“Hey. We never did go to the cinema together that time,” he blurted out, forgetting all the carefully prepared lines.
Paul and Rita sat on the riverbank, lost in dreams of university, careers, and a flat of their own someday.
“I’ll buy a top-of-the-range car, the flashiest one. We’ll make it happen,” Paul said, tossing a pebble into the water.
“We’ll go on holiday—Cornwall or maybe even abroad,” Rita added brightly, watching the ripples fade. Then, more sombrely, “But first, we have to actually get into uni. God, I’m so sick of studying.”
“We’ll get in.” Paul wrapped an arm around Rita’s shoulders and pulled her close.
They were convinced no one had ever loved as deeply as they did, that nothing could ever tear them apart.
“We should head back. Mum’ll be worried. And it’s getting cold.” Rita stood from the bench and winced. Her new shoes had rubbed her feet raw. She slipped them off and walked barefoot along the cool slabs of the riverside path.
“Fancy the cinema tomorrow? There’s a great film on,” Paul suggested as they wandered, chatting about everything and nothing.
“See you tomorrow,” Rita said when they reached her house, rising onto her toes to kiss his cheek before darting inside.
“So, should I get the tickets?” he called after her.
Rita didn’t answer—just smiled at the door before disappearing inside.
The town still slept, but the short June night had faded. Dawn smothered the stars, marking the first day of their new, adult lives.
Paul crept into the flat, careful not to wake his mum, undressed, and fell straight into the deep, hopeful sleep of someone certain of tomorrow. By afternoon, he was standing under Rita’s window. She peeked out, then hurried down.
“I got the tickets,” he said, waving them in front of her.
“Sorry, Paul, I can’t. Mum’s sister’s here—she’s getting married and moving to Germany. She’s giving us her flat in London. We’re leaving tomorrow to sort everything out… I’m moving there.”
“When will you be back?” Paul asked, not quite processing her words.
“I don’t know. I’ll be applying to uni there.”
“What about me? Us? We were supposed to do this together!” His voice cracked.
“Paul, this is a once-in-a-lifetime chance. It’s not like I’m moving to the moon—you can visit! Or—what if you applied to a London uni too?” Her eyes lit up. “Seriously, why not come with me?”
“And where would I live? What would your parents say? I don’t have a rich aunt leaving me flats, or money to spare. How do I even tell Mum? She’s on her own—”
“We’ll figure something out,” Rita said breezily.
“When are you leaving?” Paul’s voice was hollow.
“Tomorrow morning. I’ve still got to pack. It’s all so sudden… Paul, my parents won’t let me stay, no matter what I say. If you love me, you’ll find a way.”
“And if you loved me—” He cut himself off, turned, and walked away.
Rita called after him, but he didn’t look back. His steps quickened to a run, only slowing when she was far behind. The ache in his chest wasn’t just heartbreak—it was fury. “She’ll leave, make new friends, forget all about me… Who am I? Just some bloke from a nowhere town,” he thought, torturing himself.
“Fine. Go, then. I’ll manage. I’ll prove myself… You’ll regret this,” he muttered all the way home.
For two days, he lay facedown on his bed, motionless. His mum nearly called an ambulance, convinced he was ill.
“Paul, you need to start revising. If you lie here, you won’t get into uni, and then it’s the army. Rita won’t come back for some dropout.”
Her words snapped him out of it. He forced himself to study, though Rita’s face haunted every page. Between sessions, he pounded the pull-up bar in the yard, exhausting himself so he couldn’t think of her. He’d achieve everything they’d dreamed of—then go to London, find her… But first, he had to get in.
And he did, to his mum’s delight. Every day, he waited for a letter from Rita. He’d have written first—if he’d had her address. Too late, he cursed himself for storming off like a child, for not asking, for not seeing her off… He’d go to her now if he could, but how do you find one girl in a city of millions? The neighbours had no clue where she’d gone.
Through uni, he clung to hope that Rita would reach out. Graduation brought recruiters from top firms, and Paul applied to a new factory in Surrey—closer to London, closer to her.
Mum approved, let him go. Six months later, he got a flat. A year after that, he married Lucy, a sharp-eyed accountant from work. They had a daughter—Margaret.
“I hate that name. It’s so old-fashioned,” Lucy complained.
“Nonsense. Classic never goes out of style. Maggie. Sounds brilliant, doesn’t it?” Paul insisted.
Ten years on, Paul was deputy director—big house, posh car. His mum sold her flat to help, moved in, and looked after Maggie.
Business trips took him abroad—China, Italy, Germany—flights spent polishing his English. The scruffy boy from the sticks was now a confident, successful man.
Then, one night, he dreamed of Rita. She stood on the riverbank, the water rushing behind her just like that night after prom. “We never did go to the cinema,” she said sadly.
As years passed, he thought of her less—flipping through memories like an old photo album. But after that dream, she flooded his mind. Where was she? Married, probably. He forbade himself from dwelling on it… Yet he burned to see her, to show her how far he’d come without her.
One lunch break, he typed her name into a social network, narrowing it to London. Hundreds of Ritas stared back—none his. Only when he added their hometown did he find her.
Paul devoured the photos—her lavish home, the pool, the Rottweiler playing on manicured grass. A five-year-old boy clutched her hand.
Her bio was sparse: living in Germany, married, raising a son… The city’s name was unpronounceable. She’d seized her chance—done better than she’d dreamed. His life was enviable too… So why did his chest ache?
He sent a short message—*Saw your profile, glad you’re well…* Rita never replied. Then he noticed: she hadn’t logged in for two years.
For weeks, he wondered what happened. Then it hit him—she’d made that account *for him*. Listed their hometown so he’d find her. *She was looking for me.* The thought warmed him.
Memories gnawed at him. He called an old schoolmate, now in the police, and begged for Rita’s parents’ address.
“London? You joking?”
“Please. They didn’t just vanish.”
“Could be in Germany with her by now. Fine, I’ll try.”
Days later, his mate called back. “Sold their place two years after moving. Dad’s passport details were on the paperwork. Here.”
Lately, Paul spent hours online. Lucy grew suspicious. While he was out, she checked his laptop—and found Rita’s profile.
When he got home, she demanded, “How long have you been cheating?”
“What? How could you think that?”
“Then who’s *this*?” She jabbed at Rita’s photo.
“Just an old schoolmate. Stumbled across her profile,” he lied—sort of. Guilt prickled despite his honesty.
“*Just*,” Lucy echoed. “Mum said you were in love at school. Still hung up on her? Is that why you named our daughter Margaret?”
Her voice shook. “All these years—the house, the car, the promotion. You wanted *her* to see you weren’t just some small-town boy anymore. Wanted her to regret leaving.”
Paul flushed with shame. Lucy saw right through him.
“Past is past. You’re chasing the schoolgirl you loved—but she’s grown, moved on. Probably won’t throw it all away for you.”
A pause. Then, softly, “I almost wish you’d meet. Maybe then you’d see—you can’t go back. Only then will you *let go*.” Her voice broke.
Paul soothed her, admitted Lucy was right—he *had* chased success for Rita’s sake. But now? Lucy and Maggie were his world.
He tried to forget Rita—but the address gnawed at him. Finally, he went to London.
Rita’s mum didn’t recognise him. He stumbled”Rita stepped forward, tears in her eyes, and whispered, ‘I never forgot you either,’ before the past finally slipped away like the river’s current, leaving only the quiet certainty of the life he’d built without her.”
