I Don’t Hate You

I dont hate you.

Nothings really changed, has it

Harriets fingers anxiously tugged at the edge of her sleeve as she stared out of the cab window. Familiar streetsonce her childhood playground with Danielslipped past, heavy with memories of laughter and shared dreams. Seven years. Seven long years since shed come home.

Were here, the taxi drivers gentle voice cut through her thoughts.

The cab eased to a stop outside the old terraced block. Harriet automatically checked for her phone, counted out some notespounds, so much lighter to the touch nowand handed them over before stepping onto the pavement. The car door thudded closed behind her, and she paused, breathing in the unmistakable air of her hometown. It was nothing like the sprawling, relentless London where she now lived. There was freshly-cut grass from the park, the soft drift of bread from Mr. Buntings corner bakery, and something elsesomething she could only call home. The tangled sweetness of it made her heart ache, searing and soft all at once, a blend of longing and dread for what lay ahead.

Shed come only for a few days, officially to help her mother sort paperwork and council bills that had piled up. But deep down, she yearned to walk those streets and see if her old life remained, preserved in some secret pocket of time. Andshe had to admit to herselfto see Daniel again. Maybejust maybeit could change everything.

Harriet knew Daniel lived nearby. Not that shed ever asked after himnever. But friends, bumping into her, or catching up online, would sometimes let his name slip: hed switched jobs and landed a great post, bought a flat for himself, moved his mother in, and so on. Whenever news of him reached her, Harriet would imagine his life for a brief, sharp secondand then force herself to think of something else, unwilling to give those memories too much room.

**************

The next morning, Harriet walked through the city centre. She didnt plan a routejust drifted, inhaling the cool autumn air, watching the town by daylight, letting the rhythm of the city pulse around her. She lingered by shop windows, a shy smile playing on her lips at each forgotten landmark: the newsagent where shed bought comics, the bench where she and her friends gossiped after school, the café where shed tasted her first proper cappuccino and almost ruined her new blouse.

And then, she saw him.

Daniel was across the road, head down, lost in thought. Harriet stopped deadher body, her breath suspended in the sticky rush of memory. He looked just the same: tall, the same relaxed stride she remembered from their youth, the same hair and set of his shoulders.

Without thinking, she rushed across the street. A horn blared, lights snapped amber, but she barely noticed; her legs carried her as her heart hammered loud enough to frighten sparrows from the rooftops.

Daniel! she called, catching him by the entrance of the shop.

Her voice trembledshed never guessed shed be this nervous. He turned, and nothing. No gladness, no anger. Just a flat, cool emptiness.

Harriet? He said it evenly, almost blankly.

The steadiness of his tone shattered her. Seven years of longing and guilt exploded, and her eyes filled with tears she no longer cared to hide.

Daniel, Im so sorry, she managed, the words tumbling out. I know I shouldnt even speak to you, but I she choked, struggled for breath, the tears streaming unchecked. I still love you. I do. I always have. Im so sorry. Please, forgive me, please

She blurted her heart out, quick and uneven, as if pausing might close her throat forever. All her excuses, her regrets, her pleasonly the simplest truths escaped: what shed clamped tight in her heart all these years.

Harriet threw her arms around him, desperate, pressing against his chest as if she could somehow grab hold of the time theyd lost. For one suspended moment, there was nothing but the warmth of his body and the fragile hope he might not let go.

He didnt pull away at once. For an instant, his muscles slackened, arms twitching, almost as if he might hold her tooand it set a spark of hope burning wild in her chest. Maybe it wasnt too late. Maybe, just maybe, he remembered all theyd shared.

But the moment died. Daniels hands tightened on her shoulders and, gently but firmly, placed her away. His face was impassive, his eyes coldno trace of the boy whod made her laugh until she cried, whod dreamed of futures with her. Standing before her was a man, his feelings buried deep behind brick-thick walls.

Go on, then, he whispered in her ear.

He said it softly, without anger, as if she meant nothing at allutterly, dishearteningly indifferent.

I hate you, he added after a pause, and in his eyes flashed raw contempt.

He turned and walked off, never glancing back. Harriet stood there, stunned, while life continued all around herchildren shrieked in the distance, buses crawled past, strangers hurried by, a few casting uneasy looks her way, perhaps wondering why a girl stood in the middle of the street, staring, face white and slack. She noticed none of it.

Only the sound of Daniels footsteps fading and her own, ragged breaths. Seconds stretched into painful eternity, and her mind spun the same doomed thought: This is over. Forever.

