I Don’t Hate You

I don’t hate you

Seems like nothings changed, really

Harriet fidgeted with the edge of her coat sleeve, gazing out the taxi window. Outside, the streets flashed byfamiliar roads shed run along as a child with James, laughing, plotting futures that never came. Seven years. A full seven years since shed been back home.

Were here, the driver said gently, breaking her train of thought.

The taxi eased to a stop outside her mums old council block, five storeys tall and battered with time. Harriet checked her phone on instinct, pulled out a crisp note, paid the driver, and stepped out. The door shut with a thud and she stood there, letting the cool air of her hometown tickle her face. It felt so different from London: the smells, the sounds, all stirred something deep within her. Cut grass from the nearby park, the faintest scent of warm bread from that little bakery on the corner, and something elsea feeling she could only name as home. Her heart squeezed tight with an ache both sweet and painful, happiness curled into dread for whatever might lie ahead.

She was only back for a few days, officially to help her mum organise some old paperwork, but also to check if those childhood haunts were still how shed rememberedthe newsagent shed bought comics from, the bench theyd sat on after school, the café where shed tripped with her first ever cappuccino, all those pieces of her memory stitched across the town.

But the real reason, deeper than all the rest: she wanted desperately to see James. Even if shed never admit it out loud.

He wasnt living far away, or so shed gathered from casual mentions by friends on Facebook or at reunions: new job, nice flat, got his mum living with him now. Whenever someone mentioned him, shed picture how he might look these days, what hed be doing, thinking. Then, panicked, shed scrub those thoughts out, refusing to let them swallow up space in her heart.

*****

Next morning, Harriet wandered the town centre, waving off any plans. She fancied simply breathing in the streets, seeing which shops had changed, whether the old rhythms still throbbed. She peered into shop windows, allowed herself secret smiles as she caught sight of old memories: the paper shop at the crossroads, the bench where theyd messaged each other under their school blazers, the coffee shop where her poor, beloved blouse wore her first cappuccino.

And thenshe saw him.

James, ambling down the far side of the street, head ducked, lost in his own world. Harriet froze, everything inside her tumbling over itself so suddenly she nearly lost her breath. He looked just the sametall, lax stride, that messy hair, the exact outline that haunted her all these years.

With no hesitation, she dashed across, not caring one bit for the flickering amber at the crossing or the angry horn that sounded out. Her legs moved before her mind caught up; her heart thudding so hard the sound felt like it might pour out onto the street.

James! she called, catching up to him outside a small grocer.

Her voice shook. Shed never expected to be this nervous. He turnedand nothing. No surprise, no smile, no anger.

Harriet? he said, levelly. Almost indifferent.

It hit harder than if hed yelled. The stoicism stung like salt in old wounds. Everything shed packed inside over seven years surged out. Her eyes filled, voice trembled, and words stumbled free before she could stop them.

James, I She inhaled shakily. Im so, so sorry. I know Ive no right to even talk to you. I The tears tumbled down her cheeks, unchecked. I love you. I always have! Pleaseplease forgive me.

The words tumbled out, jumbled, urgent, half apology, half confessionall those thoughts shed rehearsed for years boiling down to desperate truth.

She hugged him, clinging to his chest like she could stitch time together with her arms. In that heartbeat, the whole street melted away: no rushing buses, no shopping bags, no ticking minutes. Just the warmth of his body, and her wild hope for a miracle.

James stood still. For a split second, maybe less, she could have sworn he softenedhis shoulders dropped, his hand twitched as if to return her embrace. That flicker lit up a dying ember of hopemaybe there was a sliver to salvage, maybe their story wasnt over

Then the moment snapped. James gripped her shoulders, firm but gentle, and set her away from him. His face blank, voice steady but cold, eyes as distant as shed ever seen.

Go on, Harriet. Leave, he whispered.

Said with such flat coolness, it was as if she was nothing. Just some woman in the street, not worth another look.

I hate you, he added, and now a flash of unmistakable contempt cut through his eyes.

And then he walked away, no glance back. Harriet stood frozen in the stream of city lifepeople squeezing by, horns braying, laughter echoing from the playground. Strangers stared at her, puzzled at the lost, white-faced girl in the middle of the pavement. But she noticed none of it.

