**Ten Wasted Years**
“What on earth are you on about, Emily?” shouted Sophie, grabbing her cup of lukewarm coffee from the table. “Ten years! Ten years we’ve been friends, and you—”
“And what about me?” interrupted Emily, springing up from the sofa. “Was I supposed to report every move I made? You told me yourself you were done with James!”
“I said it! But not so you could throw yourself at him the moment my back was turned!” Sophie slammed the cup down so hard the coffee sloshed onto the table. “God, how am I supposed to even look at either of you now?”
Emily sank back onto the sofa, fists clenched in her dark hair. She’d known this confrontation was inevitable—but she still wasn’t ready for the storm.
“Sophie, just listen,” she began, quieter now. “We’re adults. You and James divorced a year ago. A whole year! And all that time you kept saying you were free—that you’d never go back to him—”
“Yes, I said it! So what?” Sophie paced the kitchen, opening and slamming cupboard doors. “That doesn’t mean I’m ready to see him with my best friend!”
“Ex-best friend, it seems,” Emily muttered bitterly.
They’d met at university, first-year economics students. Back then, Sophie had been all wild red curls and laughter, while Emily was the quiet, studious one in oversized glasses. They had nothing in common—yet somehow, they’d clicked instantly.
“Em, you’ve never worn makeup, have you?” Sophie had said after their first lecture, eyeing her critically.
“No. Why would I?”
“I’ll teach you! And you can explain maths to me, yeah? I’m hopeless with numbers.”
And so their friendship began. Sophie transformed Emily from a bookish girl into someone who turned heads, while Emily dragged Sophie through exams and deadlines. They were inseparable—studying together, double-dating, dreaming of the future.
“Em, listen,” Sophie had once whispered as they lay on their narrow dorm beds. “I want to marry a proper man. Someone strong, handsome, the kind who makes your knees weak just by looking at you.”
“I just want to be loved,” Emily had replied. “Someone who gets me without words, who can sit in silence and still feel like we’re the only two people in the world.”
James came into their lives in third year. Tall, athletic, with an easy smile and confidence that drew every girl’s attention. A transfer student from another city.
“That’s it, girls,” Sophie had sighed dramatically after spotting him. “I’m done for—that’s my prince!”
Emily had only smiled. James was handsome, sure, but something about him felt too… perfect. Like he always knew exactly what to say.
“Sophie, hi!” James had called out after a lecture. “D’you know a decent place to eat around here?”
“Of course!” Sophie had beamed. “Em, you coming?”
“No, I’ve got to see a tutor,” Emily lied. “You two go ahead.”
Sophie fell head over heels—and James seemed just as smitten with her bold, vibrant energy. Within a month, they were dating, and Emily became the awkward third wheel, though neither let it show.
“Em, don’t sulk!” Sophie had coaxed. “You’re like a sister to me—James adores you too!”
“It’s fine,” Emily had brushed her off. “Just swamped with revision.”
But it wasn’t fine. Because James *was* different. He was the only one who truly listened to her, who could talk books and films for hours. With him, she could discuss things she never shared with Sophie.
“Emily,” he’d asked once over coffee, the three of them squeezed into a booth, “have you ever thought about research? You’ve got such an analytical mind.”
“Oh, come off it!” Sophie had laughed. “Em’s too practical for that—she’s going into finance, making serious money!”
“I don’t know,” Emily had murmured. “Maybe.”
James had looked at her then, really looked—and she’d felt her cheeks burn. There was something in his eyes… understanding? Interest? Her heart had raced.
“Soph, could you—?” James had started, but Sophie cut in:
“Oh blimey, I forgot! I’ve got a dentist appointment! Em, can you walk James back to halls?”
And she’d dashed off before either could reply.
They’d walked through the university park in silence. Early October, leaves crunching underfoot, the air sharp with autumn.
“Emily,” James had stopped suddenly. “You know you’re beautiful, don’t you?”
“What?” She’d nearly tripped.
“Just saying. Sophie’s striking, sure—but you… you’re different. Your eyes, the way you look at things—”
Emily had turned away. Her heart had been pounding so loud she was sure he could hear it.
“James, don’t,” she’d whispered. “You’re with Sophie.”
“I am,” he’d agreed. “But that doesn’t mean I don’t see other women. Don’t see *you*.”
“Sophie’s my best friend.”
“I know. That’s why nothing’s happened. But if—”
“No ‘if’s,” she’d snapped. “Let’s just go.”
They’d walked the rest of the way in silence. He’d tried to say something at the door, but she’d bolted inside.
That evening, Sophie had returned with a swollen cheek and a grin.
“Em!” she’d burst in. “The tooth wasn’t even bad! Dentist said it’s stress! And d’you know why I’m stressed? Because I’m *madly* in love! James is just… ugh! A *proper* man! Today he gave me *such* a look—”
“What look?” Emily had tensed.
“Like he *sees* me, you know? I swear he’s going to propose soon! Can you imagine—me, married! You’ll be my maid of honour!”
Emily had listened, her insides knotting. Those eyes hadn’t been for Sophie. But how could she say that?
Two years later, they *did* marry. Big white dress, proud parents, Emily smiling stiffly in every photo, avoiding the groom’s gaze.
“Em, thank you,” Sophie had sobbed in the loo, fixing her smudged mascara. “You’re the best friend anyone could have!”
“Be happy,” Emily had said—while thinking how unbearable it would be to watch them together now.
But time dulls pain. Emily buried herself in work, climbed the corporate ladder, moved across London. Dated men who never measured up to the ghost in her heart.
Sophie and James seemed happy—meeting up often, holidays together, Christmases. James was always polite to Emily, even friendly, but distant. As if there were an unspoken wall between them.
“Em, when are *you* settling down?” Sophie would ask. “Nearly thirty, you know!”
“Haven’t met my person yet.”
“Too picky!” Sophie would laugh. “James says there’s a nice bloke at his work—divorced, but decent—”
“No, thanks.”
The cracks appeared around year five. Sophie began complaining that James had changed—withdrawn, silent.
“He comes home and goes straight to his laptop!” she’d huff. “I talk, he grunts. Like talking to a brick wall!”
“Maybe he’s tired,” Emily had ventured.
“Tired? What about weekends? He’d rather read than talk to *me*!”
Emily had stayed quiet. James had always loved books, deep conversations—things Sophie found dull next to shopping and gossip.
“Em, could you talk to him?” Sophie had begged once. “You’re clever—maybe he’ll listen?”
“Why drag me into it?”
“Please! You’re my best friend! I don’t know what to do!”
The conversation with James happened in the same café they’d frequented as students. He’d arrived tired, older, streaks of grey at his temples.
“Emily,” he’d said the moment they sat. “I know why you’re here.”
“You do?”
“Sophie asked you to talk to me. Thinks I’ve changed.”
“Have you?”
He’d stirred his coffee silently.
“Know the worst part of marriage?” he’d said finally. “Realising you love the wrong person. That you married an idea, not a real woman.”
“James—”
“Ten years, Emily. Ten years with someone I *thought* I loved. When really… it was always you. Since uni. Never stopped.”
Her breath had caught. She’d waited a lifetime for those words—but now they only hurt.
“It’s too late,” she’d whispered.
“I know. But I can’t pretend anymore. Can’t fake interest in her life. I’m suffocating.”
“And her? She loves you!”
“Loves who she *thought* I wasAs Emily walked away with James, the weight of those ten wasted years lifted just enough to let in the faintest hope that, perhaps, the next ten might finally be theirs.
