29October2025
I never imagined that a harmless chat over dinner could become such a slow, gnawing torment.
I leaned back in my chair, feeling content after a good meal. The kitchen was filled with the faint scent of roasted vegetables and spiced lambEmma, as always, poured her heart into cooking. She finished by brewing a perfect cup of coffee, the kind that makes the whole house smell like a cosy café.
There’s that little tearoom on the corner of the university, I said, halfdaydreaming, they still serve those famous scones.
Emma lifted her eyes from her mug.
Which tearoom?
Oh right, youve never been there, I ran a hand over my chin as if recalling something distant. Molly and I used to linger there after lectures, especially when it drummed down. Its snug, and the coffee is topnotch.
Her spoon halted midair, poised between the cup and her lips. She didnt know Molly. Shed never seen her face or heard her laugh. Yet in Emmas mind a tiny café with fogged windows emerged, two students sharing a plate of scones while rain traced patterns on the glass. She could even picture Molly breaking off a piece of pastry and handing it to mea gesture so intimate, so personal.
Just friendly gettogethers, I added, but my words already dissolved into Emmas imagination.
Now that little café existed for her as vividly as if shed spent countless evenings there. She could smell the blend of fresh baked goods and slightly bitter coffee, hear the creak of the door as it opened, see the old photographs in wooden frames lining the walls.
And the most unsettling partshe knew Molly. The presence of a woman from my past had become startlingly real, almost tangible. She was the one with whom Id shared not only scones but slices of my life, pieces that now seemed forever tucked into that corner tearoom.
It struck Emma then: she remembered Molly better than many people she actually knows. She recalled details shed never witnessed. That, I realised, is how jealousy worksit paints pictures from the faintest hints and fills them with meaning that wasnt there before.
Emma inhaled sharply and set her spoon down.
You know, she said, her voice oddly calm, Ive suddenly gotten the urge to try those famous scones.
I raised an eyebrow, surprised.
Now?
Yes, right now.
I wanted to protest, but she was already up from the table and heading for the hallway. Five minutes later we were in the car, the city lights of Oxford flickering past as night settled. Emma stared out the window; I stole glances at her clenched fists.
The tearoom turned out to be a tiny space with a faded sign that read The Corner Brew. Inside, the air was thick with coffee and fresh pastry.
Thats the table, I pointed to a corner seat.
Emma ran a finger along the tabletop, finding the small nick wed imagined. When the server placed the scones before us, she picked one up and split it cleanly in two.
Is that how she gave them to you? she asked, offering me a half.
I froze. In her eyes something dangerous flickered.
Emma
Wait, she leaned closer, I need to understand. Did she look at you like that? Smile that way?
Suddenly I sensed I was teetering on the edge of a precipice. It wasnt just jealousy; it was something larger. Emma didnt merely want to learn about Mollyshe seemed to be trying to become her.
And that terrified me, because I didnt want her to turn into her.
I took the halfscone from her palm slowly. A tense silence hung between us, broken only by the soft clink of china from the counter.
Youre not her, I said firmly, placing the scone back on the plate. And I dont need you to be.
Emma squeezed the napkin nervously.
But you reminisce about those moments so gently
Im recalling my youth, Emma. The first term, the smell of books in the library, the feeling that the whole world lay ahead. Molly is part of those memories, but no more than an old textbook or the bench outside the quad.
Outside, rain began to patter, just as Id described. The drops tapped the window, creating a cosy rhythm.
Do you know why that tearoom slipped into my thoughts today? I turned her face toward me. Because you make coffee just like they do thereadd a pinch of salt to bring out the bitterness. Youre not erasing my past; youre deepening it.
Emma felt the knot in her throat ease. She looked at our reflection in the mirrored walla pair of grownup figures surrounded by nostalgic shadows.
Shall we order another coffee? I suggested. And maybe craft our own memory of this place.
When the waiter returned, we didnt ask for more scones; we ordered a share of apple crumble. In that moment Emma realised the tearoom now belonged to both of us.
We stepped out into the night, the rain having ceased. The air was crisp and clear, streetlamps casting golden pools on the pavement. Emma stopped, turned to me, and said, You know what I just realized? I dont need to erase your past. Its precisely what brought you to me.
I smiled, pulling her close.
And what Ive figured out is that youre the only person I want to share not just scones, but a whole life with. Even the most ordinary moments become special with you.
She laughed, and the echo of that laughter held no trace of earlier anxiety.
Then lets promise each other one thing, she said, growing serious. Lets not fear our old stories. Instead, well create new ones that well look back on with warm smiles.
We walked to the car handinhand, and in the glow of the street the image of Molly faded. The past stayed behind, tucked inside that fadedsign tearoom, while our present and future stretched out on the quiet lane beneath stars just beginning to pierce the lingering clouds.
Love, I thought, isnt a contest with the ghosts of yesterday. Its the art of building fresh memories where old tales become merely parts of a larger journey. The best moments are still ahead, and well live them together, free of fear and doubt.
Because true happiness is when you need not compare yourself to anyone. You are unique, and that alone is enough.
By the car, Emma suddenly darted forward, splashing through puddles, and I, laughing, chased after her. We ran down the deserted night street like two students chased by a sudden gust of wind.
Catch me! she shouted over her shoulder, her eyes sparkling with the same stars wed seen earlier.
When I finally caught her around a bend, breathless, she whispered, You know what Ive thought of? Lets go back to that tearoom tomorrow. Arrive early, when its empty, and leave a note on their board.
For what? I asked.
Thomas + Emma. The start of a new tradition.
She laughed, and I kissed her right there on the cobbled street, under the bemused stare of a midnight cat perched on a windowsill.
Final thought: love isnt about erasing his story; its about adding new chapters. The finest pages are the ones we write together, here and now.
