**The Bouquet**
I lay on my bed, eyes half-closed. Opposite me, Olivia sat cross-legged on her bed, reading aloud from a textbook. My phone blared to life with some chart-topping tune. Olivia snapped her book shut and shot me a disapproving look.
With a sigh, I answered. A second later, I sat bolt upright, then tossed my phone aside, sprung to my feet, and began shoving clothes from the wardrobe into my gym bag.
“Where are you going? What’s wrong?” Olivia asked, concern lining her voice.
“Mrs. Jenkins next door called—Mum’s been rushed to hospital. Heart attack.” I yanked the zip shut and strode to the door where our coats hung and our boots sat neatly beneath.
“But your exam’s tomorrow! She’s in hospital—they’ll look after her. Sit it, then go,” Olivia insisted, standing as I tugged on my boots.
“Listen, Liv, explain everything to the faculty. I’ll sort it when I’m back. I’ll retake it over the break. My coach leaves in forty minutes.” My jacket was already zipped up.
“Call me about your mum,” Olivia begged, but I was already out the door. The sharp clack of my heels faded down the hallway.
Olivia sighed and turned back inside. Then she spotted my phone charger on the bed. She snatched it up and sprinted barefoot after me.
“Maddie! Maddie, wait!” she shouted, thundering down the stairs.
The front door slammed below. Olivia hurdled the last few steps, shoved the door open, and nearly tumbled onto the pavement.
“Maddie!”
I spun around, saw the cord in her hand, and jogged back to grab it.
“Thanks,” I said, already racing off again.
“Sinclair, what’s all this racket? One of you nearly tears the door off, the other sprints outside barefoot! Been at the vodka, have you?” The receptionist, Mrs. Carter, rose from her desk with a frown.
“Sorry, Mrs. Carter, we don’t drink,” Olivia said, shifting uncomfortably. The cold pavement bit into her feet, grit and gravel digging into her skin.
“Maddie’s mum’s in hospital. Can I go? It’s freezing.” Without waiting for an answer, she bolted back upstairs.
“Oh, Lord above,” Mrs. Carter muttered, sinking into her chair and crossing herself. “God preserve us.”
Back in the room, Olivia brushed the grit from her feet, tidied the mess I’d left, slipped into slippers, and filled the kettle. She needed tea—warmth and caffeine before diving back into revision.
A soft knock came at the door just as night fell.
“Who’s there?” Olivia called, but no one answered. She sighed, stood, and opened it.
“Hi,” said James, standing awkwardly with a small bouquet in hand.
“Come in.” Olivia waited until he stepped inside before telling him I’d gone home.
“But her exam’s tomorrow,” he said, confused.
“I’ll explain to the faculty. She’ll resit it over the break.” Olivia’s gaze lingered on the flowers.
“These are for you,” he said, offering them.
“Thanks. Fancy a cuppa?” She took the bouquet to the window, fetching a vase.
“I’ll grab water. Make yourself at home.” She smiled and disappeared.
James only removed his shoes. In two strides, he reached my bed, sat, and trailed his fingers over the cheap duvet—as if stroking me.
Olivia returned, set the vase on the desk, and stepped back to admire the arrangement.
“Lovely. What are they?”
“Sweet peas,” James said. “I should go.” He stood.
“Did you and Maddie have plans?” Olivia asked quickly, reluctant to see him leave.
“Yeah. I got us tickets to that gig.”
“Really? Then take me instead. No point wasting them.”
James hesitated.
“You’ve got your exam tomorrow.”
“So? I’ve been cramming all day. I need a break.”
He wavered. I was gone, the tickets would go unused. We’d only just started seeing each other—nothing serious. Going with my flatmate wasn’t a betrayal, was it?
“Alright,” he said.
Olivia beamed, clapping her hands. “Wait outside a sec—I’ll get changed.”
“Right.” James laced his shoes and ducked out.
Five minutes later, Olivia emerged. James noticed mascara, lipstick, her hair pinned up. When had she had time?
