His Dearest Dream
“Harry, you’ve come home from school with torn trousers again,” his mother scolded. “Another fight, was it? And no doubt with Mike? How much longer must you two feud? You’re classmates, for heaven’s sake!”
“Yes, Mum, another scrap with Mike—but I won,” the boy declared proudly, squaring his shoulders. “Though if we’re being honest, he started it. Said Lucy only talks to him. We’ll see about that,” muttered the thirteen-year-old, shaking his fist at the window.
Mike had taken a beating this time, though he’d gotten the better of Harry last week—cheating, of course, tripping him from behind when Harry least expected it, then pouncing. Ever since they were children, the boys had fought over Lucy, the pretty girl in their class.
Lucy herself stormed in later, fuming. When her mother asked what was wrong, she huffed, “Harry and Mike had another fight, and now Mike’s got a black eye. And Harry’s torn his trousers—serves him right when his mum finds out. Why does he keep provoking Mike? And why must Mike fight him just to make him leave me alone? I don’t like Harry.”
“Darling, this is how it’s always been,” her mother sighed. “Girls have to choose, and boys settle things with their fists. It won’t change, even when you’re older.” She watched her daughter with quiet worry—soon enough, Lucy would have to decide.
“Mum, I don’t like Harry. I’ve told him a hundred times. I’ll never like that lanky, bespectacled boy. Mike’s quicker, handsomer. Never, ever will I fancy Harry.”
“Oh, love, never say never. Life has a way of surprising us—sometimes in ways we least expect. And who knows what fate has in store? I pray you find happiness.” Her mother shook her head, thoughtful.
“But what’s fate got to do with it? I just prefer Mike—isn’t that obvious?” Lucy argued, but her mother was lost in thought.
As school drew to an end, Lucy remained close to Mike, while Harry suffered in silence. He knew looks weren’t on his side. The boys no longer fought—Harry accepted Lucy hadn’t chosen him.
One evening, Lucy and Mike strolled together, dreaming aloud.
“Mike, I want a big family,” she said, resting her head on his shoulder. “A great round table where we can all gather. I’ll teach at school—you know I’m applying to teacher training college. And in summer, we’ll take the whole family to the seaside.”
Mike listened quietly, neither agreeing nor disagreeing.
“Lucy, a big family’s lovely, but it’d mean I’d have to slog day and night just to feed them all,” he said with a half-smile. “How would we afford seaside trips?”
“But I’ll work too! Between our wages, we’d manage.”
“Work? No, you’ll stay home, raise the children, wait for me to return.”
“Why on earth would I stay home?”
“Because you’re the woman. The man’s head of the household—what I say goes.”
The conversation left Lucy uneasy. Fearing an argument, she left without another word. Mike scratched his head, baffled.
Outside her house, Harry waited with a single red rose.
“Hello. This is for you.”
Lucy scoffed, still irritated.
“Harry, not you again! What do you want? Just leave me alone—haven’t you figured out I’ve chosen Mike?”
“Because I adore you, same as he does. Take the rose.” She didn’t, slamming the door behind her.
The next morning, she found the rose on the step. Despite herself, she picked it up.
“It’s beautiful… still fresh,” she murmured.
Harry never approached her again after that, but roses still appeared on her doorstep. She knew who left them. Lanky, bespectacled Harry still didn’t appeal to her, yet something fluttered in her chest whenever she found a rose.
After school, Lucy and Mike married. She enrolled in teacher training; he waited to be called up for national service. The wedding was small. Harry sat at the far end of the table, raising his glass but never drinking. He slipped away unnoticed, leaving for another city to study engineering.
Life scattered the three classmates. Soon, Mike was drafted.
“Oh, Mike, how will I bear it without you?” Lucy wept.
“Don’t fret, love. Just wait for me—it’ll fly by.” He squeezed her shoulders reassuringly.
Time did pass. By Lucy’s third term at college, Mike returned. Their love rekindled—seemingly stronger than ever. A son, Oliver, was born. Mike was a doting father—envied, even.
But good things never last. Three years in, Lucy began watching Mike carefully when he came home. Was he sober?
Something had changed in him—or perhaps this was the real Mike, finally showing himself. Their happiness crumbled. He shouted, snapped.
“Shut that boy up! I’m exhausted. If you can’t handle him, I’ll leave. Is this the life I signed up for?”
He stormed off to his mother’s, returning days later. Lucy agonised—what had happened to the man she married?
He blamed the drink.
“At least when I’m drunk, his crying doesn’t bother me. So don’t expect me to quit. And remember—I told you long ago, the man’s in charge. That’s final.”
Her nerves frayed. She yelled, wept, but what good did it do? Mike’s patience wore thin—then he hit her. Again. And again. She threw him out, forgave him, threw him out once more. She endured, for Oliver’s sake.
Until her mother saw the bruises.
“What’s this?”
“I thought Mike would be the perfect husband,” Lucy whispered. “I thought no one could be better.”
“Pack your things. You’re coming home. God knows what comes next.”
Lucy filed for divorce. Mike begged, threatened, brought flowers—but she stood firm.
Three years later, a school friend called.
“We’re having a reunion—you must come!”
“I can’t face Mike.”
“Oh, he’s not invited. Drunk, lost his job—why would we want him?”
Relieved, Lucy agreed.
At the school gates, old classmates gathered. Lucy, softer now, still carried her delicate beauty.
Then gasps. A murmur.
“Look who’s here! Blimey—is that Harry?”
The lanky, bespectacled boy had vanished. In his place stood a confident, broad-shouldered man—contact lenses, gym-toned, successful in business. And single.
His eyes lit up when he saw Lucy. He lifted her, spinning her joyfully.
“Lucy! You’re even more beautiful!”
“And look at you!” she laughed, as applause broke out.
Harry barely left her side all evening.
The next day, he presented a velvet box.
“My proposal. I bought this ring long ago. I’ve loved you forever—you know that. And I’ll fight for you.” He smiled. “I’ll wait until you love me too.”
She laughed—who was there to fight? But Harry didn’t rush her.
He visited daily that summer. Oliver adored him, leaping into his arms. Lucy and Harry grew closer, until at last, they married.
With him, she found happiness—real, unwavering. Three children later (Oliver, now in medical school, and two little girls), she often watched them and thought the same prayer:
“Let them choose wisely. Don’t let them make my mistakes.”
Life with Harry had taught her—the heart knows, even when the mind resists.
