Tommy
The exams were finally over. Every paper handed in, every question answered and the weight I'd carried for months lifted in a single, impossible breath. I walked home that afternoon with my bag slung over my shoulder, lighter than air, imagining a life beyond the city streets, the endless study, the constant expectation of my father.
I'd saved up, bit by bit, setting aside money I received for my birthday, I sold my bike. And now, for the first time in almost a year, I could do something purely for myself. Something that mattered, something for Emma.
I told my parents I'd be staying with a friend's family for a couple of weeks while the city slowed down in the early summer heat. Father barely raised an eyebrow; he was buried in calls and documents anyway, orchestrating deals and bending rules as he always did. But I could see it in his jaw, the tension never far from the surface, the reminder that the world would keep moving whether I was ready for it or not.
I left the city just after dawn, the air crisp against my skin, the streets quiet, the sky a pale, soft blue. The train smelled faintly of diesel and leather, and the rhythmic clatter of the wheels against the rails made my thoughts turn constantly to her. Emma. How she must look now — her eyes, her lips, the way her hair caught the sun as she laughed, the way she'd curl up in the woods next to me, completely herself. I almost couldn't wait to surprise her, imagining her face when she realised I was there.
Aunt Stephanie's efforts from last summer had paid off. Father's plans for the woods, for the lake, the very place where everything had begun between us, had been pushed back so many times that the investors pulled out one by one. The deals collapsed quietly, leaving Father with no hope to bulldoze, his entire strategy had unraveled.
He was selling the lakehouse and land — the lake, the woods, all of it. And he was planning a move to London to open a branch of his law offices. He'd be busier than ever, cutting deals, running meetings, bending rules, doing what he did best. But I didn't care about any of that. All I could think about was the small patch of the world where Emma and I had met, the lake shimmering in the summer sun, and the girl who had become the center of my life.
I clutched the small bag with the gifts I'd packed for her: a few books I knew she'd like, some chocolate I knew she'd love, and a small token I'd chosen — something to remind her of me, of the promise we'd made to belong to one another no matter what. My chest ached with anticipation, my heart threatening to beat right out of my ribs, and I caught myself laughing quietly at the ridiculousness of it all.
I could almost see her, standing at the edge of the woods, a flash of auburn hair in the sunlight, eyes bright and wary. I'd have to be careful, make the approach slow, let her know I was there for her, for us. No rushing, no sudden moves — just the quiet, patient return to each other.
I looked out the window as the train curved through fields, the green stretching endlessly, the sun rising higher. My thoughts raced ahead, imagining her smile, imagining her laugh, imagining the moment our eyes met and the world paused. I'd waited months for this moment, saved every penny, planned every detail. And now it was almost here.
Tomorrow, I promised myself, I would see her. Tomorrow, she would be back in my arms, where the world had always seemed right. And nothing — no money, no deals, no plan of my father's — could touch it.
Emma
I finished my last exam and felt a weight lift off my chest, though it was quickly replaced by a different kind of ache — a longing I couldn't shake. The letters from Tommy had never stopped, arriving like tiny lifelines between our worlds. I'd read each one over and over, memorising every word, every scrawl of his handwriting, letting them carry me back to the woods, to the quiet moments where we belonged only to each other.
Dad came home one evening and I was sitting in the kitchen revising. He paused, looked at me, and smiled, a real, warm smile that made me want to hug him. "How are you holding up, Emma? It's been a big change, but I think we're settling in here." His tone had that calm reassurance he always had.
"I'm fine," I said quickly, but my words felt empty, even to me. I wanted to tell him about Tommy, about how much I missed the woods, but the words wouldn't come. Instead, I turned away and pretended to busy myself with putting some books away, keeping my hands moving so my thoughts didn't spiral too far.
Our house was now full of life, of warmth, of laughter that belonged here. And I couldn't bring myself to join it fully, because every heartbeat of happiness in that space reminded me of everything I had left behind.
I sank onto my bed and hugged my knees, guilt twisting in my chest. I should have been happy, relieved that this move had lifted my parents out of the suffocating rhythm of our old life. Instead, I felt the ache of missing something — someone — that mattered more to me than anything around me.
Even in a house full of light and purpose, I felt like a shadow, longing for the woods, the lake, and Tommy. And I knew, deep down, that no matter how much my parents thrived here, a part of me would always be waiting for what I had left behind.
The letters had taught me patience, but patience came with its own ache. The more I thought about him, the more I wanted to see him, to hear him, to simply exist near him again.
The letters had kept him close, but they hadn't erased the ache of missing him. If anything, they had made it sharper. And I longed for the day when I could close the distance between us without a page, without a train, without months of letters in between.