Page 1

Emmie

I promised myself I wouldn’t cry. Not on the train. Not in front of Gran. And definitely not over him . But promises are weird like that, easy to make when your heart’s feeling brave.

The train sways gently as fields roll past in a blur of green and gold, the kind of late-summer light that makes everything look like it belongs in a postcard. I don’t look out the window, even though I’ll miss these views. I’ve said enough goodbyes today.

Instead, I pick up my phone. Not to check messages, God, no. I cleared most of them weeks ago. But scrolling endlessly through social media, even though I’m paying no attention to it, stops my mind from wandering to Kai Banks.

It’s stupid how easily I remember his voice. How soft he could be, how real. Not the smirking, too-cool guy from college. Just a boy. Honest. Kind. And almost mine.

Until I discovered it was all a lie.

First love. First heartbreak. That’s how Mum described it to Gran, when she called to ask if I could spend the summer with her. And, of course, Gran jumped at the chance for company.

I can’t complain. It was the break I needed. A reset and a chance to refocus on the things that really matter to me. Like university.

A new message pops up. It’s from Ava, my best friend, wanting to know if I’ve made it out of the countryside alive. I send her a quick reply.

Me: Almost there x

Then I tuck my phone away.

The city skyline is getting closer. My new beginning. New campus, new room, new people. No one here will know the version of me that got walked all over in college. No one will know I spent the summer hiding out, trying to convince myself that heartbreak doesn’t hurt for this long.

And maybe that’s the best part. I can start a fresh. Clean slate. No expectations.

I don’t know who I’ll be yet. But I know who I’m not.

I’m not the girl waiting for Kai Banks.

The taxi drops me at the edge of campus, right in front of a red brick building with ivy creeping up its side like something from a movie set. I haul my suitcase out of the boot and try not to look like someone who’s about to throw up from nerves.

There are people everywhere. Laughing, hugging, wheeling their lives in pastel suitcases across the pavement. A girl walks past holding a houseplant like it’s a baby. Someone’s blasting Beyoncé from a Bluetooth speaker. It’s chaos. Loud, messy, alive.

And completely terrifying.

I square my shoulders and remind myself: You’re Emmie Carter. You’ve survived college, heartbreak, and three solid months of Gran’s herbal teas. You’ve got this.

My flat’s on the third floor. The stairs are brutal, and I’m already sweaty by the time I reach the top. The door is ajar, music playing softly inside. I knock anyway.

“Come in!” a voice sings.

I push the door open and step inside. The corridor feels clinical, with doors leading off to separate bedrooms, and as I walk along, I spot my first flatmate.

She’s perched on the edge of her bed, surrounded by scatter cushions and fairy lights that are somehow already up.

I’m instantly drawn to her style; it’s similar to the one I’ve reinvented for myself.

Gone are the baggy hoodies and clothes that hide me.

Instead, I rock wide-legged jeans and a cute black cropped top with a gingham overshirt.

She smiles wide, pushing off the bed and holding out her hand. “You’re Emmie, right? I’m Zara. She/her, likes Gin, hates mushrooms, and has questionable taste in men. You?”

I return the smile and shake her hand. “Emmie. She/her, likes anything with Vodka, emotionally scarred from secondary school, and possibly college. But I’m working on sorting my life out.”

Zara grins. “Good enough for me.”

It’s strange how easy it is to smile with someone who doesn’t know what your heart’s been through. Like I get to leave that version of myself behind, fold her up, tuck her in a drawer, and start again.

“Your room is next door. Our two other flat mates aren’t arriving until tomorrow.”

She points me towards the next room, and I head inside. It’s spacious with a small en-suite. I instantly fall in love. Knowing this will be home for the next year gives me a sense of comfort.

I start unpacking while Zara tells me about the party happening tonight in Block C.

I’m halfway through hanging up clothes when I reach the hoodie.

It’s just a hoodie. Black, worn soft at the sleeves, too big for me.

But it still smells faintly like mint and something warm and boyish.

I should’ve left it at home. Or burned it.

My fingers tighten on the fabric. It doesn’t belong here in my new life, yet I couldn’t seem to leave it behind.

Zara glances over. “Ex-boyfriend hoodie?”

I swallow. “That obvious?”