She stumbled home, every step heavy, gaze unfocused, nothing but his words echoing hollowly inside her.

Back at her mothers, Harriet didnt try to explain. She simply walked into the sitting room, sank onto a chair, and stared out into the gathering dusk. Her mother said nothingjust sighed quietly, as if shed expected this moment, then set the kettle on. The hum of boiling water, the smell of brewed teait all seemed insultingly normal compared to the storm raging inside her. And yet that gentle ordinariness, the mundane routine, began to stitch her back toward reality.

He didnt forgive me, Harriet whispered, wrapping her fingers tight around the hot mug. Thin curls of steam brushed her cheek, but she hardly felt them. Her hands clenched harder, as if to hold some faint hope, her eyes locked on the amber surface of her tea catching the lamps glow.

Her mother sat beside her and stroked her shoulder softly, just as she had in childhood on bad days at school or after playground tears. And the touch, so warm and familiar, made Harriet feel small and breakable again, as though every grown-up choice shed made had dissolved away.

You always knew it might be like this, her mother said quietly, not with judgement, only sad understanding.

I did. Harriet finally looked up from her cup, her voice flat, exhausted, as if shed rehearsed that phrase for years. But I hoped. Foolish, wasnt it?

Not foolish. Her mothers voice was gentle, unwavering. But it was your choice. You hurt Daniel terriblyhe took years to come back from that breakup. Hes like Kay from those old storiesall shut away inside. No ones ever been able to reach his heart since.

Harriet let out a heavy sigh and pushed her cup aside, sinking back into the chair as memory crashed over her.

Back then, everything was so simple; shed been twenty-two, with the future laid out in bright, wild streaks, thinking anything was possible. Daniel had been her anchorkind, reliable, the sort whod always help, never needing grand declarations to show his care. But there was one problemor what shed seen as a problem then. Daniel worked on building sites, studying in the evenings, planning one day to start his own business. His dreams were sound, responsible, but slow to growand Harriet hadnt wanted to wait.

She didnt crave wealthjust assurance: a job, a flat, the know-how that she could build life by her own rules. With Daniel, everything felt too uncertain: patchwork jobs, part-time studies, talk of a someday that never seemed to come.

So when her uncle in London offered her a position at his firm, she took it, barely hesitating. It was a real chance she couldnt waste.

There was another truth too, one Harriet flinched from recalling. In those early London days, thered been Marka smart, successful entrepreneur, decades older, confident, used to getting what he wanted. Their paths crossed at a work do; Harriet, in her best dress, feeling awkward at the smart party, caught his attention. Mark was attentive: first small bouquets with pretty notes (For the loveliest girl in the office), then dinners in restaurants shed only ever window-shopped, gallery trips, West End shows, silk scarves, delicate jewellery, shoes shed never have dared to try before. Each gift came with a lesson: you deserve the best, never settle, take what life brings.

Shed refused at first, embarrassed and shybut Mark persisted, and his world was so appealing: evening cocktails, black cabs, shops where she could buy anything without checking the price tag. It all seemed like a dream she didnt want to wake from.

Eventually, she began dating himnot from some deep affection, but because the ease and certainty of his world seduced her. With Mark, she never had to worry about next months rent or bills or save for a new dress; he swept it all away, leaving her only a soft haze of luxury and certainty.

And oh, how she grew to love that kind of life. It made her forget the earnest, hard-working Daniel in a small city shed long left behind. It was worse than indifferenceshe began to look down on him, saying hed never amount to anything.

On a whim, Harriet once returned to her old townnot to see Daniel, but to parade her new success, to show him just how wrong hed been to wait. Somewhere in her, she hoped hed see shed made the right choice, that shed broken free from the muddle that was their life together.

She orchestrated the meeting: the trendiest café in townthe one Daniel sometimes stopped in after workher most striking dress, a birthday gift from Mark, cinched attractively at the waist; a gemstone ring winking on her finger; a designer handbag resting on her arm. She kept a sharp lookout; when Daniel walked in, her laugh sparkled through the room on cue. He caught her gazeshe saw the pain, the confusion, the hurt he tried to hide. But Harriet didnt look away.

It felt like vindicationshe’d proved something. Her life was real now: elegant and assured, not a string of ifs and maybes. She convinced herself she felt pride.

But as Daniel left, and she remained at her little tableher laughter faded. She looked at the ring, the bag, her date telling some story. Suddenly, everything felt meaninglessornaments, gestures, attention. She carried on smiling, but a voice inside whispered: Was it worth it?

