Completely forgetting was impossible
Every day, Peter commuted home from work by tube and then by bus, before finally arriving at his flat. The journey took over an hour both ways. His car spent more time parked than movingdriving in London traffic jams during rush hour just didnt make sense, so the Underground was faster.
About two years ago, his family life changed. He and his wife split up, quietly and without drama. Their daughter, then seventeen, stayed with her mother. There were no argumentsPeter had always hated rows and preferred to keep the peace. For a long time, hed noticed his wife had become different, more tense, and she would disappear for hours or return home late, usually with some story about a friend.
When Peter asked, Where have you been so late? Most wives are at home by now.
She shot back, Mind your own business. Those wives are chickens. Im not like them, Im clever and sociable, and this house feels too small for me. And Im no country bumpkin, like you. Always been one, always will.
Then why marry a country bumpkin? he replied.
Out of two bad choices, I chose the lesser, she retorted, refusing to explain further.
Eventually, she filed for divorce and made Peter leave the flat, so he had to rent somewhere new. He settled into his new life and wasnt thinking about getting married again, but he kept his options open.
On the tube, Peter, like everyone else, didnt waste time. He buried himself in his phone, scrolling through social mediareading news, cracking up at jokes, watching short clips. He flicked through quickly, but suddenly something caught his eye and he scrolled back. There was a photo and a post:
Herbalist Mary natural remedies.
From his phone, Peter was staring at his first love. A love that was never returned, hopeless even, but unforgettable. He remembered that girl from their class so well. She was a bit odd, but very pretty.
He almost missed his stop, then rushed out of the carriage, left the station, and instead of catching the bus, walked briskly home, feeling restless. At home, he habitually hung up his coat and, without turning on the lights, sat down on a low stool in the hallway, again gazing at his phone. He quickly jotted down the number from the ad, just as his phones battery died.
Putting his phone on charge, he tried to eat supper, but had no appetite. After poking at his food, he slumped onto the sofa, swept up by memories.
Mary was always different, from her first day in primary school. Quiet and modest, with long, thick plaits; her uniform always a bit longer than the other girls. Their small English town was the sort where everyone knew one another, but no one knew much about her. She lived with her grandparents in a lovely, unusual cottage just beyond the woods, decorated with carved wooden trims like something out of a fairy tale.
From the moment Peter saw her, he was smittenchildish, yes, but he felt it was serious. She was so unlike anyone else. She always wore a neat little scarf on her head, and carried a unique handmade rucksack, embroidered beautifullysomething hed realise only later.
Instead of saying Hello, shed greet people with Good health to you. She seemed straight out of a storybook: calm, never ran or shouted during breaks, always gentle and polite.
One day, Mary didnt turn up to school. After lessons, some classmates decided to check on herPeter went too. They left town, walked down the road, and as it turned, Marys cottage appeared, looking like a scene out of a myth.
Oh look, theres a crowd outside, said lively Vicky.
As they approached, they saw a funeral. Marys grandmother had passed away. Mary stood quietly, dabbing her tears with her scarf, her grandfather silent and brooding nearby. After the procession went to the churchyard, the children were invited inside for the wake.
Peter would never forget it; it was his first funeral. Mary returned to school after a day. Time passed, and the girls grew up into elegant young women, putting on makeup, competing for the best clothes. But Mary always walked tall and straight, never wore cosmetics, her cheeks glowing with natural colour.
Boys began courting the girls, so Peter decided to try his luck with Mary. At first she paid him no attention, but towards the end of Year Nine he plucked up the courage:
Shall I walk you home from school?
Mary looked at him seriously and replied softly so no one else could hear, Im betrothed, Peter. Its our tradition.
Peter was disappointed but didnt really understandwhat tradition? Who were they? It was only later he learned that her grandparents were old believers, and her parents had died long ago, so Mary was raised by her grandparents.
Mary excelled at her studies; nobody was surprised. She never wore any jewellery like the other girls. Classmates whispered and gossiped behind her back, but she ignored them, always carrying herself with quiet dignity.
