**Ten Years Wasted**
“What on earth are you saying, Emily?!” shouted Charlotte, grabbing her cup of lukewarm coffee from the table. “Ten years! Ten years we’ve been best friends, and you—”
“And what?” interrupted Emily, springing up from the sofa. “Since when do I owe you a report on every move I make? You were the one who said you were done with James!”
“I did! But not so you could throw yourself at him the second I walked away!” Charlotte slammed the cup down so hard coffee splashed onto the saucer. “God, how am I supposed to face the two of you now?”
Emily sank back onto the sofa, knotting her dark hair into her fists. She’d known this conversation was inevitable, but she wasn’t ready for the storm.
“Lottie, just listen to me,” she began quietly. “We’re adults. You and James divorced a year ago. A whole year! And all this time, you’ve been saying how free you are, how you’d never go back to him—”
“Yes, I said that! So what?” Charlotte paced the kitchen, yanking cupboard doors open and shut. “That doesn’t mean I want to see him with my best friend!”
“Former best friend, by the looks of it,” Emily muttered bitterly.
They’d met at university, first-year economics students. Charlotte had been fiery and vivacious, a whirlwind of red curls and laughter, while Emily was the quiet bookworm in oversized glasses. On paper, they had nothing in common, yet somehow, they’d clicked instantly.
“Em, can you even do makeup?” Charlotte had asked after their first lecture, studying her new acquaintance.
“No—why would I?”
“I’ll teach you! And you can teach me maths, yeah? Numbers might as well be hieroglyphics to me.”
That was how their friendship began. Charlotte transformed Emily into someone who turned heads, while Emily pulled her friend through every exam. They were inseparable—studying, dating, dreaming of the future together.
“Em,” Charlotte whispered one night in their cramped dorm beds, “I want to marry a real man. Strong, handsome, the kind who makes my knees weak with just a look.”
“And I just want love,” Emily answered. “Someone who gets me without a word, who can sit in silence with me and call it happiness.”
James entered their lives in third year. Tall, athletic, effortlessly charming—he transferred from another city and instantly drew every girl’s attention.
“That’s it, I’m done for,” Charlotte sighed dramatically after spotting him. “My prince has arrived!”
Emily only smiled. James was handsome, yes, but something about him felt too… polished. As if he always knew the right thing to say.
“Charlotte, hi!” he called after a lecture. “Where’s a decent place to eat around here?”
“Of course!” she beamed. “Em, you coming?”
“No, I need to speak to the professor,” Emily lied. “You two go ahead.”
Charlotte fell hard and fast. James, it seemed, was equally smitten with her bold, radiant energy. Within a month, they were inseparable, leaving Emily as the awkward third wheel—though they tried to hide it.
“Em, don’t sulk!” Charlotte begged. “You’re like my sister! James adores you too!”
“It’s fine,” Emily brushed her off. “Just swamped with exams.”
But it wasn’t fine. Because James *was* different. He was the only one who genuinely listened to Emily’s thoughts, who discussed books and films with her for hours. With him, she could talk about things Charlotte never cared for.
“Emily,” he asked once over coffee, “have you ever considered academia? You’ve got such an analytical mind.”
“Don’t be ridiculous!” Charlotte laughed. “Em’s all about business—she’s going to make stacks of cash!”
“I don’t know,” Emily murmured. “Maybe.”
James held her gaze, and her pulse spiked. His eyes held something… understanding? Interest? She couldn’t name it, but her heart raced.
“Charlotte, could you—” James started, but she cut in:
“Oh God, I completely forgot—I’ve got a dentist appointment! Em, walk James back to halls, yeah?”
She was gone before either could reply.
They walked through the autumnal campus in silence. Leaves crunched underfoot, the air crisp with impending rain.
“Emily,” James stopped abruptly. “Has anyone told you how beautiful you are?”
She nearly stumbled. “What?”
