They sat on the riverbank, watching ducks snatch pieces of bread mid-air, tossed by children. Exams were behind them, two months of freedom stretched ahead—no lectures, no tedious seminars, no exhausting tests.
“What are your plans?” the young man asked, eyes fixed on the shimmering trail of sunlight on the water.
“Sleeping in, reading, wandering…” the girl replied without hesitation, as if reciting a well-rehearsed script. “And you? Going home?” Her voice faltered, a shadow crossing her face as she glanced at him.
“No. You know, I’ve always dreamed of the sea. Can you believe I’ve never seen it? My schoolmates would come back tanned, bragging about shells and dolphins, while I… Mum and Dad never had the money. And after she died, well—the sea was the last thing on my mind.”
“We used to go to Cornwall every summer when Dad still lived with us,” she murmured, her gaze drifting into the distance as if searching for those lost memories. “Wait—do you actually have the money now?”
“No, but I could borrow some.”
“From who? Half our friends are already on their way home, and the rest are blowing what’s left of their grants on celebrating. And how would you even pay it back?” Emily gave him a reproachful look, studying the sharp line of his profile.
“Not much—just enough for tickets and food. It’s warm there. ‘Under every bush, a bed and a supper laid,’” he quoted from an old fable. “We’ll find cheap lodgings. I’ll pay it back once I’ve earned enough. Just need time.”
“How do you even know? In peak season, you won’t find anything affordable. Sleeping on a mat under a tree will cost as much as a hotel. And how does that fable end, by the way?” she scolded.
“God, you’re so… sensible. But say I get the money—would you come?” Oliver turned to her, catching the uncertainty in her eyes.
“Doubt it. Mum would never let me,” she admitted honestly.
A duck suddenly spread its wings, lifting off the water and scattering the others. They both flinched, distracted. It snatched a few more crumbs mid-flight before gliding away, satisfied.
“Right.” Oliver dug his phone from his back pocket and dialed. “Rob? Yeah, passed… Doesn’t matter, point is I passed. Listen, can you lend me three hundred… No? How much then? That’s it? Fine, I’ll take it. You in tonight? I’ll swing by.” He shoved the phone back into his jeans. “There. Money sorted. So—coming?”
“Seriously? All the train tickets for summer are long gone,” Emily scoffed.
“We’ll hitch rides, take detours. Just admit you’re scared.” He smirked.
“I’m not scared,” she shot back. “It’s just… Mum won’t allow it.”
“Have you lost your mind? Running off with a boy? To the coast? Do you know what sort of girls do that? Absolutely not,” her mother snapped, shaking her head for emphasis.
“Mum, I’m an adult. Don’t make me sneak out.” Emily’s voice wavered, tears threatening.
“What did you just say? Run away from your own mother? For who?”
“I love him,” she whispered, voicing the one argument she shouldn’t have.
“Sweetheart, you have your whole life ahead. Why rush? Finish uni, marry properly, then go wherever you like.” Her mother sighed, exhausted by the futile debate.
Emily sniffled.
“I can’t talk you out of it, can I?” Her mother squeezed her eyes shut. “I won’t let us part as enemies. Go—but promise if anything goes wrong, you’ll call.”
“I promise.” Emily threw her arms around her. “I’ll start packing?” She pulled back, searching her mother’s face for any sign this was a joke. “We leave tomorrow morning.”
“So soon? I at least expected to meet him—”
“He’ll come by for me. You’ll see—he’s decent.” Emily was already halfway down the hall.
Her mother pressed a hand to her forehead, torn between fear and resignation. If her husband were still here, Emily would never dare this. But holding her back by force? Maybe she was overreacting. The dishes clinked in her hands, echoing her unease.
A sharp knock came at dawn. Emily was in the shower. Her mother hesitated—had she imagined it?—before opening the door to a handsome young man with a rucksack.
“Morning. Oliver,” he said, flashing a bright smile.
