Dear Diary,
I was in a mad rush today. Im always latelate for work, for meetups with friends, even for dates. This morning was crucial: in two hours I had an interview at a top firm in CanaryWillow, and if I fluffed it, Id be out of a job for at least half a year. There were no other offers on the table.
The doubledecker was pulling up at the stop just as I burst out of the flat, breathless. I lunged forward, but my foot caught the curb and I went sprawling right in front of the bus. The driver didnt pause; the doors shut and the vehicle rolled away.
Bloody hell! I hissed, feeling the sting in my knee and the scrapes on my palms.
A man leaning over the railing asked, Need a hand? He had warm brown eyes, dark hair, and a faint smile.
Thanks, but its too late, I muttered, getting to my feet. The bus is gone, and the next one isnt due for twenty minutes.
Where are you off to in such a hurry? he asked.
To an interview. In the City.
He glanced at his watch.
Im heading that way myself. Hop in, Ill give you a lift.
I hesitatedwhat if he was a crook?but the clock was ticking.
You sure? I asked.
Absolutely. By the way, Im Arthur, he said.
Blythe, I replied.
His car smelled of fresh coffee and something woody. A soft jazz tune floated from the radio.
Do you often pick up strangers on the street? I asked, trying to break the tension.
Only those who fall in front of me, he answered deadpan, though a twinkle danced in his eyes.
We arrived ten minutes early. I bolted out of the car without even asking for his numberperhaps Id need it later.
Thanks! I called as I ran.
Good luck! he shouted back.
The interview went surprisingly well. I left the office lightheaded and smiling, only to run straight into Arthur again. He was standing at the entrance, two takeaway coffees in hand.
How did it go? he asked.
Brilliant. But why are you here?
Waiting.
For what?
To hear the result and, if you have time, to suggest we celebrate over a cuppa. After all, theres a reason to celebrate.
I laughed.
Theres a reason indeed. Ive been offered the post, but I wont start for a month.
Even better! Lets mark the occasion, he said.
We lingered in a cosy café for three hours, chatting about books, travel, and the ridiculous mishaps that pepper our lives. Arthur works as a designer, loves classic films and detests olives. I talked about my passion for painting and how, as a child, I dreamed of being a ballerina before a broken ankle while leaping over puddles ended that pursuit.
So falls are your weakness, Arthur noted.
And yours? I teased.
Rescuing the fallen, he replied.
We kept meeting every day that monthwalking the streets, escaping to the countryside, once getting caught in a sudden downpour and sprinting back to his car, laughing and slipping all the way.
I told you you fall too often, he joked, shaking dust from my coat.
But youre always there to lift me up, I answered.
On my first day at the new job, Arthur met me at the office with a bouquet of pink peonies.
Whats this for? I asked, surprised.
Just because, he said.
Six months later, on that very bus stop where we first collided, he confessed his love.
Remember how you fell? he began.
How could I forget?
Since then I havent stood up fully. You knocked me straight over.
I laughed, eyes sparkling.
Thats the oddest way to say I love you.
And the truest, he replied.
We married a year later.
By the time I was expecting our first child, Arthur once again drove me to that same stop, pointing at a tiny scratch on the pavement.
Look, even the road still bears a mark from your keys, he said.
Dont be ridiculous, I chuckled, bending to examine. My belly made bending a stretch.
Arthur lifted me under the elbow.
Falling again?
Not fallingjust a different balance now.
He rested his hand on my rounded belly.
Is our passenger calm today?
He just woke up, I said, pressing his palm to the spot where the baby nudged.
Arthur froze with his usual goofy grin, feeling the tiny movement.
You know what Im thinking? I whispered, hugging his waist. If that bus hadnt left
Id have found you anywaymaybe at the pharmacy, the market, the car park, or the park where you love to read, he interjected.
A romantic, I teased, tapping his side.
A realist, he countered.
We walked slowly to the car. I moved gingerly, as if cradling a delicate vase rather than a squirming little human.
You understand, Arthur said seriously as he opened the door, now I have to look after two.
I pressed his hand to my cheek.
Can you manage?
Well try, he kissed the crown of my head, the same shy kiss he always gave when sentiment felt too heavy.
A month later, after wed hauled a noisy bundle from the maternity ward, I burst out laughing.
Look, hes as rushed as I am! He couldnt wait for his due date.
Arthur, eyes fixed on the road, draped his hand over my fingers.
The main thing is he doesnt inherit your habit of falling.
Dont worry, I smiled at our quiet son. Hes got you.
Lesson learned: a stumble can lead you straight into the most unexpected and rewarding chapters of life.