She blossomed each year, and by Year Ten was stunning; slender, graceful, and admired by the boys, though none dared to tease her.
After graduation, classmates scattered; Peter moved to London for university. He heard that Mary married her betrothed and moved to another village. He rarely went back home, even for holidayshe spent summers working.
Mary adapted to her new life: milking cows, raking hay, running the household, and raising a son. No one from their class saw her again.
So this is what Marys doing, thought Peter as he sat on his sofa. Treating people with herbs. She looks even more beautiful now.
Peter barely slept that night. The next morning, he went about his routine and left for work, but the past wouldnt let him go. Mary, his first love, haunted him.
Yes, no one ever forgets their first loveit always stirs the heart.
For days, Peter drifted in a haze until he couldnt stand it anymore and sent Mary a message.
Hello, Mary.
Good health to you, came her replyshe hadnt changed.
Peter wrote, Mary, its Peteryou remember, your old classmate? We even shared a desk at school. Saw you online and thought Id reach out.
I remember you, Peter. You were the brightest among the boys.
Ive got your numbermind if I call? Peter asked quietly.
Of course. Feel free.
That evening after work, he rang her up. They chatted, catching up on where life had taken them.
I live and work in London, Peter said simply. Tell me about yourself, Maryhows your family? Is your husband well? Where do you live now?
Im back in the old cottagethe one I went to school from, you know it. Came after my husband died. A bear in the woods Grandads gone now too.
Im so sorry, Mary, I didnt know
It was a long time agoIve made my peace. And youre not to blame; our lives parted years ago. So is this just a friendly call, Peter, or do you need advice? I do give herbal consultations
No advice needed. I just saw you and all the memories came flooding back. I miss our little townI havent been back since Mum passed away.
They reminisced about classmates and childhood, then said goodbye. But soon enough, Peter couldnt help himself and called again after a week.
Hello, Mary.
Good health to you, Peterhave you missed me or fallen ill?
Missed you, Mary. Dont be cross, but could I come visit you? Peter asked softly, his heart pounding with hope.
Come along, she replied with unexpected warmth. Anytime you can make it.
Ive got holiday next week, he said happily.
Perfectcome, you know the address, she said, and he was sure she smiled as she spoke.
All week, Peter prepared, buying gifts for Marynervous, unsure what shed like or how much shed changed. At the end of the week, he was driving down the motorway toward his old home town. The drive took six hours, but he relished long journeys.
Turning off the main road, his hometown appeared unexpectedly. He was surprised at all the changes: new houses, the old factory still running, shops and cafés lining the high street. He stopped outside a supermarket and got out.
Wow, I thought this place had gone downhill like so many others. Its thriving, he said, looking around.
Were not a village any morewere a market town! said a proud older man passing by, pausing when he overheard Peter. They gave us the title some time ago. Havent you been back for years?
A long time, sira very long time, said Peter.
Weve got a good mayorreally cares. Thats why the towns flourished.
Mary awaited Peter in her front gardenhe rang as he approached. Soon, she saw his car turning into the lane, her heart racing. No one ever knew that Mary had quietly loved Peter since childhood; shed kept that secret close, and if he hadnt appeared, she would have taken it with her to the grave.
Their meeting was joyful. They sat together for hours in the garden. The old cottage had aged, but was as warm and welcoming as ever.
Mary, Ive come for a reason, Peter said, and she looked at him, a little nervous.
Im listening, she asked, her voice tense.
Ive loved you all my lifesurely you must know that. Even now, wont you reply to my feelings? Peter said, his voice resolute.
Without a word, Mary jumped up and hugged Peter around his neck.
PeterIve loved you since we were little too.
Peter spent his holiday with Mary and promised as he left:
Ill sort things out at work, switch to remote, and come backfor good. I was born here, and this is where I truly belong, he laughed.
Life often leads us away from where we began, scattering us in unexpected directions. Yet what matters in the end is not what we leave behind, but what we find when we returnsometimes, the truest happiness awaits us right where our story started.
