James slammed the door of the flat hed shared with Poppy for ten years and let out a long sigh. The divorce had dragged on, felt painful and, frankly, inevitable. Theyd simply run out of patience with the endless bickering, the misunderstandings, with what had once been love now reduced to a stale routine.
Alright, Im free, he muttered to himself as he shuffled down the stairs.
Poppy lingered by the window, watching his silhouette disappear into the courtyard. Her chest ached, but she clenched her teeth. Its probably for the best, she repeated silently.
A decade ago things had been different.
The first year had been pure magic. They roamed the streets until dawn, could barely keep up with each others chatter, and laughed at the silliest things. James slipped love notes into the pockets of Poppys coat, and she greeted him each morning with breakfast, getting up an hour earlier just to do it. They were convinced it would last forever.
Then the ordinary life set in: work, bills, exhaustion. James, once a hopeless romantic, started speaking less and zoning out more. Poppy, who used to sit for hours listening to his musings on existence, now snapped, Here we go again with your philosophy?
Arguments crept in unnoticed. First they were about trivialities forgotten rubbish, a missed anniversary, music blaring too loud. Then they turned serious: money, miscommunication, dreams that never materialised.
You never listen to me! Poppy shouted.
And you ever hear me? James retorted.
Even on the darkest days a flash of affection would break through. We still love each other, dont we? theyd think, sometimes staying up late talking without anger, as if maybe things could still be fixed.
But weariness won.
Now James was descending the stairwell, and Poppy watched him go, both wondering the same thing:
What on earth happened to us?
Three months slipped by.
James rented a tiny flat on the outskirts of Manchester. It seemed he finally had everything hed wanted: quiet, freedom, no more fights. Yet every morning at six he still reached across the bed, halfexpecting to feel Poppys warmth.
Poppy stayed in their old flat. She tossed out his ancient toothbrush, rearranged the furniture and told herself things would be different now. Still, as night fell she found herself waiting for the click of a key in the lock.
An unexpected runin
They collided in a supermarket aisle. James, turning at the cereal shelf, unintentionally nudged someones trolley.
Excuse me he began, looking up, then fell silent.
Standing there was Poppy, makeupfree, in an oversized sweater, clutching a box of his favourite shortbread biscuits.
You used to hate those, James blurted, halflaughing.
And you still buy that cheap spaghetti? Poppy teased, nodding at his basket.
A beat of awkward silence stretched. Both knew they could just say goodbye and walk away, but their feet refused.
How are you? James finally forced out.
Great, Poppy replied, a little too brightly.
They lingered for a minute or two until an elderly lady behind them piped up, Young people, are you going to block the aisle forever?
James stepped aside with a sigh.
Alright take care.
You too, Poppy said.
Back at his flat, Jamess first move was to pull out his phone.
Remember our first seatrip? You were so mad I forgot the towels he typed, hesitated, then hit send.
Two minutes later the reply pinged:
Got it. And I remember what we used instead.
James chuckled. Theyd spent a night on the beach wrapped in his old Tshirts.
Tomorrow at seven, our café. You coming? he typed.
The screen showed typing for a while.
Ill be there, she wrote.
Start again.
The café was the same place, just a different vibe. Same walls, the same aroma of fresh coffee, but instead of two starstruck dreamers at the window table sat two wary souls, each bearing invisible scars.
James arrived fifteen minutes early, drumming his fingers nervously on the tabletop. The door swung open, a brisk autumn wind swept in, and Poppy stepped in, wearing that very sweater hed once given her for her birthday, hair slightly ruffled by the breeze.
Youre early, she remarked, sliding into the seat opposite him.
And youre fashionably late, as usual, he replied, his voice stripped of the old irritation, replaced by a warm, weary smile.
Silence settled, heavy with all the things left unsaid, all the grudges and the whispered apologies.
Why did you buy those shortbread biscuits? James asked suddenly. You cant stand them.
Poppy lowered her gaze, tracing the rim of her mug with a fingertip.
I got used to them. Ten years of slipping them into your basket I didnt even notice when it became a habit.
James inhaled deeply.
I still wake at six and reach for you out of reflex. But youre not there.
They met each others eyes and, in that instant, realised theyd been living as ghosts of one another.
We were so foolish, Poppy whispered. We thought wed fallen out of love.
We didnt fall out, James corrected. We just forgot how it feels to love.
He extended his hand across the table. She hesitated a heartbeat before laying her palm on his.
Lets try again, he murmured. Only this time we know what not to do.
From scratch?
No, James shook his head. Not from scratch. With all our baggage, our mistakes, our history. Just differently.
Differently how? Poppy asked.
James thought for a moment. A new light flickered in his eyes not teenage exuberance, but a seasoned, steady confidence.
Its when I stop pretending I dont enjoy your ridiculous medical drama, he said. And you stop getting annoyed that I fall asleep on it by episode three.
Its when you take out the rubbish without being reminded, she shot back, a faint grin tugging at her lips. And you finally let me leave my socks under the bed.
Never! Poppy laughed, then grew serious. But Ill try not to scream about them.
The rain drummed against the window, the same gentle patter as the day theyd first met.
Differently means we argue, but we dont end up sleeping in separate rooms, James added quietly. It means you stop hoarding grievances and I stop retreating into myself.
He brushed his other hand over hers.
It means remembering that no one else has ever made us laugh as much as we make each other laugh.
Poppy intertwined her fingers with his.
Its scary.
Very, James agreed. But Im more terrified of waking up in a world where you arent there.
The waiter dropped the bill. They stepped outside. The rain had ceased. In the distance a faint, blurry rainbow appeared not flamboyant, but real. Like their love: not a fairytale perfection, just the kind of thing that makes you want to get out of bed each morning.
Shall we head home? James asked.
Lets, Poppy said.
Their footsteps fell into a shared rhythm uneven, hardwon, but unmistakably theirs. This time, for good.
