In a small town surrounded by gloomy pine forests and grey fields, where the wind chased dried leaves through the streets, life moved slowly, like a river through a valley. As the workday neared its end, Thomas’s phone rang—the melody his girlfriend, Clarissa, had chosen shattered the silence. He answered, hearing her voice:
“Tom, I’m at the salon. Pick me up—you know the place.”
“Alright, I’ll be there soon,” he replied shortly before hanging up.
Thomas knew Clarissa spent at least two hours at the salon, so he took his time. After finishing work, he parked near the salon and, deciding to kill time, wandered into a nearby café.
*She’ll call when she’s done*, he thought, sliding into a booth. The waiter took his order immediately.
He ate, scrolled through the news, watched a couple of videos—but Clarissa never rang. *Wonder how much she’s spending today?* The thought flickered through his mind. Though it wasn’t her money—it was her father’s, a wealthy businessman whose fortune seemed endless. Clarissa never held back.
They’d been together seven months, sometimes sharing his modest flat. But when his place felt too “cramped,” she retreated to her parents’ sprawling estate outside London. An only child, she lacked for nothing. Clarissa had introduced him to her family, but her mother, Margaret, looked down her nose at him. *Just a programmer, twenty-seven—what could he offer?* Clarissa must have convinced her not to interfere, but the icy politeness remained. Thomas always felt out of place there.
Lately, he’d realised Clarissa wasn’t the woman he’d imagined. Yet the thought of marriage lingered, especially after her father’s words: *”Make my daughter happy, and I’ll set you up for life. Disappoint her—and you’ll regret it.”* The threat was clear.
Clarissa was spoiled but stunning. Thomas didn’t see why she needed hours at the salon—she was already flawless. Intelligent, witty, but arrogant, coddled by her father’s wealth. The night before, she’d announced:
“Tom, we’re flying to the Maldives in ten days. Dad’s covering it. I need a break.”
“From what? You don’t work,” he’d retorted.
“Dad will sort your work—don’t worry.”
Her words grated. Their relationship was strained. Thomas knew they were from different worlds, yet he’d still planned to marry her. Lost in thought over coffee, a voice snapped him back:
“Tom—is that you?” A man across the room grinned like an old friend.
“Daniel?” Thomas stood, recognising his childhood mate. “Twelve years—where’ve you been?”
“You’ve filled out, mate!” Daniel clapped his shoulder. “Look proper grown now.”
“Same to you,” Thomas chuckled. “What brings you here?”
“Waiting for my sister, Emily. She’s at the Royal Academy—final year. Concert tonight, but I can’t stand classical, so I ducked in here.”
“Emily? How is she?” Thomas brightened.
“Brilliant! Country girl, no connections, just pure talent.”
“I’ve got to see her!”
“Give it half an hour. Join us if you’re free. You alone?”
“Waiting for Clarissa—my fiancée. She’s at the salon.”
“Perfect. We’ll swing by.” Daniel left, promising to return.
Memories flooded Thomas—summers at his gran’s in the countryside, where Daniel and Emily lived. Their orchard, the lake, the river. Fishing, bonfires, guitars under the stars. Emily, a skinny girl with dark braids, had been his first crush. *Wonder how she looks now?* He smiled without realising.
“Smiling at nothing’s a bit daft,” Clarissa’s voice cut in.
“Finally.” He scanned her, struggling to spot three hours’ worth of salon changes.
“Well? How do I look?” She twirled.
“Fine,” he said.
“*Fine*? This manicure cost a fortune! I look incredible, don’t I?”
“Always do,” he conceded, avoiding an argument.
“Let’s go—guests are waiting at mine.”
“Can’t. Made plans with old friends—they’re coming now.”
Clarissa’s lips pursed, but before she could protest, Daniel and Emily walked in. Emily threw her arms around Thomas.
“Tom! Look at you—all grown up!”
He froze. She was radiant—soft, effortless, with warm brown eyes. He didn’t want to let go, but Clarissa’s icy tone sliced through:
“Hello.”
“This is Clarissa, my fiancée,” Thomas said quickly. “Daniel and Emily.”
“Pleasure,” Daniel grinned.
They reminisced while Clarissa simmered in silence. Thomas’s mind drifted—orchards, lakes, simpler times.
“Rather be under a parasol in the Maldives,” Clarissa interjected. “Dad’s pool’s bigger than your puddle.”
“Still got fish in it?” Daniel shot back.
“Only on plates where I dine,” she snipped.
The conversation died. Emily smiled.
“Come visit us, Tom.”
“I will,” he said, eyeing Clarissa. “This weekend.”
Clarissa scoffed. “Fine. I’ll suffer through this backwater.”
“Don’t bother,” Thomas frowned. “Mosquitoes, mud, no signal. You’d hate it.”
“I’ll bring bottled water. God knows what’s in yours.”
“And a microwave, eh? For authenticity.”
The village welcomed them warmly. A feast beneath the apple tree, barbecue smoke curling skyward. Thomas felt alive—like a boy again. Clarissa whined:
“Tom, the grass itches. This meat smells odd. A mosquito bit me! The sun’s in my eyes!”
“Enough,” he snapped. “Enjoy it or go inside.”
“It’s *stuffy*,” she huffed, fleeing indoors.
By the lake, rod in hand, Thomas asked:
“Em—you seeing anyone?”
“No. Not for a while.” She smiled. “Why?”
“You’re just… lovely. Uncomplicated.”
“And brilliant,” Daniel added. “Knit you a jumper, bake a pie—unlike some.”
“True,” Thomas admitted. “Clarissa’s idea of cooking’s dialling Takeaway.”
“You’ll learn,” Daniel teased.
Thomas stayed quiet, realising a life with Clarissa meant no warmth, no home. On the drive back, she declared:
“Never dragging me there again. Maldives next week.”
“I’m not going.”
“Then lose me,” she threatened.
“I’m not going.”
Silence choked the car. Thomas’s mind was clear: *Apples and fishing rods—that’s me. I won’t marry her. Her father’s money means nothing.*
Dropping her at the manor, he met her glare.
“Last chance.”
“No. The village suits me better. We’re done.”
“Goodbye,” she spat, slamming the door.
Relief unspooled in his chest as he dialled.
“Emily—I’ll be there in two days. We’ll figure it out.”
“Alone?” Her voice was soft.
“Of course.” His heart soared.
“I’ll be waiting.”
His phone buzzed—Clarissa’s father. Thomas declined the call. The moment was too sweet to spoil.
