Page 25

when worlds collide

ELLIE

I did it! First-class honours degree.

The words don’t feel real. Not yet. Like I’ve wandered into someone else’s story, and they forgot to kick me out of the spotlight.

I’m not used to this part. The win. The finish line. But this time... I made it.

The weight I’ve dragged for years. Hospital shifts, coursework I barely understood, microwave dinners that passed for meals, endless nights studying after Mia went to sleep, and the quiet fear that I was always one step from failing has lifted.

But, still. Staff Nurse Carter. I bite back a grin. It still doesn’t feel real.

No more unpaid shifts. No more 4 a.m. breakdowns over essays or care plans. No more praying I’d make it through another thirteen-hour shift without crying in the loo or half-falling asleep on the drive home.

No longer the student. No longer the girl tiptoeing through imposter syndrome with a clipboard and borrowed confidence. I earned this. Every bleary-eyed lecture. Every missed moment with Mia. Every second-guess and every shift where I questioned if I was cut out for this.

It’s terrifying. And freeing. And something close to pride hums low in my chest, steady and sure.

My phone buzzes nonstop in my bag, stuffed with messages from classmates, tutors, and family.

Mum even cried when I shared the news, her voice cracking in a way it rarely does.

Mia practically tackled me the second I walked through the door, squealing and clinging like I’d come home with a puppy and a tray of cupcakes.

And now here I am, sitting across from David, watching a candle flicker between us. The golden glow dances in his eyes as he lifts his glass.

The restaurant is intimate. Dim lighting, crystal glasses, linen napkins you feel guilty using. A string quartet plays somewhere in the corner, soft and unobtrusive. Couples murmur over tasting menus, and a waiter glides past carrying a bottle of wine I can’t pronounce.

It’s beautiful. Sophisticated. Carefully curated. And just a little… too much.

These places have never been my scene. It's like I'm one wrong fork away from a Pretty Woman moment. But David fits here. Slides into it like a tailored suit. So I sit a little straighter. Smile politely. Try not to let it show.

“I’m so proud of you,” David says, voice steady, eyes clear. He lifts his glass, then takes a sip. “You’ve worked so damn hard for this, Ellie. You deserve it.”

My throat tightens. For a second, I can’t even speak.

I remember this version of him, the one who knew how to show up. The one who’d buy my favourite chocolate without asking. Who’d book places like this just because . The man who made me feel like the centre of his world.

It’s disorienting, remembering how easy it was to fall in love with him.

“Thank you,” I murmur, tucking a strand of hair behind my ear. “It still doesn’t feel real.”

His gaze lingers like it used to. Like he’s proud. Like he means it. And then, without warning, he stands, smoothing down his shirt, and extends a hand toward me. “Dance with me.”

I blink. “What?”

A small smile tugs at his lips. “Dance with me,” he repeats, glancing toward the open space by the quartet. A few couples sway in a slow, effortless rhythm, like they were born knowing how.

“David,” I say, “you hate dancing.”

“I hate bad dancing,” he says, eyes glinting. “But if you recall, I happen to be pretty good at it.”

And just like that, I let him lead me from the table. His hand settles at the small of my back. Warm and certain. His other finds mine, our fingers lacing effortlessly.

The music is soft. Some classical arrangement I don’t recognise, all gentle tides and rising swells. I let myself melt into it. Into him. Into the moment. His body is familiar. The cadence of our steps easy.

It’s been so long since we’ve done anything like this. Since we’ve felt like this. And part of me aches at how natural it still is, how quickly the weight disappears when his arms are around me and we’re swaying beneath the glow of chandeliers.

“You’re really doing it,” he murmurs, voice low against my ear. “Your dream. You should be proud of yourself.”

I close my eyes. Breathe him in. Try to hold on to the parts of us that still work, even if they feel fewer and farther between.

Then, somehow, I find my voice. “Actually, I planned something,” I say, pulling back just enough to meet his eyes. “A bit of a double celebration. To mark this moment. And your birthday coming up.”

His brows lift. “Oh?”

“I booked us a cabin,” I say, the words small but steady. A nervous smile tugs at my mouth. “Next weekend. Mum and Dad said they’d have Mia. No work, no distractions. Just us.”

He doesn’t respond straight away, and the pause stretches long enough that his silence says everything. Until he sighs, dragging a hand down his jaw.

“Ellie…” And there it is. Not a no. Not yet. But I can already feel the shift in the air.

He doesn’t respond right away. Just rubs the back of his neck, jaw tensing, enough to make my stomach clench.

