Couldn’t Bring Myself to Love You

“WHO COULDN’T LOVE”

“Girls, which one of you is Lily?” The young woman gave my friend and me a knowing, playful look.
“I’m Lily. Why?” I replied, puzzled.
“Heres a letter for you, Lily. From William,” the stranger said, pulling a crumpled envelope from her coat pocket and handing it to me.
“From William? Where is he?” I asked.
“Hes been moved to a care home for adults. He waited for you, Lily, like a saint waits for a miracle. Wore his eyes out watching for you. He gave me this letter to check for mistakesdidnt want to embarrass himself in front of you. Anyway, Id better go. Lunchtime soon. I work here as a carer.” She sighed, shook her head, and hurried off.

…It all started one summer when my friend and I, sixteen and restless for adventure, wandered onto the grounds of an unfamiliar building. We plopped onto a bench, laughing and chatting, until two boys approached.
“Hello, girls! Bored? Fancy a chat?” one said, offering his hand. “Im William.”
“Im Lily, and this is my friend Sophie,” I replied. “And your quiet friend?”
“Thomas,” the other boy muttered.

They seemed old-fashioned, almost stern. William frowned.
“Why do you wear such short skirts? And Sophie, that neckline is… revealing.”
“Well, boys, try not to stare too hardmight strain your eyes,” Sophie teased.
“Hard not to,” William shot back. “Were only human. Do you smoke too?”
“Of coursebut just for show,” I joked.

Only then did we notice something odd about their legs. William moved slowly, Thomas had a pronounced limp.
“Are you here for treatment?” I asked.
“Yes. I had a motorbike crash. Thomas took a bad dive off a cliff,” William recited, as if from memory. “Well be discharged soon.”

Back then, we believed them. We had no idea they were lifelong residents of that home, their “accidents” just stories to soften the truth. To them, we were a taste of freedom.

Week after week, we visited. Out of pity at first, then because they were wiser than their years. William picked flowers for me; Thomas folded origami for Sophie, blushing as he handed them over. Wed sit togetherWilliam beside me, Thomas turned toward Sophie, who glowed under his quiet attention.

Summer faded into autumn. School swallowed our time, and we forgot about William and Thomas.

…Exams passed, graduation came and went. On a whim, we returned to the care home, waiting on that familiar bench. No one came.

Then the carer appeared with Williams letter. I tore it open:

*”Dearest Lily, my sweet blossom, my distant star! You never knew, but I loved you from the moment we met. Those hours with you were life itself. For half a year, Ive watched the window, hoping. You forgot me. Our paths divide, but I thank you for teaching me love. I remember your voice, your smile, your hands. The ache without you is unbearable. If only I could see you once more!

Thomas and I turned eighteen. Soon well be transferred. I doubt well meet again. My heart is in tatters. Perhaps one day Ill heal.

Goodbye, my darling.”*

A dried flower fell from the envelope. Shame twisted in my chest. Id never suspected his feelings. Id only flirted lightly, never dreaming my teasing would spark such devotion.

Years passed. The letter yellowed, the flower crumbled. But I remember those innocent dayshis jokes, our laughter.

Theres an epilogue: Sophie, moved by Thomass plight (abandoned by parents for his “difference”one leg shorter from birth), became a teacher at a care home. She married Thomas. They have two grown sons.

William? He lived alone until his mother, struck by late remorse, took him to her village. After that, no one knows.

The lesson lingers: kindness can kindle flames we never meant to lightand some hearts never fully heal.