new, eye-catching. And when the newness wore off, the interest faded.
She put up with it. Put up with his sharp words, his cold silence, his long absences. She put up with it because she was scared to admit one really important thing to herself: she’d been wrong. If she admitted the fancy life was empty, she’d have to admit she’d betrayed the only person who really loved her for who she was. That Tom, with his ordinary job and dreams of his own business, was the one who valued her just for being herself, not for the shine and fitting someone’s idea of a perfect partner.
Over time even the outer signs of luxury stopped bringing joy. The expensive dresses she used to love looking at in shops now hung lifeless in the wardrobe. The jewellery that once made her heart race lay in a box like it belonged to someone else. The restaurants she loved at first with their soft lights, fancy food and party vibe now just annoyed her to look at. The smell of expensive perfume, which used to seem like a sign of her new life, now made her feel a bit sick.
She caught herself more and more looking out the window, watching people go by and thinking: “What if…” But then she’d cut off those thoughts, scared to let them loose. Because behind them came a question she had no answer for: “What next?”
On those lonely evenings, when the dark slowly gathered outside and the flat had this almost ringing quiet, Emma thought more and more about how her dreams of stability had turned out kind of empty. She pictured a life where there was certainty about tomorrow, where you didn’t have to worry about money, where everything was planned and in order. But now, sitting in that big, well-furnished flat, she suddenly saw clearly: without someone to share that stability with, it all meant nothing.
Her thoughts kept going back to Tom. She remembered his hands strong, a bit rough from work, but so warm when he took her hands in his. She remembered his smile not bright and showy, but quiet and real, the kind that came when he was truly happy. She remembered how he talked about the future: no big words or loud promises, just shared plans, believed they’d make it work. And that belief was so real, so solid, that back then Emma felt with him she didn’t have to be afraid of anything…
On the third day back home Emma decided to walk in the park where they used to go together. There was that same bench under the big spreading tree they often sat there, chatting about everything, laughing at silly things. Emma remembered how Tom, watching the falling leaves, suddenly said: “You know, I want us to have our own house. With big windows so the morning sun shines right into the room. And always lots of light and happiness.” Back then she just smiled, thinking it was just dreams. Now those words sounded different like something missed, lost.
She stopped, breathed in the cool air, trying to get her thoughts together. And right then she heard a familiar voice:
“Emma?”
She turned. There was Ben their mutual friend with Tom. He looked surprised but smiled right away, like he was glad to see her.
“Didn’t expect to see you here,” he said, raising his eyebrows a bit. “How are you?”
Emma hesitated for a second, picking words. She wanted to answer lightly, naturally, but her voice shook a little, even though she tried to hide it.
“Fine,” she tried to smile, and it came out not as forced as she feared. “Came to visit my mum.”
Ben nodded, giving her a careful look, but didn’t ask more. Instead he pointed to a bench nearby:
“Want to sit? I was just walking, wondering where to go next.”
Emma agreed, and they headed slowly to the bench. On the way Ben talked about how things were going for him, what was new in town lately. His voice was calm and friendly, and it relaxed Emma a bit. She listened, threw in short replies now and then, while thinking how strange it all was: she’d come back to her hometown where every corner reminded her of the past, and here she was meeting someone who was part of that life.
Ben nodded, was quiet for a bit, like choosing words, then asked calmly, without pressure:
“Have you seen Tom?”
Emma looked down without meaning to, her eyes sliding over the fallen leaves on the ground. She didn’t answer straight away memories of yesterday’s meeting, his cold look, those short hurting words flashed through her head. Finally she said quietly:
“Yes. Yesterday.”
“And how was it?” Ben asked, looking at her carefully.
“He… he doesn’t want to know me,” Emma breathed out, struggling to say each word. Her voice was even but sounded down, like she was trying to hold a storm of feelings inside. “He hates me.”
Ben sighed, sat on the bench next to her, leaned his elbows on his knees and looked off into the distance, where the park path went into the golden autumn haze. He was quiet for a few seconds, like weighing what to say, then spoke softly:
“You know, he couldn’t get over it for a long time. You just disappeared, Emma. No call, no letter. For him it was like a stab in the back.”
Emma clenched her fingers, feeling everything tighten inside. She knew this, understood it, but hearing it confirmed by someone else was harder than she expected.
“I know,” she whispered, not looking up. “It’s my fault.”
Ben turned his head slightly towards her but didn’t push or lecture. Instead he went on, still calm:
“He tried to forget you. Saw other people, but it didn’t work out. Says he can’t love anyone like he loved you. He was in a really bad way, you know? And after your showy visit… I thought he’d shut himself off completely!”
Emma nodded silently. She pictured Tom trying to get on with life, forcing himself not to think about her, probably jumping at similar voices or random memories. And that made it hurt even more not because he suffered, but because she was the one who caused that pain.
“I didn’t know it would be like this,” she said quietly, more to herself than Ben. “I thought I was making the right choice. I wanted stability.”
Ben didn’t argue or try to convince her otherwise. He just sat there with her, giving her time to take it in. The wind rustled in the park, leaves swirled in a slow dance, and somewhere far off kids were laughing, playing by the fountain. Life went on as usual.