*****************

Victory turned bitter, but Harriet realised it only slowly. At first, Mark remained the attentive, generous man: dinners, flowers, sweet words. But gradually his warmth faded, like a candle dying for lack of wax.

It began in small ways: sharp comments instead of soft praise; Buy yourself something nice on the way home instead of surprise gifts; then open criticismsher looks (Try to make more of an effort?), her laugh (Youre too loud. Its off-putting), her friends (Those small-town mates? Shouldnt you be meeting better people by now?).

Increasingly, Mark vanished for days, sometimes weeks, leaving Harriet alone in the plush flat he rented. She spent evenings pacing, counting clock ticks or shuffling through her wardrobe. If she dared mention it, he was dismissive, eyes fixed on his phone.

You got what you wanted. What else do you need?

She tried to excuse him: Hes busy, under a lot of pressure. Or, He just needs space. She persuaded herself it was a passing phase, that hed come round if she were only more patient, less demanding. Deep down, though, she knew: the problem wasnt his stress. She was merely another lovely toy, novel for a while, but soon overlooked.

She endured it: the snide remarks, the icy stretches of silence, the loneliness. Endured it, because admitting the truth meant accepting the biggest betrayal was her ownthat she had abandoned the only man who truly cared for her.

Even the trappings of her new life lost their appeal. Dresses that had once thrilled her now hung limp in the wardrobe; necklaces and bracelets gathered dust; restaurant meals felt empty, the very sight of them made her restless. The scent of the expensive perfume Mark favoured made her nauseous.

More often she found herself at the window, watching passers-by, thinking: What if But cut those thoughts short, dreading where they led. She had no answer to the next question: What now?

On those silent evenings, as dusk settled over the city, the silence in the flat grew almost unbearable, and Harriet began to understand: all her old dreamssecurity, order, self-sufficiencymeant nothing without someone to share them. Without love, certainty was a hollow prize.

Again and again, she thought of Daniel. She remembered his handslarge, rough from work, but so gentle when they held hers; remembered his shy, honest smile; the practical way he spoke of their future, serious but full of faith. With him, shed felt able to face anything, as long as they faced it together.

************************

Three days into her visit, Harriet wandered to the park where theyd once spent lazy afternoons. There was their bench, beneath a sprawling old chestnut, where they used to laugh and talk nonsense for hours. She recalled the time Daniel said, watching the leaves drift down, One day I want us to have our own place: big windows so the sun floods in, always filled with light and laughing. It had seemed a childish dream then. Now it felt tragicsomething gone forever.

She stopped, breathing in the sharp autumn air, trying to steady herself. Just then, a familiar voice cut through the chill:

Harriet?

She turned. It was Chris, Daniels childhood friend as much as hers. He looked surprised, but his smile was warm, unguarded.

Didnt expect to see you here, he said, eyebrows raised, How are you?

Harriet hesitated. She wanted to sound calm and casual, but her voice wavered, though the smile she mustered wasnt as forced as shed feared.

Im all rightjust here to see Mum.

Chris nodded, giving her a measuring look, but said nothing more, instead indicating the bench opposite.

Shall we sit? I was just out for a stroll, thinking where to drift next.

She agreed, and as they walked to the bench, Chris updated her on the town, his own news. His voice was gentle, comforting; for once, she felt herself loosen slightly. She listened, answering here and there, but thinking how odd it was to be here, in the place etched with so much of her younger self, running into people from a life almost forgotten.

Chris let the conversation drift, then after a pause, asked calmly but directly:

Seen Daniel?

Harriets eyes dropped to the scattered leaves at her feet. She hesitated, memories of the day before crashing over herhis cold stare, those sharp words. She answered softly,

Yes. Yesterday.

And? Chris pressed, gaze steady.

He he wants nothing to do with me, she breathed, each word a struggle. Her voice was measured, but the pain thrummed beneath it. He hates me.

Chris exhaled and sat heavily on the bench, leaning forward, gazing out into the golden mist that shrouded the park. He was quiet for a long, pensive moment before speaking again.

You hurt him, Harriet. You disappearedno call, no letter, nothing. It hit him like a blow from nowhere.

Harriets hands folded tight, nails biting into her palm. She knew, of course she knewbut hearing it spoken aloud stung worse than she expected.

I know, she whispered, staring at her hands. It was unforgivable.

Chris didnt moralise or press. He only spoke, calm and straight,

He tried to forget you. Tried dating someone else, but it went nowhere. Says hes never loved anyone the way he loved you. You hurt him, you know? Especially after you strolled back in, parading the new you. He nearly shut down completely after that.