She stared, sleep-deprived and slow to process.
“I’ll be right out!” Emily called, toothbrush in hand.
Her mother wordlessly stepped aside.
“Don’t worry, we’ll be careful,” Oliver assured her.
Before she could respond, Emily tugged him into her room. Minutes later, they reappeared, him shouldering her bag.
“Time to go. I’ll call.” Emily kissed her stunned mother’s cheek.
“Breakfast?” her mother blurted.
“Could we take sandwiches?” Oliver asked apologetically.
Her mother hurried to the kitchen, returning with a paper bag of food.
The door clicked shut behind them. She exhaled. Hard not to like him.
“Where now?” Emily asked outside. “She liked you.”
“Good. Train station.”
Two days of hitchhiking, sweltering on roadside benches, but when the sea finally glittered ahead, exhaustion vanished. They kicked off shoes, shed bags, sprinted to the shore, scattering sunbathers with delighted screams.
Days were spent swimming, lounging, wandering. Nights were for stargazing on the cool sand, avoiding their cramped, stuffy rented room.
By week two, the euphoria faded. Crowds, sunburn, each other’s habits grated. Constant proximity bred bickering.
Yet at the station, parting erased it all. Oliver was heading north to his father’s. Emily forgave every quarrel, clinging to him—her closest soul.
“It’ll fly by. I’ll call every day.”
She sobbed into his chest, insisting she couldn’t live without him.
“Em, listen. I can’t move in with you and leech off your mum. No flat, no money. Just hang on,” he said, as if resuming an old argument.
Home again, Emily dumped her bag, toured the rooms like a stranger. Laundry in, she soaked in the bath, sipped tea in her robe. Life felt… normal.
“Em! Look at you—so tan!” Her mother scanned her face for signs of the disasters she’d dreaded. “You’ve… changed.”
“Just tired. It was good, Mum.” Her smile was thin.
Oliver called, but tersely. Work was draining; debts demanded payment.
He returned late, gaunt, missing the first week of term.
“You’re here.” Emily accosted him after lectures. “I brought you something.” He fished out a velvet box.
Her breath hitched—then stalled. Earrings, not a ring.
“You… don’t like them?”
“No! Just surprised.” She kissed his chin. “I’ve got news too. Not as nice. I’m pregnant.”
Oliver’s face blanked. “You were on the pill, right?”
“Yes! I don’t know how—”
“Em, we can’t do this now. I’d drop out, but med school doesn’t do part-time. I promised Mum I’d finish. Let’s wait.”
Her head bowed.
“Think. We’ve no home, no income. Night shifts would kill me. You’d be exhausted. Your mum can’t babysit. We’d barely scrape by—then what? Half-trained doctors?”
She’d expected… something. Joy, even fear. Not this.
Her eyes lifted, dry. “You’re right.”
That night, she told her mother—needing the comfort he hadn’t given. They cried together. Her mother vowed to arrange things quietly.
Something between them fractured. Emily still loved him, but avoided being alone together. Oliver grew frustrated.
“We agreed to wait. Wasn’t that your idea?”
“Yeah, but I miss you. Sometimes I think you’re pulling away.”
She had no answer.
***
Years later, Dr. Emily Whitmore sat in the ward office, finishing discharge papers.
“Dr. Whitmore? The boy’s father’s here—asked for you,” said the nurse.
The motorcyclist—broken bones pieced back like a jigsaw. Spoiled uni student, parents buying him a death trap. She’d never let her son ride one.
She entered the room. A man sat with his back to her.
“Hello, I’m—” Her voice died.
He turned. Grey now, older—but still striking.
“Emily?” Oliver stood.
“Your son?” She nodded at the bed. How hadn’t she seen it? But “Harrison” wasn’t rare.
“How is he?”
She steadied herself.She looked at him one last time, then turned away, knowing some dreams were meant to stay in the past, where the sea still sparkled and the stars still burned bright.
