**The Prank Backfired**
Lively and mischievous, Emily couldn’t go a day without cracking a joke. In school, she was the class clown, adored for her wit, and in university, she thrived in the comedy society. She even made sure her boyfriends had a sharp sense of humour—because life without laughter was unimaginable.
“Em, you cycle through lads faster than a dodgy carousel,” her uni mate Charlotte remarked one day. “One week it’s James, the next it’s Oliver, and now you’re chatting up Ethan?”
“Charlie, you know I need someone who can take a joke—and dish one out,” Emily explained with a grin. “James might as well have been carved from stone, and Oliver? Chuckle at a pigeon, and he’d howl for hours. Too much, even for me.”
“Good luck finding Goldilocks’ perfect bloke,” Charlotte smirked.
“I just want someone who gets it—who laughs with me, not at me,” Emily insisted. “Life’s grim enough without a bit of fun.”
“Not all of us fancy a court jester, Em,” Charlotte replied dryly. “Some of us like a man who knows when to be serious.”
Emily shrugged. “Different strokes. I like blokes who don’t take themselves too seriously. As long as the jokes don’t cross a line, what’s the harm?”
April Fool’s Day was her holy grail—a sacred 24 hours where pranks were king, and no one was allowed to sulk. At work, she was infamous for her schemes, and she could sniff out a setup a mile off.
She’d dated a few lads—James was a brick wall, offended by even a harmless pun, so she’d dumped him quick. Oliver started off alright, giggling at her gags, but half the time, he missed the punchline. It fizzled out.
Then came Daniel. He seemed perfect—quick-witted, sharp. So on April Fool’s, she hid behind the door, leapt out with a screech, and… nothing. He barely blinked. She waited for retaliation—but it never came.
Two days later, she was carrying two mugs of coffee and a bar of Dairy Milk when he tossed a rubber snake at her feet. She yelped, the tray clattered, and hot coffee splattered everywhere.
“Daniel, what the hell?! That’s not funny—I could’ve scalded myself!”
He shrugged. “Just returning the favour. Didn’t think you’d actually freak out.”
They bickered but made up. Then a month later, he “pranked” her again—this time with a real snake, borrowed from a mate. Harmless, but when it slithered toward her, she screamed, flung her tea, and vaulted onto a chair.
Daniel laughed, scooped the creature into a box. “Bloody hell, Em, it’s not venomous! You love jokes—I thought you’d laugh!”
“Jokes don’t involve wildlife!” she shrieked. “Take your snake and your stuff and get out. I’m dead serious.”
And just like that, it was over.
Emily adored pranks—but safe ones. Harmless. Her colleagues knew better than to try outsmarting her. She’d deadpan nonsense with such a straight face that even the sharpest fell for it.
Especially Max.
She’d stroll up, drop some absurd lie with impeccable timing, and watch him scramble. He never held a grudge—just fired back. Their April Fool’s arms race was legendary.
But Max? Just a mate. Nothing more. Until…
**April Fool’s Reckoning**
That year, Emily baked apple pies—one loaded with enough salt to pickle a whale—just for Max.
“Fancy a cuppa? Made some pies,” she announced, sliding the lethal slice his way before doling out the good ones.
“Coffee sounds grand—but I’ll make mine,” Max chuckled, eyeing her warily.
He sipped, bit, chewed—then bolted from the room like a spooked horse.
“Em, what did you do to him?!” the office gasped.
She grinned. “Relax, yours are fine. Max got the special edition.”
He returned, rubbing his tongue. “How did I forget? Of course you’d pull something today.”
The office howled. But Emily braced—Max wouldn’t let this slide.
**The Grand Finale**
Near clock-off, Emily grabbed tea in the break room. Max strolled in, picked an apple, and started slicing—then yelped.
“Em! I’ve cut myself—quick, grab a towel!”
She panicked. Blood? No. She hated blood. Frantic, she snatched paper towels, lunged for his hand—
Then his arm *fell off.*
The world spun. She hit the floor.
When she came to, Max’s horrified face hovered above her. His *real* hand clutched her shoulder.
“Sodding hell, Em, I didn’t know you’d faint!” he babbled. “Just a plastic arm—Christ, I’m so sorry—”
She blinked, then burst out laughing. “Well… prank successful? Or… not?”
The room erupted. Max, still pale, kept apologising, fussing with tea and a smuggled Twix like a guilty schoolboy.
“Stop grovelling,” she snorted. “I dish it out—I can take it.”
But as he hovered, something clicked.
Max—loyal, quick, *kind.* Why had she never noticed?
**Epilogue**
They married six months later, reducing the registrar to giggles with their vows. The reception was a riot.
Years on, their house still echoes with laughter. Because life’s grim enough—why not face it with someone who makes you snort your tea?
