From the heights of her life’s experience, *Hope* had come to understand—no, to truly believe—that nothing in life happened by mere chance. Every encounter, every meeting, was written in the stars long before it unfolded.
*”Call it coincidence or circumstance if you like,”* she’d say with quiet conviction, *”but it’s not. Some think destiny can be cheated or rewritten. But no one’s ever managed it.”*
*”We all have our skeletons in the closet,”* she mused to herself sometimes. *”Buried deep, where no one ought to find them. I’ve got mine too—who hasn’t? But I won’t have them dragged into the light.”*
Gazing out the window at the wild apple tree in bloom, she remembered another May like this, when the air had been thick with the scent of lilac. Back then, *Hope* and *Faith* had been walking home from school, both in their final year. They’d been inseparable since childhood, neighbours and classmates, sharing every secret between them.
Faith had always been the quieter of the two, her cheeks perpetually flushed like summer roses, timid to a fault. Hope—brash, bold—had spent years defending her from every slight.
*”For heaven’s sake, Faith! Can’t you just answer back? Give as good as you get! If you smacked that *Tommy* over the head with your textbook just once, he’d stop tying your braid to the chair!”*
Faith’s braid had been long, and Tommy—seated right behind her—had made a habit of looping it round the chair leg when she wasn’t looking. Then, when she stood, she’d jerk back into her seat to a chorus of laughter. No one guessed, of course, that Tommy fancied her. That was his way of getting attention. Faith, though, wanted none of it.
*”I can’t, Hope. I’d feel too sorry for him,”* Faith would murmur.
*”Suit yourself. Next time, I’ll deal with him,”* Hope would snap.
*”Oh, leave it be,”* Faith would sigh.
After school, they’d both enrolled at the local college to study business. Hope had started seeing *Greg* from another class, dashing off to meet him while Faith stayed home.
*”Come on, Faith! Let me set you up with Greg’s mate. He’s a right laugh—always cracking jokes. Fancies meeting you, too!”*
*”No, Hope. I’d rather wait for the real thing. The once-in-a-lifetime sort.”*
*”Suit yourself. You’ll be waiting forever at this rate.”*
Faith didn’t want to intrude, didn’t want to be the awkward third wheel. She trusted fate to bring the right man along in its own time.
Then one evening, Hope came home in a stormy mood.
*”Something’s happened,”* Faith said softly. *”You’re not yourself.”*
*”Greg and I are done. Proper row. We went to the pictures, and within minutes, he’s chatting up some other girls. Left me standing there like some spare part! Then spent the whole film sneaking glances at them. So I gave him a piece of my mind after.”*
*”What did he say?”*
*”Told me to sod off. Said he was sick of me. Well, I told him where to shove it. That’s that.”*
Greg never came back. Hope soon moved on.
As the end of term neared, the two girls took a stroll through the park. It was early spring, unseasonably warm. Laughing, Faith clutched a book in her hand—until a passing young man bumped her arm, sending it tumbling to the ground.
*”Sorry—my fault entirely,”* he said, bending to retrieve it. Then, catching their smiles, he grinned back. *”Here you are. Never meant to knock it.”*
*”No harm done,”* Hope said airily, while Faith stayed silent.
He was tall, handsome, with striking blue eyes and tousled dark hair. When his gaze met Faith’s, something flickered between them—undeniable, instant.
*”This doesn’t happen,”* Faith thought, stunned.
*”George,”* he said, recovering first. *”Call me George.”*
*”Hope,”* she replied, thrusting out a hand. *”And this is Faith.”*
*”Pleasure,”* George said, but his eyes never left Faith’s face. *”You in a hurry?”*
*”Just walking,”* Hope cut in.
George had liked Faith immediately. There was no hiding it—not from Hope, who saw the way Faith’s cheeks burned, nor from George himself, whose thoughts raced: *”She’s different. Gentle. Exactly my sort.”*
Aloud, he asked, *”Mind if I join you?”*
Faith nodded shyly.
Hope, though, did all the talking. *”So, where do you work?”*
*”Just started teaching physics at the local secondary,”* George replied.
*”Couldn’t do it. Too much noise, too many rowdy kids.”*
Yet even as she prattled, George kept stealing glances at Faith.
*”You’re quiet,”* he remarked.
*”Just listening,”* Faith said softly.
Hope noticed everything. She’d already decided she fancied George—but Faith did too. *”Well, she’ll step aside. She always does.”*
They walked until dusk. George saw them home, then grinned. *”Till tomorrow, then? Cinema, as promised.”* He winked at Faith and left.
*”He’s all right,”* Hope mused later. *”Solid sort. What do you think?”*
*”Nice enough,”* Faith said, slipping inside.
But neither slept that night.
The next evening, they went to the pictures, George seated between them. Midway through, Faith felt his fingers brush hers—then clasp them tight. Her pulse hammered so loudly she feared Hope would hear.
*”He’s chosen me,”* she realised.
Afterwards, as they walked, Hope chattered on, oblivious. Faith walked in silence, feeling the invisible thread between her and George grow stronger.
At their doorstep, George hesitated. *”Faith—could I talk to you?”*
Hope stiffened. *”Should I leave?”*
*”Sorry, Hope. Need a quick word.”*
Hope spun on her heel and vanished inside, furious.
*”That sly little mouse. How dare she? And him—what does he even see in her?”*
George and Faith talked for hours. It felt like destiny.
Hope, however, wasn’t done. She cornered George one afternoon outside the school gates.
*”You’re making a mistake,”* she said bluntly.
George frowned. *”What mistake?”*
*”Faith’s not who you think. She’s been with half the lads in town. Never sticks with one. She’ll wreck your life.”*
George listened, then asked coldly, *”Why tell me this? She’s your friend.”*
*”Because I care about you. Because I love you.”*
George stared at her, then turned and walked away.
Two days later, Faith burst in, radiant. *”Hope—George proposed! We’re getting married!”*
*”Congratulations,”* Hope forced out.
But inside, her thoughts screamed: *”I won’t let this happen.”*
She tried one last time. A letter arrived in her mailbox three days later—just a few scrawled lines from George:
*”Don’t test fate. It won’t end well for you.”*
Now, years later, Hope remembers those words. Perhaps it was destiny. Perhaps the universe had hurled her malice back like a boomerang.
She never found happiness. Two failed marriages. No children. Just silence.
And the unshakable truth:
*Fate cannot be cheated.*