She doesn’t push. Just nods and throws me a mini packet of Haribo’s from her pocket like some kind of sugar-based peace healing. I catch it, laughing. “Thanks.”

I screw the hoodie into a ball and shove it under my bed.

After a quick change and two shared packets of crisps, Zara tugs me out the door. “We’re not sitting in tonight,” she says, already halfway down the hall. “Freshers Week waits for no one.”

I laugh, locking the door behind us. “Aren’t we supposed to go to some welcome talk or something?”

Zara waves that off. “We’ll be welcomed at the student union bar. Trust me.”

I promised Mum and Eva that I wouldn’t let Uni life pass me by, so seizing the opportunity to explore is a great place to start, right?

The evening air is warm and full of excitement.

Music drifts from windows, and groups of students spill out onto the grass in mismatched groups.

Parents have long gone, leaving their babies to fend for themselves, and most have chosen it as a chance to crack open the spirits and drink themselves into chaos.

We loop around campus, Zara pointing out buildings as if she’s lived here for years. “That’s the library, ugly but essential. Over there’s the café, it’s over-priced but nice enough. And that’s the music building, full of tortured boys with floppy hair and superiority complexes.”

“Sounds dreamy,” I deadpan, and she cackles.

We end up near a low stone wall overlooking the sports field. A group of guys are playing some version of football that seems more like a warm-up than an actual game. Shirts are off and loud laughter floats around us.

One of the nearest guys glances our way, a smile spreading over his face. He’s cute in that cliched, tall, dark and handsome kind of way.

“Hey,” he says, flashing a grin that is almost offensively good-looking. “You two new?”

Zara answers for us. “Guilty.”

“I’m Mason. Third year. Captain of the rugby team, but don’t hold it against me.”

I raise an eyebrow. “Is this the part where you offer to give us a tour and then somehow forget to mention you have a girlfriend?”

He barks out a laugh. “Nah, I broke up with her last week. Your timing’s flawless.”

Zara’s enjoying this way too much. “Shame,” she says, “we’re only interested in committed emotional support types.”

Mason eyes me. “What about you? You look like the smart one.”

I meet his gaze, steady. “Depends on what you’re looking for.”

He tilts his head, amused. “Mystery. I like it.”

Someone shouts his name, and he walks backwards a few paces. “See you around, mystery girl.”

When he’s gone, Zara whistles. “Look at you, all cool and cryptic.”

“I wasn’t trying to be.”

“Exactly. And that’s what got his attention.”

And just like that, something shifts. It’s small, quiet. But real. For once, I’m not the girl waiting for someone to choose me. I’m not the punchline to a text message or the quiet shadow in the corner.

I’m here .

And maybe I don’t know exactly who I am yet.

But I’m starting to like the girl I might become.

Kai

Student Bar, Friday Night

It’s strange how quickly this place already feels like home. None of it feels new anymore, yet I’ve only been here a week. It’s like Uni life cracked open just enough for me to slip right in.

Exactly what I needed.

I’m perched at the edge of the bar, drink in hand, half-listening to Seb try (and fail) to charm the bartender. I’m not even that into the music, but I like the noise. The way it fills your ears and leaves no space for thoughts to creep in.

I glance around the room casually. And then I see her. My drink pauses mid-air.

She’s got the same dark hair. A grey hoodie under a leather jacket. She’s facing away from me, talking to someone, laughing, and for a second, my stomach tightens like a punch.

Emmie?

My heart stutters before my brain catches up. Nah . Not her. This girl’s shorter. The voice is wrong. The way she laughs is louder. Not Emmie.

I let out a breath and take another sip, like that flicker of hope, or whatever it was, didn’t just knock me sideways.

It keeps happening.

A flash of her in a crowd. Someone who walks the same way. A laugh that sounds a little too familiar. I don’t even know what I’m expecting. Like she’d just show up here, walk past me, say, Hey Kai, remember me? The girl you bet on. The girl you fucked over. The girl you broke.

I think about her more than I mean to. It’s probably guilt.

They say it can eat you alive. But late at night, when everything is quiet, and there’s nothing else to distract me, in she creeps.

Usually, it’s her face that taunts me, the one when she finally walked away for the very last time.

Her pain-filled eyes torture me right down to my soul. But I guess it’s what I deserve.

I was an idiot. An immature, stupid kid trying too hard to be what everyone else wanted me to be. And in the end, I hurt the one person that didn’t deserve it.

