The taxi pulled up near the entrance of the club, its neon lights flickering like a dream in the midnight haze. Emily pushed open the door, murmuring a quick thanks to the driver before stepping out. She wore tight jeans and a strappy crop top that hugged her framecomfortable, practical, always herself. High heels werent her style; she preferred trainers, even tonight, though her mate Charlotte had begged her to dress up.
Inside, the music pulsed like a heartbeat, a world away from the quiet street outside.
“Hey, love!” Charlotte bounded over, wrapping Emily in a hug. “Ready for presents and good times?” she grinned, already swaying to the rhythm.
Charlotte thrived in crowds, the life of every partyEmily, not so much. The dim lights and faceless bodies made her uneasy. Shed have rather been in a cosy café or curled up with a film, but friendship meant sacrifices. Tonight, shed smile for Charlottes sake.
“Come on, Ill introduce you to some proper lads!” Charlotte tugged her toward the bar, where two tall blokes were deep in laughter. The darker-haired one turned, his voice smooth as honey.
“Evening. Im Oliver. This is my brother, Harry.”
Emilys pulse quickened. His gaze pinned her like a spotlight, drowning out the noise around them.
“Pleasure,” he said, flashing a grin. “Youre like sunshine in this shadowy den.”
“Flatterer,” she laughed.
“Oh, I reckon youll have her head over heels in no time,” Harry teased, draining his cocktail.
The night blurredmusic, laughter, clinking glasses. Oliver walked her home, their conversation effortless, as if theyd known each other for years.
“Its late. Thanks for tonight,” Emily said, the silence between them suddenly heavy.
“Id love to see you again. Tomorrow?” he asked, uncharacteristically shy.
“Ill hold you to that,” she laughed, kissing his cheek before slipping inside.
Her parents were long asleep, unused to her late returns. She crept to bed, Olivers smile burned into her mind. Sleep didnt come easily.
Morning brought a strange warmth in her chest, a fluttering in her stomach. She caught herself smiling.
“Blimey,” she whispered. “Ive got it bad.”
That evening, she met Charlotte at their usual café, dissecting the night before.
“Saw how he looked at you. Wedding bells soon, eh?” Charlotte winked.
“Feels different this time,” Emily admitted, staring into her tea.
“Different? Youre absolutely smitten!”
Charlotte breezed through romances like chapters in a bookEmily fell hard and rarely.
Monday passed. Then Tuesday. Wednesday came with no call. Emily checked her phone obsessively, each silence a fresh sting.
“Forgotten me? Changed his mind? Found someone else?”
After her last lecture, she bolted down the stepsand there he was, holding a massive bouquet. Relief warred with irritation.
“Sorry! Everything went mad,” Oliver blurted. A mates car had broken down in the middle of nowhereno signal, no way to call.
“All that worry over nothing,” she laughed.
“Let me make it up to you. Dinner?”
That night, the restaurant glowed. Live music, exquisite food, his hand brushing hers. She was dizzy with it.
Two months in, they were inseparable. Oliver adored her laugh; she loved the safety of his arms. They lingered in cinemas, walked empty streets at midnight.
ThenHarry called.
“Em, need your help with something Im proposing to Charlotte! Help me pick a ring?”
They chose a delicate band, a heart-shaped diamond at its centre. A bouquet of red roses, a teddy bear clutching a “Love” heart. Harry trembled with nerves.
“Just look her in the eye and say it,” Emily urged, hugging him.
But Oliver never showed that evening. Late-night, a text came through:
“Goodbye. Dont call.”
She rang endlessly. No answer. Charlotte knew nothing. Harry was away. The uncertainty was a knife in her ribs.
Days blurred into nausea, a fog she couldnt shake. Four weeks alongno one knew yet.
“coming round? You scared us half to death!” Charlottes voice cut through the haze.
A knock. Oliver stood in the doorway, roses in hand. Harry followed, bruised but smiling.
“Im a jealous idiot,” Oliver choked. “Saw you kiss him and lost my head.”
“We sorted it,” Harry said wryly.
“No more stress, love. Just us now,” Oliver whispered, fingers brushing her stomach. “Our little one.”
Love isnt always smooth sailing. Jealousy clouds judgment; trust is the anchor. Hold tight to the ones who matter.