“You heard me. Charlotte’s striking, sure, but you… you’re something else. Your eyes—”
Emily turned away. Her heartbeat was deafening.
“James, don’t. You’re with Charlotte.”
“I am,” he agreed. “But it doesn’t mean I’m blind to everyone else. To you.”
“Charlotte’s my best friend.”
“I know. That’s why nothing’s ever happened. But if—”
“If isn’t real,” she snapped. “Let’s just go.”
They walked the rest in silence. At the dorm, James opened his mouth, but Emily vanished inside.
That night, Charlotte returned with a swollen cheek and stars in her eyes.
“Em! The dentist said my tooth wasn’t even bad—it’s just stress! And guess why I’m stressed? Because I’m *madly* in love with James! He’s so… *perfect*. Today, the way he looked at me—”
“What look?” Emily tensed.
“You know, *that* look. Like he sees right through me. I bet he’ll propose soon! Me, married! And you’ll be my maid of honor!”
Emily listened, her insides coiled tight. That look hadn’t been for Charlotte. But how could she say that?
Two years later, they married. A lavish wedding, white lace, beaming parents. Emily stood as maid of honor, smiling in every photo, avoiding James’s eyes.
“Em, I owe you everything!” Charlotte sobbed in the bathroom, fixing her mascara. “You’re the best friend ever!”
Emily hugged her. “Be happy.”
And she wondered how she’d survive seeing them together—every touch, every kiss, every word she wished were hers.
But time numbed the ache. Emily buried herself in work, built a career, moved across London. She dated, but no one measured up to the ghost in her heart.
Charlotte and James seemed happy. They hosted dinners, celebrated holidays. James was always cordial with Emily, but distant, as if an invisible wall stood between them.
“Em, when are *you* getting married?” Charlotte prodded. “You’re nearly thirty!”
“Haven’t met the right person.”
“You’re too picky! James says there’s a nice divorced bloke at his office—”
“Not interested.”
Cracks appeared by year five. Charlotte complained James had grown cold, silent.
“He comes home and goes straight to his laptop!” she fumed. “I talk, and he just *nods*! Like I’m a nuisance!”
“Maybe he’s tired,” Emily offered.
“Tired? What about weekends? He’d rather read than talk to me!”
Emily stayed quiet. James had always loved books, deep conversations—things Charlotte found boring.
“Em, could you talk to him?” Charlotte begged. “You’re smart—maybe he’ll listen?”
“Why involve me?”
“*Please*! You’re my best friend!”
The talk happened at their old student café. James arrived weary, streaks of gray at his temples.
“Emily,” he said, “I know why you called.”
“You do?”
“Charlotte asked you to intervene. She thinks I’ve changed.”
“Have you?”
He spun his coffee cup.
“Know the worst part of marriage?” he finally said. “Realizing you love the wrong person. That you married an illusion.”
“James—”
“Ten years, Emily. Ten years with someone I thought I loved. But the truth is, I fell for *you*. Back at uni. And nothing’s changed.”
The words she’d waited for—but now they only hurt.
“It’s too late,” she whispered.
“I know. But I can’t pretend anymore. I can’t fake interest in her life. I’m suffocating.”
“And her? She loves you!”
“She loves who I *pretended* to be. But I’m the man who talked books with you.”
They sat in silence, a lifetime of unspoken words between them.
“What do you want from me?”
“Nothing. I just needed you to know. To apologize for stealing ten years from you.”
“You didn’t steal them. I chose silence.”
“So did I. And now we pay for it.”
Six months later, Charlotte filed for divorce. James was seeing a colleague—a sharp-eyed journalist with a quick wit.
“Ten years, Em!” Charlotte wept over the phone. “Wasted on that *bastard*! And now he’s with some bespectacled nobody!”
Emily listened, thinking how twisted it all was. Charlotte mourned a man who’d never truly been hers. James soughtThey learned too late that love unspoken is time stolen, and some wounds never truly heal.
