**Diary Entry – 10th June**
I was wandering the dimly lit streets of Manchester, unaware of what awaited me. My mind had shut down; my intuition was silent. An hour earlier, my wallet had been stolen—every last pound gone. I drifted aimlessly, unsure how to get home, even forgetting my phone in my pocket had a debit card linked to it.
*“I could jump on the tram without a ticket,”* I thought. *“Or call Tom, but I hate bothering him.”* Just then, a woman’s voice cut through my fog.
“Excuse me…”
I turned. Two girls stood before me, but only one spoke.
“Do you know where ‘The Nook’ café is?” she asked with a faint smile.
I looked at her—and the world stopped. I swear I’d never seen anyone so beautiful. I’m long past twenty, far from a boy, yet my heart raced like a teenager’s, my throat tight.
“Which one? There are two,” I blurted. “One’s for dates, the other for business meetings.”
“Are you serious?” She arched a brow.
I realised I’d said too much, but my old boxing coach always said, *“Keep swinging, even if you miss. Action is leverage.”*
“Not joking,” I scrambled. “Both are close, but I don’t know which you need.”
“How should we decide?” she teased.
“Well, one’s for corporate types, the other…” I faltered, sensing the moment slipping.
*“Save this before it’s too late,”* flashed through my mind.
“You mean the one for blondes?” she cut in, eyes glinting with mischief.
Defeat was inevitable, so I went all in. A psychologist mate once told me, *“Some people see through lies like glass.”*
“Look, it’s not my place,” I began, “but if my sister were choosing, I’d steer her clear of the corporate spot. As for blondes… Tell me, how should a woman pick a man? By his bank balance or how he makes her feel? If it’s the first, she’ll end up competing. And women—well, they’re better at that than us.” I paused, words tumbling out. “She’ll win but lose happiness. So I just didn’t want you to… well, you get it. But I won’t push. Hence the question.”
“Smooth recovery!” she laughed. “But that blonde remark’s still hanging over you.”
Her friend gaped at us like a cat hypnotised by a laser pointer, glancing between us.
“Here’s the thing,” I barrelled on, feeling the conversation lift me higher, “I’ll explain properly if you give me a shot. Fair warning: my arguments are hard to resist.”
I looked at her friend, then back at her. She held my gaze, as if deciphering me.
“Let me pop into the café in half an hour? Just need to sort one thing first.”
Her eyes flicked to a streetlamp, and I knew I’d bought time.
“One favour,” I handed her my phone. “Type your number. In case I lose you in the crowd.”
When she took it, I felt like I’d handed her my heart.
“James,” I said as she typed.
“Emily,” she replied, returning it with a grin.
***
Three blocks in, still no ATM. My card had pennies left, but I needed cash. *“She doesn’t seem the type to expect me to pay,”* I thought. *“But I’ll scrape together enough for coffee.”*
*“Will her friend leave? Those ‘I’m-with-my-mate’ games give me chills,”* I mused, darting down alleys.
***
The summer terrace of ‘The Nook’ buzzed with chatter. Fairy lights tangled in potted ivy, laughter swirling with the fountain’s mist. I fumbled for my phone—then spotted her hand waving. Alone. My stomach lurched. I strode over, forcing confidence, though inside I was sinking.
“Quite the save earlier,” Emily said as I sat in the wicker chair, its cushion still warm from the evening chill.
“I panicked,” I admitted. “But standing still felt worse.”
Spring clung to the air, the fountain’s spray a cool kiss. I rambled about nearby cafés ‘Beethoven’ and ‘Vivaldi’—my brain latching onto nonsense. She laughed but needled me about the blonde comment. I let it slide.
We talked for an hour, maybe more. Time dissolved. Something was off—I wasn’t staring at her figure or imagining anything. It felt easy, like bantering with Tom over nothing.
Then the waiter came. “Anything else?”
And it happened.
“Can we get a lager?” Emily asked, a daring spark in her eye. “And some crisps.”
*“Crisps.”* My brain short-circuited.
“Two lagers,” I added, knowing this was disaster. But I’d been trained to act first. “And double crisps.”
The magic frayed. I overthought: *“What now?”* The connection dimmed.
Only Tom could salvage this. I grabbed my phone, typing: *“EMERGENCY. At ‘The Nook.’ With a girl, two lagers, and no cash.”*
The waiter returned with bottles, glasses, and a bowl of crisps. A busker strummed a guitar nearby. Emily watched him, then checked her phone, smiling at the screen.
My chest tightened. *“That’s the smile girls give their boyfriends.”*
“Back in a tick,” she said, standing.
*“If it’s her friend, why leave?”* Panic surged. I opened my messages—and froze. The text hadn’t gone to Tom. It was sent to Emily.
The crowd’s noise, the fountain, the music—all vanished. My pulse roared: *“What have I done?”*
Then her voice:
“Relax. My treat tonight. But you owe me—interest doubles if it’s to a blonde. Deal?”
I looked up. She stood there, grinning, her eyes alight.
That’s how I fell into the loveliest debt of my life. She still hasn’t called it in. Only recently I realised: some debts aren’t born here, and aren’t ours to settle. And that wallet? No thief took it. It was my angels. Or maybe hers.
*Lesson learned: Sometimes losing a tenner leads to finding something far richer.*
