TO FORGET OR TO RETURN?

13April2025

I can still hear the hum of the jet engine as Edward leaned across the aisle and said, Youll be the star fish in my aquarium. My eyes widened. Are you serious, Edward? I want to be your only fish, not just one of the lot Are you married? Why am I only hearing this now, when Im flying to your familys home?

He hesitated. No, Im not married, but

I pressed for the truth about English men, hoping hed finish. Tell me everything, I said.

He swallowed. You see, Lucy, my parents have already chosen a bride for me. I cant defy them. We could have a temporary marriage, but youd have to convert to Anglicanism, otherwise He turned his gaze to the small window, the clouds drifting past.

At four months pregnant, his words made my skin turn pale. Why choose a cramped airline seat to drop this bomb? He could have warned me long before. I closed my eyes, tried to calm myself. I wasnt about to jump out of a plane, no matter how dramatic the moment seemed. My relatives and colleagues had warned me:

Dont get in over your head, Lucy. Their customs, their attitudes toward women youll end up biting the dust.

I ignored them, clueless.

Im a language lecturer at the City Academy, teaching foreigners British English. In September a new cohort arrived, and among them was Edward, a striking young lad from Manchester. Tall, goodlooking, cheeky a proper English lad, you might say. He lived in the student halls, studied earnestly, always polite. One day he approached me with an odd request:

MsHughes, how much do you charge for extra lessons?

Nothing, I replied. Why do you ask? Youre doing fine. I didnt realise that from that moment I was stepping into a carefully laid trap.

May I invite you for a consultation? he asked, eyes flickering.

If you insist. Whats the topic? I answered, unaware.

Relationships, he said shortly.

That evening I went to his cramped hall room. The place was a relic: sagging furniture, grimy windows that let in no light, no hot water on tap. Yet on the coffee table sat a fresh rose in a vase, a plate of washed fruit, and a bottle of wine. Hes prepared, I thought, it cant be for nothing.

We talked about life, study, his parents. Everything was proper, until that night

The nights that followed rushed by like wild horses across the moor. Edward and I fell into a whirlpool, rose to the sky, vanished from the ground. Ten years on, I would never want to relive that storm. The fallout from that fevered romance was heavy. I should never have tangled myself so deeply. The whole department knew about us; colleagues whispered, students gawked at our tangled affair.

Lucy, dont lose your mind. Stop while you can, warned one senior lecturer, whose husband drank too much. Why chase Edward? He has younger women waiting back home. In some parts of the country girls marry at thirteen. Youre twentyseven already. Dont float on those rosecoloured clouds.

Another unmarried colleague sighed, Oh, Id love to feel that intensity, that whole spectrum of passion!

I lost myself. I was ready to chase Edward to the ends of the earth, not even to Manchester.

During the summer break we booked a flight to visit his family. On the plane Edward began to speak of plans that made my stomach churn. He wanted to make me his main fish, essentially the senior wife in his future household. The idea of sharing him terrified me.

The plane touched down in Yorkshire. Edwards relatives greeted ussunkissed, freckled, smiling as if theyd been waiting a lifetime. They led us to his parents cottage. They welcomed me warmly, though my English was the only language we shared; Edward acted as translator. In the corner sat a teenage girl, about fifteen, her face hidden behind a heavy cardigan.

Lucy, meet Eliza, said Edwards father, as if introducing a new textbook. Shes our sons future wife.

I wanted to sink into the earth. Eliza was not a beauty; I, a tall brunette with hourglass curves, felt a pang of jealousy. I was twentyseven; she was only fifteen.

I returned from the visit feeling hollow and sorrowful. There was no turning back; a child was on the way. Over time I swapped my colourful wardrobe for drab coats, black scarves, and simple makeup just mascara and liner. I consented to a temporary marriage and converted to Anglicanism, desperate to please the man I loved. I wanted to obey him completely.

Seven years later we had moved to a flat in London. I gave birth to three boys; Eliza had two daughters. Edward provided for us all, but I felt like an old lover in a foreign land, a perpetual outsider. My jealousy of the young Eliza boiled over. Whenever Edward looked at her, my heart ached with an unforgiving pain. I couldnt accept it. I dreamed of fleeing this imagined paradise, but I feared losing my sons. In a divorce, the children would stay with the father.

Finally I took a desperate step and told Edward I wanted to return to my own country. He stared at me, surprised.

Lucy, what are you missing? he asked.

Forgive me, Edward. Youll never understand my soul. Let me go, I sobbed.

Alright, stay with your family. The children and I will miss you. Come back soon, he said, gently patting my shoulder.

A month later I was on a plane back home.

Two long years have passed. I speak with the children and Edward on the phone; Eliza has given birth to a son. My boys grow, remembering me. I am torn, yearning, crying, and yet I feel I am nowhere to go.