Only his footsteps, fading into silence behind her, her own breath heavy and torn. Each second stretched out, one after another, the thought looping in her mind: Its over. Its really over.

She trudged towards her mums. Her limbs were leaden, every step a fight, but forward she went, staring at the pavement, numb. Inside, nothingno thoughts, no feelings, only his words ricocheting around her skull.

At home, she didnt try to explain. She slipped past her mum, slumped at the kitchen table, and stared out. Mum caught sight of her face, the red-raw, tear-soaked eyes, and didnt ask. Just let out a long, old sigh and went to put the kettle on. The click of the switch, the steam curling out, the familiar smell of strong, milky teaso ordinary, so at odds with the tempest thrashing inside Harriet. Yet that very ordinariness was its own small comfort.

He couldnt forgive me, Harriet whispered, hands gripping her mug as though life itself might slip through her fingers if she let go. The warmth stung her palms; her gaze, heavy and fixed on the murky swirl of tea, caught the dim lamp-light above.

Her mum sat close, a gentle hand resting on Harriets shoulder. The gesture was so much like her childhoodwhen shed scraped her knee or fallen out with a friendthat Harriet, for a moment, felt small, stripped of every grown-up illusion.

You knew it would be like this, Mum murmured, not in criticism, only in a tired, sad way.

I did, Harriet admitted, finally raising her eyes from the cup. Her voice was flat, worn out, as if shed been repeating these words inside her head for years. But I still hoped. Stupid, right?

Not stupid, her mum replied, softly still. You just chose for yourself. But you did break his heart, love. He wasnt the same after you left. Its like the boy inside him just withered away. No ones been able to reach him since.

Harriet leant back, took a shaky breath, and the old scenes played behind her eyes.

Back then it had all seemed so simple. She was twenty-two and believed life was just waiting to be painted in bright colours. James was therekind, steady, trustworthy. He wasnt one for grand speeches, but hed always show upready to help, listen, reassure.

But shed wanted moreor thought she did. James worked on building sites by day and did his business course at night, full of plans for the future. They were real dreams, sensible, but dreams all the sameand Harriet didnt want to wait.

It wasnt luxury she craved; just safety, some promise that things wouldnt always hang by a thread, that she could have a job, a home, a slice of life on her own terms. With James it all seemed so uncertain: odd jobs, night-school, dreams that remained only dreams for now.

So when her uncle offered a job in his London firm, shed jumped. No hesitation. A tangible chance she would have been mad to skip.

But there was more, though she tried not to dwell on it. In those first months in London, he appearedRichard. A successful businessman, twice her age, exuding confidence and always getting his way. Shed met him by fluke at a work doout of place in her new dress among suited strangers. Richard had sat beside her, drawing her out with questions about her life.

He was generous. Flowers sent to the office, neat little bouquets, never gaudy. Invites to fancy dinners shed only glanced at before with longing, exhibitions, West End shows, shoes shed never have dared even try on. Each little token came with soft wordshow she deserved better, not to hold herself back, that it was good to take what life offered.

At first, shed protested, but Richard was gentle, persuasive. By degrees, she got used to accepting his courtship. It all grew addictive: evenings spent drinking cocktails, taking cabs without counting the coins, the dizzying freedom of walking into any shop and just buying something for herself. It was like drifting through a dream you never wanted to wake from.

Somewhere within that shimmering haze, she started seeing Richard properlynot out of heady infatuation, but because his world just seemed lighter, simpler. No worries about next months bills, no fretting about work shoes or rent money. Everything was handled, as if life could truly be effortless.

She relished it. Loved it so much she barely thought of the heartbroken boy shed left behind. Worse, she grew scornful, brushing off memories of James as if hed never make anything of himself.

And when she did return home once, it wasnt to see James or explainshe just wanted to flaunt her new life. Deep down, she wanted him to see that she hadnt made a mistake, that shed seized her moment, shed made it.

She planned the visit down to the last detail. She chose the posh café where James sometimes stopped after work, wore the designer dress Richard bought for her birthday, a dazzling ring glittering on her hand, the latest handbag swinging from her arm.

When James walked in, Harriet made sure he saw her. She laughed loudly at her companions joke, turned so the sunlight caught the diamond. Their eyes locked. She saw confusion, pain, humiliation flash in his face. But she didnt look away.

