Tommy
Mornings had started to feel like something like normal again — a quiet kind of rhythm I didn't want to lose. Every day, I walked the same route to Emma's house, the sea breeze sharp and cold enough to wake me up properly. By the time I reached her gate, she'd be there waiting, her hair tied back in a ponytail, her bag on her back.
"Morning," I'd say, and she'd smile — that soft, half-shy smile that always seemed to reach her eyes.
We'd walk the rest of the way hand in hand. Some mornings we talked — about classes, about Teddy's latest jokes, about what she had cooked or baked the night before. Other mornings we just walked in comfortable silence, the sound of our steps and the cries of gulls filling the gaps.
It had become my favourite part of the day.
Just before we'd reach the college gates, she'd squeeze my hand once before letting go. I'd walk her to her classroom, wait until she was inside; and only then head to mine. I didn't say it out loud, but watching her walk through those doors still made something in my chest ache; a mix of pride and protectiveness that I didn't quite know what to do with.
My own classes were fine — a mix of people from different schools, some older, some loud, some too cool to talk to anyone. Some friendly, like Lucy, who always came over to say hi when she saw me.
"Hey, Tommy," Lucy said as I walked in, balancing two cups of coffee. "I got an extra one — thought you might want it. You look like you could use it."
I blinked, surprised. "Oh. Thanks."
I took the cup, trying to look appreciative.
She smiled, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear. "So, what did you think of the assignment? I swear, if Mr. Collins gives us another essay about case analysis, I might lose my mind."
I laughed softly. "Yeah, it's a bit much. I was up half the night trying to make sense of it."
"Same," she said and her smile widened. "Maybe we could work on it together sometime? Two brains are better than one."
"Sure," I said automatically. "That'd be fine."
She grinned like she'd won something and I didn't quite know why.
The rest of the class went by as usual — notes, scribbles, the faint hum of the heater overhead. I caught Lucy glancing at me a few times, but she looked away whenever I noticed. It was strange, but I brushed it off.
At lunch, I met Emma by the benches near the courtyard. She was already there, a lunchbox of sandwiches on her lap, her hair catching the sunlight.
"Hey," I said, dropping down beside her.
"Hey yourself." She smiled, handing me half of her sandwich. "I made extra. Sorry about the burnt scones last night."
I grinned. "I liked the scones."
"You like anything with sugar in it."
"That's not true," I said, mock serious. "I like you too."
She rolled her eyes, but her smile lingered.
We sat like that for a while, sharing food, sharing quiet. Every now and then, someone from one of our classes would wave or call out a greeting, but the world outside our little bench didn't really seem to exist.
She told me about a recipe she wanted to try next week — chocolate éclairs — and I promised to be her taste tester. The way her face lit up when she talked about baking made everything else fade away.
When classes ended, I was waiting for her by the gate, as always. The sky was pale and streaked with pink, the air sharp with the smell of salt. She came out with her bag on her back and her cheeks flushed from the heat of the kitchen.
"Ready to go?" I asked.
"Always," she said, slipping her hand into mine.
The walk home was quiet. We passed the park where Teddy had started to play guitar on weekends, the row of shops with the bakery's warm smell spilling into the street. Emma talked about her coursework, how she was finally starting to feel like she belonged. I listened, letting her voice fill the space between us.
Outside her house, we stopped at the gate. The street light had already come on, spilling a soft yellow glow across the path.
"I'll see you in the morning," I said.
She nodded, then stepped closer, her breath clouding in the cool air. She reached up and brushed her lips against mine in a soft, lingering kiss.
It wasn't long or deep, just… right. The kind of kiss that said everything words couldn't.
When she pulled back, she was smiling. "Goodnight, Tommy."
"Night, Em."
I stood there a moment longer after she'd gone inside, the warmth of her still lingering on my lips. Then I turned and walked home, the streetlights flickering to life one by one, the world feeling exactly as it should.
Emma
The days had started to find their rhythm again — early mornings, the smell of toast and tea drifting through the kitchen, the sound of the twins arguing and Teddy humming upstairs while everyone got ready in the morning. I'd never been much of a morning person before, but now I didn't mind it. Because every morning, just as the clock struck eight, Tommy would appear at the door with that easy smile that made everything else fade.
We'd walk together, fingers laced, our hands swinging gently between us. Sometimes we'd talk about our classes, or what we wanted to do at the weekend; other times, we didn't need to talk at all. The quiet between us felt full, not empty. I liked that — the kind of silence that meant comfort, not distance.
College was turning out better than I'd dared hope. At first, the buildings had seemed too big, the students too confident, the noise too much. But now I knew which machines always worked, which tutors were kind, where the quiet places to sit at were . I liked the feeling of learning again, of building something for myself.
Home Economics was my favourite. The smell of butter and flour, the hum of the mixers, the clatter of trays being slid into ovens — it all made me feel alive. When I lost myself in baking, time seemed to dissolve. The world outside, the memories of something pressed too close, all blurred away. There was just the dough under my hands, the quiet satisfaction of creating something good.
At lunchtime, Tommy always found me. Sometimes he'd already be sitting on the bench with a sandwich and a grin, sometimes he'd bring some tea or pop for us to drink. Every day, he walked me home after college. It became our thing — a small promise, unwritten but real.
Teddy started teasing me about it.
"Your face practically lights up when he shows up," he said one night, laughing as he stole a biscuit from the tray I'd just made.
"Shut up," I said, though I was smiling.
Mum only gave me a knowing look, her eyes soft, but full of pride as she washed the dishes. "You're different these days. Happier."
I wanted to tell her she was right — that Tommy made the air feel easier to breathe, that walking beside him steadied me in a way I hadn't realised I'd needed. But instead, I just smiled and nodded. Some things were too precious to put into words.
The weeks passed like that — steady, sweet, ordinary.
One afternoon, I was walking down the corridor at college, heading to my next class, when I caught the faint edge of my name in someone's whisper. I didn't mean to listen, but the words slipped through anyway, sharp as glass.
"— that's her, isn't it? The one Harry Cooper —"
The rest of the sentence vanished as the girl's friend shushed her, but it was too late. My feet stopped moving. My whole body went still.
For a second, the world froze. The hum of voices, the clatter of lockers, all faded under a rushing sound in my ears.
Harry's name. I had blocked it out of my mind.
I made myself breathe — in, out, slow and even. My hands trembled, so I gripped the straps on my bag tighter until my knuckles turned white. Then, as if nothing had happened, I forced my legs to move.
I kept walking. I didn't look back.
By the time I reached class, I'd smoothed my face into something calm. I smiled when the tutor greeted me, found my seat, pretended to listen. But inside, my chest felt tight, like someone had pulled something around my lungs.
Cooking helped me calm down. I focused on that, on the rhythm of chopping and measuring, on the sound of knives against cutting boards. Slowly, my breathing evened out again. By the time the bell rang, I'd almost convinced myself I was fine.
Outside, Tommy was waiting by the college gate, just like always. When he saw me, his face lit up, his hand lifting in a small wave. And just like that — the tightness in my chest eased.
He smiled that smile that made the world tilt back into place, and I smiled back.
I didn't tell him about the whisper. I didn't tell anyone. All I wanted was to hold on to the good — to the feeling of his hand finding mine, to the warmth that pushed back the cold edges of memory.
And as we walked home together, the sea breeze tangling through my hair, I told myself it didn't matter. Harry was gone and couldn't hurt me again.