**Andrew and Tom – Friends Forever**
Tom was wrapping up a meeting in his office when his phone buzzed on the desk. He was about to dismiss the call until he saw the name of an old schoolmate flash across the screen.
“Excuse me,” he muttered to his colleagues, grabbing the phone and stepping into the corridor.
“Hello?” he answered cautiously.
Andrew had been his closest friend growing up, but years had passed since they last spoke. Tom wasn’t even sure how his number had survived so many phone upgrades.
“Tom? Is that really you? Bloody hell, it’s me—Andrew. Thought you’d have changed your number ages ago—can’t believe you picked up!” The voice on the other end was warm, buoyant.
“Andrew! How’ve you been?” Tom’s response was stiff, automatic. He was still processing the shock.
“Brilliant! Listen, I’m in London—got in this morning. I know it’s the middle of the workday, but… any chance we could meet? Been years, mate.”
Tom hesitated, then softened. “I’ve got a bit of a tight schedule, but I can duck out in an hour. Where are you?”
“King’s Cross station—right out front. Just… don’t leave me hanging, yeah?”
“Wait there. I’ll find you.”
—
The rest of the meeting blurred. Fifteen years—half a lifetime ago—since they’d last seen each other. Tom had left their hometown for university, and life had carried them in opposite directions.
He parked his Range Rover near the station and wove through the crowd, scanning faces until—
“Tom!” A broad-shouldered man waved, grinning. For a moment, they sized each other up. Then, without a word, they clasped hands and pulled into a back-slapping hug.
“Andrew… Christ, you look well.”
“Speak for yourself—fancy suit, posh watch. Knew you’d make it big.”
They found a quiet pub nearby, dimly lit despite the afternoon sun. Over coffee and steak—”Eat up, I bet you skipped breakfast”—Andrew spilled updates: married to Sarah (the girl who’d chased Tom in school), two kids, running his late father-in-law’s garage.
Tom listened, stirring his black coffee. “And you? Still in London?”
“Sales director now. Married to Emily—no kids yet.”
Andrew’s grin faltered. “You happy?”
The question hung between them.
Tom deflected. “Why wouldn’t I be?”
“Just… you’ve got it all. But d’you ever miss home? The fishing trips, the stupid dares?” Andrew’s voice dropped. “We carved our names on that bench by the school. Still there, under layers of paint.”
Tom’s throat tightened. He hadn’t thought about that bench in years.
When the bill came, Andrew’s face fell at the total, and Tom bit back the urge to cover it. Pride was a fragile thing.
Back at King’s Cross, they lingered by the car. “Visit us,” Andrew blurted. “Proper countryside—fishing, barbecue, the lot. Bring Emily.”
Tom nodded. “Maybe I will.”
—
That night, in his penthouse overlooking the Thames, Tom poured a whiskey. Emily breezed in, heels clicking.
“You’re home early,” she remarked, setting down her designer handbag.
“Ran into an old friend today.”
She hummed, halfway to the bedroom. “Nice.”
He followed, words tumbling out—Andrew, the garage, the invitation.
Emily paused. “We’ve got your parents’ anniversary this weekend.”
“After, then.” He caught her wrist. “Remember when we used to walk everywhere? Just… talk?”
She sighed. “Tom, it’s late.”
Later, in bed, he dreamed of fishing—a thrashing catch, the line snapping taut. No one around to reel it in with him.
—
Morning brought an unexpected olive branch: “Let’s go,” Emily said over breakfast. “If it means that much to you.”
Tom’s heart leapt. As they drove north, he imagined Andrew’s shock, the laughter, the way life should’ve been.
Emily nodded along, silently calculating their return time. *Let him get it out of his system*, she thought. *One weekend in that cramped terraced house, and he’ll remember why we left*.
Tom kept talking, buoyant. About kids someday. About how money wasn’t everything.
And for the first time in years, he almost believed it.
**Lesson:** No matter how far you climb, the view means nothing if you’ve lost who you were on the way up.