In that moment, she had convinced herself it was a victory. Real proof shed done the right thing. That her life now was about real, tangible achievementsnot pipe dreams, but actual dinners, actual champagne. She told herself she was glad, satisfied, finally living the life she deserved.

But as James left the cafe, as the laughter faded, as her companion droned on, Harriet stared at the ring, her bag, her reflectionand, for the first time, felt an odd emptiness. All the trappingsexpensive things, thoughtful gesturessuddenly felt far away and fake. She kept smiling, made small talk, but inside a tiny voice asked, Was it really worth it?

*****

That victory turned bitter, slowly but surely. At first, Richard was still his old attentive selfdinners, gifts, compliments. Bit by bit though, it ebbed away. Warmth gave way to snide remarks about her laugh, her friends, her clothes. Generosity shrank to terse messages, Go pick something yourself, Im busy.

His presence became rare. Hed vanish for days, weeks even, leaving her in the plush apartment hed set up for hera gilded cage where she spent silent evenings counting time by the tick of the kitchen clock or flicking through dresses she had nowhere to wear. If she tried to talk about how lonely it was, he waved her off, eyes fixed on his tablet. You got what you wanted. What else could you want?

She tried to excuse itstressful business, tirednessbut deep down, she knew. Shed become just another shiny toy, admired and then discarded. When the gloss faded, so did his attention.

She put up with it, with the sharp words, the absence, the emptiness. All because she was too frightened to admit itto herself, to anyonethat shed made a colossal mistake. Because to admit the glamour was hollow would be to face the other, harder truth: she had broken the heart of the only person whod ever truly cared for her. That James, for all his dirt-caked hands and big dreams, had treasured her simply for being herself.

Even the trappings of luxury began to sour. The once-dreamt-of dresses hung limp in the wardrobe. The jewels, once cherished, became strangers. The restaurants with their muted lights and posh menusirritating rather than enchanting. The perfume that used to smell like a new beginning? It made her queasy now.

Shed catch herself, standing at the window, watching strangers pass: What if Every what if cut off sharply, lest she follow it too farpast the questions she didnt dare answer: What next? Whats left?

Those long, silent evenings in the grand but empty flat hammered it home. Shed chased middling dreams of security and certainty, but now realised they were nothing without someone to share them with.

Her mind kept returning to James. His handswide, rough, always warm. His smile, crooked and shy, never showy. The way he spoke of the future without fuss or fanfare, making her believe things would be all right. Back then, that certainty was the safest thing she knew.

*****

On her third day back, Harriet strolled through the park theyd once loved. There was the old bench beneath the big sycamore, the one that had seen so many of their lazy, laughing conversations. She remembered James, gazing at falling leaves, telling her, One day Ill have a house of my own. Big windows to let the sunlight in every morning. Full of happiness and laughter. Shed just smiled at the time, dismissing it as wishful thinking. Now those dreams stung, like something irretrievably lost.

She drew in a shaky breath, collecting herself, when a voice piped up behind her: Harriet?

She turned. It was Toman old mate of both hers and Jamess. He looked startled, but his face soon split into a warm, surprised grin.

Didnt expect to see you here, he said, raising his eyebrows. Hows things?

She hesitated, pasted on a smile, and tried to look brighter than she felt. Alright. Just visiting Mum.

Tom nodded. He didnt press. Instead, he indicated the bench: Fancy a sit? Ive been wandering round aimlessly.

They sat side by side, Tom chatting away: his new job, local gossip, changes in the town. The peaceful, friendly tone relaxed her, dredging up a kind of comfort she barely recognised these days.

After a pause, Toms tone shifted: Have you seen James?

Harriet stared at the fallen leaves. A flash of yesterdays meetingthe cold glare, those slicing wordsran through her mind. Yeah. Yesterday.

And?

She forced the words out, each one stickier than the last. Hehe wants nothing to do with me. He hates me.

Tom sighed, leaned forward with elbows on knees, and stared down the fading park path. He waited before speaking, voice low: You vanished, Harriet. No call, no letter. To him it was like having the rug pulled out, really.

Harriet pressed her hands together tightly, pain twisting inside her. Shed known it, of coursebut hearing it from someone else compounded the guilt.

I know, she whispered, chin ducking. Its my fault.

