Couldn’t Bring Myself to Love

“WHO COULDNT LOVE”

“Girls, come on, which one of you is Lily?” The young woman eyed me and my friend with playful suspicion.

“Thats me. Why?” I replied, confused.

“Heres a letter for you, Lily. From William,” she said, pulling a crumpled envelope from her coat pocket and handing it to me.

“From William? Where is he?”

“Hes been transferred to a care home for adults. He waited for you, Lily, like a drowning man waits for land. Wore his eyes out staring at the gate. He gave me this letter to check for mistakesdidnt want to embarrass himself in front of you. Well, Id best be off. Lunchtime soon. I work here as a carer.” She gave me a reproachful look, sighed, and hurried away.

…It had all started one summer when my friend Emma and I, sixteen and restless, wandered onto the grounds of an unfamiliar building. The holidays stretched ahead, full of possibility, and adventure called.

We settled onto a bench, chatting and laughing, not noticing the two young men approaching until one spoke.

“Hello there! Bored? Fancy a chat?” He held out his hand. “Im William.”

“Lily,” I said. “This is Emma. And your quiet friend?”

“Leonard,” the other murmured.

They seemed oddly old-fashioned, overly proper. William frowned at our skirts.

“You girls shouldnt wear such short things. And Emma, that necklines a bit much.”

We giggled. “Then dont look where you shouldnt, or your eyes might pop out.”

“Hard not to. Were only human. Do you smoke, too?” William pressed, ever the stern gentleman.

“Now and then. Not properly, though,” Emma teased.

Only then did we notice their uneven gaitsWilliam shuffled stiffly, Leonard limped.

“Are you here for treatment?” I asked.

William rattled off a practised reply. “Car accident. Len took a bad dive off a cliff. Well be discharged soon.”

We believed them. It never crossed our minds that William and Leonard had lived in that care home since childhood, their conditions permanent. To them, we were a fleeting taste of the outside world.

Each resident had a storya fabricated accident, a fall, a fightanything but the truth. Yet William and Leonard were sharp, well-read, wise beyond their years.

Soon, we visited every week. Partly out of pity, partly because they fascinated us.

It became routine. William picked flowers for me; Leonard folded origami for Emma, blushing as he handed it over. Wed sit togetherWilliam beside me, Leonard turned toward Emma, who flushed but never refused his quiet devotion.

Summer faded into a damp autumn. School resumed, and we forgot them entirelyuntil after graduation, when nostalgia led us back to that bench. We waited two hours. No one came.

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

*”Dearest Lily, my sweet blossom, my unreachable star. You never realised, but I loved you from the first moment. Those afternoons were my very breath. Six months Ive watched the gate, hoping youd return. You forgot me. Our paths diverge, yet Im gratefulyou showed me real love. I remember your voice, your smile, your hands. The ache of missing you is unbearable. One more glimpse, one more breath… but theres nothing left to breathe.*

*Len and I turned eighteen. Theyre moving us to another home. Well never meet again. My heart is in tatters. Perhaps, in time, Ill recover.*

*Goodbye, my darling.”*

*Yours always, William.*

A dried flower fluttered out. Shame twisted in my chest. Nothing could be undone. The old saying echoed: *We are responsible for those we tame.*

Id had no idea of the storm in Williams heart. I couldnt love him backonly enjoyed his company, his wit, the harmless flirtation that, to him, had been a wildfire.

…Years passed. The letter yellowed; the flower crumbled. But I remember our innocent afternoons, his jokes, his quiet hope.

Theres an epilogue. Emma, moved by Leonards storyabandoned by parents ashamed of his shortened legbecame a teacher at a care home. She married him. They have two grown sons.

William, Leonard told us, lived alone. At forty, his mother reappeared, wept over the son shed left, and took him to her village. After that, he vanished.

Some bonds are fleeting. Others linger unseen. And kindness, however small, leaves marks we never foresee.