Harriet nodded, thinking about Daniel, forcing himself to go on, jumpy at every memory, every voice that sounded like hers. The knowledge shed caused that pain was a physical ache.

I didnt mean for it to be like this, she breathed, half to herself. I thought I was doing the right thing. All I wanted was a bit of certainty.

Chris said nothing, just sat beside her in silence, giving her space. The wind shuffled fallen leaves around them; childrens laughter drifted by from some distant play area. Around them, life pressed on.

Harriet pressed her fists so tightly her knuckles whitened. She willed herself not to cry, but her eyes blurred with tears that stung hotter for trying to be hidden. Inside, all she felt was loss, sharpened by the truth: she couldnt go back, couldnt undo any of it.

Im not asking him to forgive me, she finally said, voice trembling. I just wanted him to knowIm sorry! I regret it. Every day. I cant sleep sometimes for thinking about what I threw awaywhat I ruined.

Chris watched her for a while, thoughtful, almost gentle.

Maybe its not about him owning your sorrow, he said quietly. Leave him be now, Harriet. Dont come backeven trying to make things right is just hurting him more. Hes just starting to mend, and you turning up, wellits ripped it all open. Last night, he called me blind drunk. That hasnt happened in years, you know? Youve got to let him heal, however that is.

Harriet bit her lip, nodding. Chris was right. Her desperate return, need for closureit only tore open wounds that might never heal. Her penance hurt him too, instead of redeeming her.

*************************

That night, Harriet sat at her mothers window as dusk fell, watching the city lights bloom in gold and white and tangerine, a patchwork hinting at celebration. But she felt none of it. Her thoughts circled over the same tired groundmemory after memory, like a projector looping old reels she couldnt escape.

She imagined how things might have been had she stayed: their first pokey flat, Daniel starting his own business, how they might have managed together, stumbling but laughing, celebrating tiny ordinary victories. She ached for every word of love unsaid, every hug unshared. But regret could not turn back time.

The next day, Harriet packed in silence, her movements unhurried, as if time might wait for her. Her mother watched from the door, sadness clear in her eyes, not reproachjust quiet sorrow as her daughter slipped away once more.

Look after yourself, her mother whispered as Harriet stood in the hall with her suitcase.

She nodded, pressed a kiss to her mothers cheek, lingered a second, drawing in the safe scent of home, and stepped outside.

At the station, Harriet bought a ticket for London. Two days journey, alone amid strangersmaybe it would help her think, help her work out how to carry on.

As the train trundled from the station, she gazed out: faded terraces, balconies strung with flowerpots, playgrounds that echoed her childhood laughter, the glowing sign of the bakery. People hurried onsome with shopping bags, some with raised umbrellas despite the clear sky, heading to bus stops and shops. It was all so common, so everyday, but now impossibly remote.

Somewhere among those streets and houses was the one person she loved above alla man whose eyes lit up at the future, whose hands could both build houses and hold hers so gently. Someone shed never given the chance to say goodbye. Now he was lost to hernothing could undo that, no matter how she tried to believe it wasnt quite over.

*************************

Six months passed. In London, Harriet went through the paceswork, weekend coffees with friends, polite chats about plans and health. From outside, nothing had changed: same routines, same haunts, same conversations. But inside, everything was altered for good. She no longer fled her past or hid behind new companions and expensive treats. She faced it now, eyes open, accepting both the shame and the ache that came with honest regret.

She learned to wake each morning knowing life continued. She told herself: I did what I did. It was wrong, and I cant rewrite it. In this acceptance, she found a muted sort of peacenot joy, but a breathing space, a way to move forward.

One evening, as she stirred supper, her phone vibrated with a message from an unknown number. She swiped at the screen.

I dont hate you. But I cant forgive you.

Harriet froze. Her fingers clutched the phone, heart thudding; she sank to the floor, drawing the phone close, as if trying to feel the heartbeat on the other side of those words.

She didnt know what it meant whether it was a new beginning or final closure. But for the first time in years, she felt the slenderest connection, a strand stretched between two livesfragile, ready to snap with a breath, but real. Someone out there thought of her still, risked a message despite the pain. Someone, somewhere, left a door not completely shut.

Through her tears, Harriet managed a small, wobbly smile. Perhaps this wasnt the end. Perhaps, one day, theyd talk again, honestly, without blame, without defencefinding words to mend or, at least, to understand.

For now, knowing she wasnt forgotten was enough. That somewhere, in another city, she remained not only a regret from the past, but a part of someones story. And, for now, that would have to be enough.