“Let’s go, or we’ll miss the start,” he urged.
At the gig, Olivia danced, arms aloft, screaming in euphoric unison with the crowd, stealing glances at James. He caught her energy, loosened up, and shouted along too.
Afterwards, they walked home, dissecting the night.
“I loved this bit,” Olivia hummed a hook.
“Yeah. And that bit…” James echoed the melody, even mimicking the lyrics.
They reached the dorm. Olivia tugged the locked door.
“Mrs. Carter’s on duty. She won’t budge. What now?” she whispered, glancing at James.
“Come on.” He took her arm, leading her around the building. Around the corner, two girls were climbing through a ground-floor window. “Quick—before they shut it.”
He boosted Olivia up. Hands from inside pulled her through. A shrill whistle cut the air.
“Hurry!” Olivia hissed from the window.
James hauled himself in just as the whistle faded. Olivia yanked the curtain shut. Giggles erupted behind them.
“Thanks,” James whispered, nudging Olivia towards the door.
They bolted upstairs, collapsing into her room in breathless laughter.
“Quiet now. I should go,” James said, straightening.
The room was dark—no time for lights.
“Stay. I like you. A lot,” Olivia whispered urgently, tilting her face up to his…
I returned to the deserted dorm at the end of the break. Olivia and James were still away, like most students. I’d arranged to sit my missed exam, presenting a hospital note. Mum was stable but still recovering.
I scraped through the exam. Term began, but Olivia never came back—calls went unanswered. The faculty said she’d taken leave due to illness.
Soon, a new girl moved in. Lectures, James—no time to wonder about Olivia. Eventually, everyone forgot her. James never mentioned the gig or what followed. It felt like a dream, unreal.
**Twenty-One Years Later**
“Mum, Dad, I’m home!” A girl—James’s double—breezed in.
“How’s uni?” He lowered his newspaper.
“Let her change first,” I called from the kitchen. “Dinner’s heating up.”
At the table, our daughter grinned.
“Mum, Dad—today I met this girl at uni who looks just like me. Everyone noticed.”
“Rare, but it happens. Everyone’s got a double,” I said. “Another spare rib?”
“Dad, you’re miles away!” she teased.
“Thanks, I’m full.” James set down his fork. “Did you talk to her?”
“Of course! She’s a finalist. You’ll never guess—her name’s Claire, and her surname’s… Lightwood.”
James stiffened. I watched him closely.
“Oh! When I was at uni, my roommate was Lightwood—Olivia, I think. Left after first year. Remember, James?”
“Exactly! Claire Lightwood. Pretty, right?” our daughter gushed.
“I only had eyes for your mum,” James muttered, sipping tea—then choking. “How many times must I ask for cooler tea? Burnt my tongue.”
“Sorry.” I rose, adding cold water to his cup.
“Don’t want it.” He pushed back his chair.
“Honestly, that alike?” I asked, staring after him.
“Spitting image.”
James feigned sleep on the sofa, mind racing. *Coincidence? No. It happened. Stop pretending. Why did she really leave? Idiot.*
“James, up—you’ll ruin your sleep.” I touched his shoulder. “Are you ill?”
“No.”
He barely slept. Next morning, he called work—fake toothache—and drove to the dorms.
“Does Claire Lightwood live here?” he asked the receptionist—a dead ringer for Mrs. Carter.
“Who’s asking?”
“Her uncle, passing through.”
The woman eyed him skeptically. Three girls descended the stairs, laughing.
“There she is. Lightwood—visitor.”
Claire glanced at James.
“Coming?” her friends called from the door.
“Go ahead. Who are you?” she asked coolly.
“Let’s talk outside,” James suggested. She didn’t move.
“You’re *not* her uncle?” The receptionist reached for the phone.
“No police.” James kept his eyes on Claire. “Is your mum Olivia Lightwood? Were you born September 25th?”
“Who *are* you?”
“You haven’James took a deep breath and said, “I’m your father,” and in that moment, the weight of twenty-one years of silence settled between them like an unspoken storm.
