A REASON TO LOVE
“You’re being so sharp with me—what’s going on?” asked James, watching Emily pack her suitcase with confusion.
Emily ran her fingers slowly over the spines of the books on the shelf—the ones he’d dismissively called “feminine rubbish.”
“Remember when you promised to teach me about wine?”
“Yeah, so?”
“Exactly,” she said flatly, tossing the flat key onto the table. “Nothing. As usual.”
“I didn’t mean anything by it!” he protested. “I’ve just got my own things going on.”
“Well, James, I’ve got my own life. And I’m tired of waiting for you to take part in it.”
Emily had always dreamed of love like in the novels—the kind where you meet someone and instantly think, *This is him!* Passion, synchronised heartbeats, tenderness, care, and that elusive “chemistry.” And if there were problems, they’d be external, never between them.
“Sweetheart, love at first sight only happens in fairy tales,” her mum would say gently. “In real life, love needs a reason. More than one.”
Emily would scoff. “A *reason*? Mum, that’s not love, that’s just calculation!”
“You only love kittens and babies without reason. But even a kitten needs training if it keeps peeing in your slippers. And a man? You’ll want someone who cares for you, supports you. Pretty eyes are nice, but they’re just the start. What comes after?”
Her mum was right. But Emily hadn’t known that yet.
She searched for her perfect man, overlooking the ones right in front of her—until a new bartender appeared at her favourite café. Tall, brown-eyed, with a velvet voice. The first night he poured her a glass of wine and talked about hints of cherry and vanilla, her heart fluttered.
She fell in love. Properly. Forever. Or so she thought.
“He’s different,” she insisted to her friend. “Talented, passionate, not like the others.”
“He’s a bartender, Em. Just a normal one. And way too full of himself.”
But Emily didn’t listen. Not when he was rude meeting her parents. Not when he spent his first paycheck after months without a job on a guitar instead of paying rent. Not even when she was working two jobs just to keep them afloat while he gamed all day.
She endured. She believed. Because with him, she felt that thrilling rush—passion, attraction, the promise of a fairy tale.
But the fairy tale ended quickly. James wasn’t the type to invest in a relationship. He wanted to be loved *just because*—fed, supported, inspired—while he lived for himself. Stylish, free. No responsibilities.
Emily packed in silence. Rain tapped against the window. Her chest was hollow, bitter.
She remembered: for a year, she’d kept the receipt from their first date in her purse. Back then, he’d promised it was only the beginning. Turned out, it was the end.
“I was wrong,” she said aloud, to no one. “I mistook attraction for love. Now I know—you only love someone without reason if they’ve earned it.”
When Emily moved back in with her parents, her mum just nodded.
“About time. Welcome back, grown-up daughter. Now you know love isn’t butterflies in your stomach. It’s being seen. Heard. Valued. And getting the same in return.”
Emily sat at the kitchen table, pouring herself tea—hot, strong, no longer watered down with excuses. For the first time in ages, she felt calm.
Sometimes, to love properly, you first have to learn who isn’t worth loving at all.