Tom didnt scold, nor sermonise, just kept going, soft and steady: He tried to get over you. Went out with a few girls. Nothing stuck. Always said hed never feel the same. After you turned up all flash and glamorous well, I thought wed lost him for good.

She nodded, silent. She could picture James, forcing himself to keep going, startled every time he heard a voice that echoed hers, haunted by the memory shed left behind. The thought that shed done this to him cut deeper than anything.

I never meant for it to be like this, she murmured, almost to herself. I thought I was doing the right thing. I just wanted security.

Tom didnt protest. He sat with her, letting the citys hum and the swirl of autumn leaves fill the gap. Somewhere, childrens laughter floated from the playground.

Harriet curled her hands into fists in her lap, fingernails pressing crescents into her palms. Tears started to gather again even though she forced herself to hold them back. It was no useall those chances to fix things had vanished. There was no going back, no way to erase her mistakes.

I dont expect him to forgive me, her words stumbled out, trembling. I just wanted him to know that I regret it. That I regret it every day. Its always with me. I cant let it go.

Tom gave her a long, steady look, no judgement in it. He weighed up his words before finally saying quietly, Maybe he doesnt need to know. Leave him be, Harriet. Your coming backits only hurt him more. He called me last night, drunk as anything. I havent heard him like that in years. Seriouslydont make things worse. Give him the space to mend.

She bit her lip hard, but didnt argue. He was right. All shed done was rip open wounds that time had only just begun to heal. Her urge to set things right had only made it all even more painful for James.

*****

That evening, Harriet sat in the small lounge of her mums flat as the city lit up outside, lights sparkling gold, orange and white, joining together in a mural that should have felt joyful but, to her, felt flat.

She pictured how it could have beenher and James sharing a tatty first flat, his business launching, them muddling through, celebrating tiny victories. All the warmth, the laughter, the touches gone unsaid or unfelt. But she couldnt change any of itand she knew it, deep down and at last.

The next day, Harriet packed her things slowly, delaying goodbyes as much as she could. Her mum stood by her, silent, sadbut not blamingand finally offered a soft, Take care, darling.

Harriet kissed her on the cheek, breathed in that familiar home smell, and stepped out.

At the station, she bought a ticket back to London, choosing a slow trainperhaps a break from everything, around strangers, would help her piece herself together again.

The train rattled off, swaying gently. Harriet kept her eyes fixed on the fading shapes of her townthose old flats, playgrounds, the bakerys cheerful sign. Life moving on, leaving her behind.

Somewhere there, among all those streets, was the boy shed loved most in the world. The boy whose eyes glowed when he dreamed aloud, whose strong hands had built more than just walls, whose goodbye shed never truly given. And now he was lost to her forever, no matter what she might tell herself.

*****

Six months passed. Harriet was back in London, working, grabbing lattes with mates at the weekends, fielding questions about her health and plans. To anyone looking in, everything seemed just as before. But inside, something fundamental had shifted. Shed stopped running from the past or shoving it under new distractions, stopped hiding behind schedules and shopping and busy weekends. She faced ither mistake, her pain, her real and unyielding regret.

Shed learnt to wake up and simply tell herself, It happened. It was wrong, but I cant change it now. There was a quiet relief in thisno happiness, but at least a kind of peace.

Then, one evening, making dinner, her phone buzzed. She wiped her fingers on a tea towel, glanced at the unfamiliar number.

One line: I dont hate you. But I cant forgive you, either.

Harriet stilled. She clutched the phone tight, heart stuttering, then racing. She sank down on the kitchen floor, drawing the phone to her chest as if she might somehow cradle a heartbeat from the message.

She had no idea what it meantnot sure if it was a tiny olive branch or a final curtain. But for the first time in a year, she felt the faintest thread stretching between them. Delicate, fragile, liable to snap in an instant, but something all the same. Someone, far away, was thinking of her. Someone, despite the pain, had decided to reach out. Someone, at least for now, hadnt entirely closed the door.

Through tears, Harriet smiled. Not a confident smile, or a bright one, but a real one. Maybe, just maybe, this wasnt the absolute end. Maybe, one day, they could talkcalmly, no accusations, no apologies, no pretending. Maybe theyd find the words to move on, together or apart, but honestly this time.

For now it was enough to know he still remembered her. That in a town hundreds of miles away, someone held her in his memorynot merely as a mistake, but as part of his own story.

And for now, that was enough.