Seb smacks me on the shoulder. “Oi, Banks. You alive in there?”

“Yeah,” I say, blinking out of it. “Just spaced out.”

He grins. “Come on, tragic poet. Let’s find you someone to write sonnets about.”

I laugh, but it’s half-hearted. I should be over her by now. But sometimes, just for a second, it feels like I’m still searching for her in every room I walk into. Even after I’ve moved miles away to start a new life.

Seb hands me another drink I don’t remember asking for, and we melt into the crowd like it’s second nature.

I laugh at the right moments. Shove the lads around in that chest-thumping way we do. I flirt with some second-year girl who tells me I’ve got “mischief eyes” and a smirk I should be fined for. I give her the grin. The one I use to get away with everything. And it works. It always does.

To anyone watching, I probably look like I’m having the time of my life.

Inside, I’m exhausted.

But it’s easier this way. Be loud. Be sharp. Be the guy everyone expects. I’ve done it for so long that it feels like muscle memory.

The girl, Theresa? Tanya? Something with a T, leans in closer. Her hand brushes my arm, her perfume way too sweet and clinging. I could stop this now. I should. But I don’t.

I kiss her.

Because I can. Because I should . Because it’s been weeks, and I have to fucking move on.

But the second her lips touch mine, everything in me recoils. She’s not Emmie. She doesn’t kiss soft and unsure. She doesn’t smell like vanilla and summer and ink-stained paperbacks. She doesn’t pull back just enough to whisper something sarcastic under her breath before kissing me again.

I open my eyes halfway through, like that’ll help. It doesn’t. I see her face, but it’s Emmie’s face in my head. Her laugh. Her eyes judging. Searching. Hurting.

I break the kiss too fast, mumbling something about needing air. She looks confused, maybe a bit insulted, but I don’t care.

Outside, the air’s cooler and I inhale sharply until my lungs ache. I lean against the brick wall and drag a hand down my face.

What the hell am I doing?

This isn’t me. Pining over a girl. She left. She didn’t even give me a chance to explain, let alone make up for it. It was like some cloak and dagger shit with no one wanting to tell me where she was or how long she was gone for. She just disappeared.

It was for the entire summer. Ava finally let slip that Emmie had gone to stay in the countryside, where phone signals were pretty much non-existent.

But it turns out Emmie didn’t want to hear from me anyway.

Maxine made it very clear I was to stay away from her daughter.

She even went to the trouble of stepping back from Dad.

I mean, if that doesn’t scream fuck off, I don’t know what does.

And so, I pushed her from my mind. I put everything I had into securing a scholarship for university. And when I finally got the letter to say I was accepted, everything lifted. I could breathe again.

My new start, away from Dad, away from disloyal friends and most of all, away from Emmie.

So why the fuck am I repeating the same shitty patterns?

I grab my phone, keeping my eyes closed as I press it to my ear. “Huh?” I manage to grunt out.

“University is keeping you busy?” Dad’s voice sounds teasing, and I roll onto my side and open one eye to check the time.

“It’s ten a.m.,” I grumble. “On a Saturday. This phone call should be illegal.”

He laughs. “Sorry. I just wanted to check in and see how you were before I go to work.”

“Work?” I repeat, hope swelling in my chest.

Since everything with Maxine, the drinking consumed him. Again. When I left for Uni, I don’t even think he lifted his head off the couch.

“Yeah, I decided to get back on the horse. Being home alone all day isn’t doing me any good.

” My chest tightens. It wasn’t an easy decision to up and leave, and as if he senses my unease, he adds, “That wasn’t a dig, Kai.

Sorry. I just mean that I can’t sit around drinking all day. I’ve got to get my shit together.”

“Good for you, Dad,” I mutter, and I mean it. But I don’t believe it, because we’ve been here too many times.

“How’s Uni life?”

I groan. “Freshers week started yesterday. So far, it’s a killer.”

He chuckles again. “Well enjoy it, son. It’s part of the experience. But be safe.”

“I will. Good luck on your first day back.”

“Thanks. And Kai, I love you.” And he disconnects. I stare at the phone for a second, confused. It’s not often he says those three words. In fact, the last time was right after my mum left us and he was comforting me.

Maybe me leaving was the kick he needed after all.