“Can we even afford that right now?” he says, eventually. “Things are really tight.”

The words hang heavy in the air.

My fingers tighten around the edge of the counter. “I’ve been saving,” I say, quietly but firmly. “For months.”

He raises an eyebrow, sceptical. “From where?”

I draw in a slow breath. “The café. My weekend shifts. Tips. And a bits from student loan payments—I didn’t spend all of it. Just scraped what I could, here and there.”

A beat passes.

David exhales through his nose, the way he does when he doesn’t want to say something out loud. Like that makes it less real. His silence is louder than any argument.

“I appreciate it,” he says, each word chosen like it might go off in his hand. “Really. It’s thoughtful. But it’s just… bad timing. Work’s insane right now. I’ve got a massive deal closing. I can’t step away. Not even for a weekend.”

The disappointment hits low, solid. Like a rock dropped into my stomach.

I try to keep my face neutral. Try not to let the sting show.

“You’re always working,” I mumble, trying not to sound like I’m accusing him, even if part of me is.

“I just thought maybe we could use some time. It’s been so long since we did anything like this. ”

He doesn’t answer straight away, just lets the moment stretch, eyes fixed somewhere just past my shoulder.

“I know,” he says. “I know it’s been hectic. I just don’t have the bandwidth for anything else right now.”

“ Bandwidth? Even for me? You don’t think we need this, David?” I ask, quieter this time. “Even a little?”

His mouth presses into a tight line. “It’s not about need, Ellie. It’s about priorities. And right now, I can’t afford to lose focus.”

I look at him for a long moment, studying the man across from me. The clean lines, the calm surface, the way he’s already pulling back. I could keep pushing. Could ask him to try. To meet me halfway. But what’s the point?

So, I pull the edges of myself back in.

I nod, swallowing around the tightness creeping into my throat. “Of course,” I say, pulling my voice into something polite. Manageable. “I should’ve just asked before I booked it.”

He squeezes my hand gently. “You should still go, though. It’s paid for now.” He says, voice easy, like he’s solving a simple problem. “Take Naomi. Or Mia. Make it a girls’ weekend. Go celebrate.”

It’s a nice suggestion. But it’s not the point.

I wanted time with him.

But I don’t say that. I just do what I always do.

I shrink. I smile.

“Yeah.”

He kisses my forehead.

But the moment is gone.

Again.

The following weekend, the car is packed, the snacks loaded, and Naomi’s Ultimate Girls Trip Playlist is already blasting at a volume that could be classified as a public disturbance.

We haven’t even hit the motorway, and she’s already declared it a no skips masterpiece. An unapologetic mess of early 2000s pop, questionable power ballads, and one dubstep remix I’m refusing to acknowledge until it’s too late.

The first chorus of Wannabe hits before we’re out of the car park, and Naomi’s already scream-singing with the windows down. By the time All by Myself comes on, she’s clutching her chest like she’s in the final round of Britain’s Got Talent .

Mia and Claire are in the back seat, tangled in friendship bracelets, crisp packets, and some heated teenage debate about whether bucket hats are iconic or criminal.

Naomi’s in the passenger seat, sunglasses the size of dinner plates perched on her nose, hair tied up in a scarf that’s one hundred per cent more aesthetic than functional.

And me? I’m behind the wheel, windows down, sea air sneaking in more with every mile.

There’s something about driving away from everything that’s been weighing me down. From the silence with David. From the hollow ache of polite disappointment, I can’t bring myself to voice. From the cabin I booked for two, that’s now a girls’ trip.

It’s not what I pictured. But maybe it’s what I need.

Naomi turns the music down just long enough to announce, “This trip is for chaos, and I will be accepting no further input on the matter.”

“Mate,” I say, laughing, “you’re literally the only one who’s said anything.”

“Exactly.” She flashes me a wink. “Visionary leadership.”

Claire leans forward from the back, twirling a strand of her braid around her finger. “Do we have a mood board?”

Mia, without missing a beat, holds up her phone. “I made a Pinterest folder. There’s glitter. And sunsets. And lifeguards.”

Naomi nearly chokes on her smoothie. “That’s my girl.”

We’re not even halfway to Coral Point before the car is echoing with off-key harmonies, demands for second breakfast, and a full-blown, courtroom-level debate about whether Avril Lavigne counts as punk or pop.

Naomi threatens to yeet herself out the window when Mia calls her vintage .

It’s loud and chaotic, and it’s perfect. And for the first time in what feels like forever, I feel... lighter.