We had waited for this moment, it seemed, for an eternity. Ten years—no small stretch of time. Our village’s old Year 11 group had gathered again. Nearly everyone. Some arrived with children, some with greying beards, and some—with nothing but memories. Only Vasily was missing—always on the road—and Lyudka, who was home with her newborn.
Then the door swung open.
She walked in.
Jennifer.
The room froze, as if caught in an old photograph. Someone dropped a fork. Someone forgot to breathe. And me… my knees turned weak, just like back in school. The same dazzling smile. The same effortless stride. Only now—a wedding ring glinted on her finger.
“Tom, you haven’t changed a bit!” she called brightly, passing by.
I wanted to reply, but my tongue wouldn’t obey. Just like ten years ago.
Back then, we were just a pack of boys hopelessly in love with her. Six of us. Every last one of us had lost our heads over Jenny—brilliant, sharp, untouchable. She was friends with all of us but never let anyone closer than arm’s length. We trailed after her like spellbound pups.
“Honestly, you lot are like dogs at a feast,” sneered Emma Carter, her voice trembling with bitterness. But we paid no attention.
“Jealous?” one of us would snap back. I never noticed how her fingers clenched into fists. Never saw the despair in her eyes—not anger, just heartache.
And Jenny… she often stayed after lessons with Daniel Smith. Quiet, unremarkable Daniel. He carried her books, walked her home, held her bag. He was so unassuming we barely considered him competition.
“What on earth does she see in him?” I growled once. “No spine, no fire!”
“Yet he’s the one in the library with her every evening,” smirked Toby. “And you?”
The girls couldn’t stand Jenny. The teachers threw up their hands—our tight-knit class had collapsed like a house of cards. And then came the scandal.
It happened at midday. Jenny rushed into class, bright and laughing. She sat down—then leapt up as if scalded. The back of her dress was drenched in crimson jelly. It reeked of sour raspberries, the sight of it hideous. She burst into tears and ran home.
Chaos followed. We turned on each other—who? why? I was certain it was Emma. The girls eyed one another with suspicion. That day, our class shattered completely. We skipped prom. Didn’t even take a group photo. Just scattered, clutching our certificates and old grudges.
Now—here we were again. Jenny laughed as if none of it had happened. She was the one who tracked us all down online, arranged this, pulled us back together. We’d started messaging, thawed. Childhood wounds suddenly didn’t seem so deep.
We sat in our old classroom, reminiscing—who had pulled what prank, who had fancied whom, the playground fights. We cackled until our sides ached. Then Jenny led a tall man into the room.
“Recognise him?” she grinned. “My brother, Alex.”
That scrawny kid who used to trail after us? We gaped.
“Go on, confess,” Jenny nudged him.
Alex shuffled awkwardly.
“I was the one who poured jelly on the chair. I was mad. She made me rewrite my homework three times…”
Silence. All those years lost—because of a petty act of revenge. No prom. No farewell. A decade of friendship wasted.
Later, we shared stories of careers, marriages, children. I stayed quiet. I had nothing to tell. Then Jenny stood, walked over to Daniel Smith, and hugged him. Softly. Tenderly.
“We’ve been married five years,” she said. “It started after school.”
Ice flooded my veins. Daniel. Smith. All this time?
I found him later.
“How?” I asked.
He smiled. Gently. No smugness.
“She had a bad skiing accident after school. Six months in a cast. I visited every day. Read to her. Listened when she was scared. One night, she broke down—said she was terrified she’d never walk again.”
I said nothing.
“I promised her I’d carry her the rest of her life if I had to.”
I sipped my whisky.
“You deserved her.”
Daniel shrugged.
“I just loved her. No conditions. No expectations. Turned out that was enough.”
As the evening wound down, I lingered by the door. Watched Jenny whisper something in Daniel’s ear, watched him blush like a schoolboy. Then Emma appeared beside me.
“Well, hero? Lost the girl?”
I looked at her properly—for the first time in ten years. The awkward girl was gone. A woman stood there now. Steady. Strong. Lonely.
“No,” I said. “I just wasn’t good enough.”
She took a sip of brandy, held my gaze.
“Ten years, waiting for you to say that.”
I swallowed.
“Sorry.”
“You’re free now, Tom,” she said softly. “But know this—I’m not that girl by the window anymore.”
And suddenly I understood—she’d loved me all along. And I’d been blind the whole time.
“Fancy a walk?” I asked carefully.
Emma’s lips quirked.
“No nonsense. No promises. Just walk beside me.”
I nodded. After all, it’s never too late to start again.