Emma clenched her fists so tight her nails dug a bit into her palms. She tried to hold back the tears, but they still welled up in her eyes, blurring her view. Everything inside tightened with the bitter realisation: she couldn’t fix anything, couldn’t turn back time, couldn’t undo what she’d done.
“I’m not asking him to forgive me,” she said in a shaky voice, struggling for words. “I just wanted him to know I’m sorry! I regret what I did every single day. These thoughts won’t leave me alone! I keep remembering how it was… and how I ruined everything.”
Ben looked at her carefully, without judging. He didn’t rush to answer you could see he was weighing every word.
“Maybe he doesn’t need to know that,” he finally said quietly but firmly. “Leave him be, don’t come back, you’re only making it worse. He took a long time to get over you leaving. And probably learned to cope somehow. But your showing up… it’s stirred everything up again! He called me yesterday and… he was really drunk. I haven’t seen him like that in ages, you know? Don’t ruin his life, Emma.”
The girl bit her lip hard but stayed quiet. She understood Ben was right. Her sudden return, trying to see Tom all that had just opened up old wounds he’d been trying to heal all these years. She wanted to make up for the guilt, but maybe this only caused him new pain…
That evening Emma sat by the window in her mum’s flat. Outside the lights of the town were slowly coming on yellow, orange, white blending into a weird mosaic, twinkling and shining, making it look like a celebration. But she wasn’t in the mood for the beauty of the evening streets. Her mind was turning over thoughts one after another, like scenes from an old film she couldn’t stop.
She imagined how things could have been if she’d stayed then. How they’d have rented their first flat together, how Tom would have built his business, how they’d have planned the future, laughed at small troubles, celebrated little wins. She thought about how many happy moments she’d missed, how many warm words she hadn’t said, how many touches she hadn’t shared. But the past can’t be changed she understood that clearly, more than ever.
The next day Emma left. She packed her things slowly, without rushing, like she wanted to put off the goodbye. Her mum stood in the doorway of the room, watching her quietly, and in her eyes was a quiet sadness not a telling off, just sadness that her daughter was leaving again.
“Look after yourself,” her mum said when Emma was already in the hallway, holding her suitcase.
Emma nodded, kissed her on the cheek, paused for a second breathing in the familiar smell of home, then stepped out onto the street.
At the station she bought a ticket to London she wanted to think. A couple of days on the train, with strangers around… Maybe that would help her figure out how to go on.
The train moved off smoothly, swaying a little on the tracks. Emma kept her eyes on the window. Outside the familiar shapes of the town slowly passed by: blocks of flats with balconies full of flowers, the playground where she used to hang out with her friends, the little bakery with its bright sign. People were hurrying about their business someone with a bag of shopping, someone with an umbrella up even though it was clear, someone rushing to the bus stop. It was all so ordinary, so normal, but now it felt endlessly far away.
Somewhere there, among those streets and houses, was the person she loved more than anything. The person whose eyes lit up when he talked about the future, whose hands could do hard work and hold her hand gently. The person she hadn’t found time to explain her leaving to, hadn’t given a chance to say goodbye. And now he was lost to her forever she understood that clearly, no matter how much she tried to tell herself it wasn’t over yet…
Six months went by. Emma kept living in London, going to work, meeting friends for coffee at weekends, answering questions about how she was and her plans. On the outside everything looked the same as before: same routine, same places, same chats. But inside something had changed for good. She no longer ran from the past, didn’t try to hide it behind new people, expensive buys or a busy schedule. Now she looked at it straight on, without fear: accepted her mistake, owned the pain she’d caused, and her real regret.
She’d learned to wake up with the thought that life goes on. Learned to tell herself: “I did what I did. It was wrong, but nothing can change it now.” And in that acceptance there was a strange, quiet relief not happiness, no, but at least a chance to breathe steadier, look ahead without panicking.
One evening, while Emma was making dinner, her phone pinged quietly with a new message. She wiped her hands on a towel, picked up the smartphone and saw an unknown number. Just one sentence on the screen: “I don’t hate you. But I can’t forgive you.”
Emma froze. Her fingers gripped the phone tight, and her heart seemed to stop for a second, then beat faster. She slowly sank down onto the floor, holding the phone to her chest, like she was trying to feel another heartbeat through it the one belonging to the person who wrote those words.
She didn’t know what it meant. Didn’t understand how to read those lines whether it was a step forward or a final “goodbye”. But for the first time in a long while it seemed like there was still some thread between them. Thin, fragile, ready to snap at the slightest wrong move, but still a connection. Someone out there, in another town, was thinking about her. Someone had decided to write, despite the pain and hurt. Someone hadn’t shut the door completely.
Emma smiled through her tears. The smile was shy, unsure, but real. Maybe it wasn’t the end. Maybe one day they could talk calmly, without accusations, without trying to justify themselves or the other. Maybe they’d find words that would help them both move on together or apart, but with a clear understanding.
For now… for now it was enough to know that he was still thinking about her. That somewhere there, hundreds of miles away, lived a person who remembered her not just as a mistake from the past, but as part of his story.
And that for now was enough.
