Couldn’t Fall in Love “Come on, girls, fess up—who’s Lily?” The woman eyed us with a mischievous sm…

COULDNT FALL IN LOVE

Alright then, ladies, whos Lily? The woman eyed us with a mischievous glint, like she was the ringmaster of some secret society.

Im Lily. Why? I said, doing my best to sound nonchalant.

Take this letter, Lily. Its from William, she announced, dragging a crumpled envelope out from her cardigan pocket and handing it over.

From William? Wheres he, then? I blinked.

Hes been moved to the adult residential home. He was waiting for you, Lily, as though you were a winning lottery ticket. Gave me this letter to proofread for mistakesdidnt want to embarrass himself in front of you. Anyway, I best dash; lunch in ten minutes. Im a carer here, she gave me a look that managed to be both motherly and judgmental, sighed meaningfully, and hurried off.

Once upon a not-so-distant summer, my mate Sophie and I, both sixteen and high on school holidays, wandered onto the grounds of this unfamiliar establishmenttempted by the promise of adventure or at least a good story to tell.

Sophie and I settled onto the comfiest bench in sight, chatting away about nothing and everything, until two lads appeared, like magic or a slow-motion scene from a budget teen movie.

Hello, ladies! Bored, are you? Want a proper introduction? The first extended his hand, William.

I replied, Lily. And this is my friend Sophie. And what do we call your silent partner?

Leonard, the other mumbled, barely audible.

William and Leonard struck me as a pair of throwbacksold-fashioned, unnervingly earnest. William couldnt help himself: Girls, why such short skirts? Sophieyour neckline is a tad bold, isnt it?

Oh, chaps, best not let your eyes wander where they shouldnt, or youll be seeing double! Sophie and I laughed, our banter far more daring than our outfits.

Impossible not to notice. We are gentlemen, you know. Whats nextdo you smoke as well? Williams moral compass was working overtime.

Course we smoke. But only for the sake of fashion! we teased.

It was about then Sophie and I realized something was up with their legs. William shuffled with difficulty, Leonard walked with a distinct limp.

Are you here for physio? I guessed.

Yeah. Motorbike crash for me, and Leonard tried to do a superhero dive off a cliff didnt go to plan. William rattled this off as though hed told the tale a hundred times. Well be out soon.

Of course, we swallowed their stories whole, naïve as seasoned optimists. We had no idea William and Leonard were living long-term at this residential homechildhood disabilities, you see. The crash stories were convenient covers, a sort of legend every lad here had ready, just in case.

But despite their origins, William and Leonard were fascinating, well-read, and wise beyond their years. Sophie and I found ourselves making weekly visits. Partly because we felt sorry for them and wanted to lift their spirits, partly because we discovered there was a lot we could learn.

Our brief but regular meetings soon became tradition.

William would present me with flowers stolen straight off the councils border, while Leonard, bashful to the core, gave Sophie strange paper origami creations hed folded himself.

Wed squeeze onto one bench: William by my side, Leonard with his back half-turned, his intent gaze fixed on Sophie. Sophie would blush deeply but seemed happy enough to be the focus of Leonards shy devotion. Conversation with them flowedfrom philosophy to socks to the merits of Marmite.

Summer washed pleasantly by, all warmth and laughter.

Then came the damp, moody autumn. School holidays were over, final year looming. Sophie and I, weighed down with the drama of impending exams and prom, promptly forgot all about William and Leonard.

Exams, last bell, and Prom Night came and went. Summer returned, ripe with hope and freedom, so Sophie and I decided to give our old friends a visit. We perched on the same bench, expecting William to arrive with fresh posies and Leonard with more peculiar origami.

Two hours and not a soul.

Suddenly, a young carer breezed out of the residential home and gave me Williams letter, which I tore open in curiosity:

Dearest Lily, My fragrant blossom! My unreachable star! Perhaps you hadnt realised I fell for you at first glance. Your visits meant everything to meair, life, a reason to look out the window every day, hoping. You forgot about me. How painfully sad! Our paths have wandered apart. But thank you for teaching me real love. I remember your velvet voice, your inviting smile, your gentle hands. Its dreadful without you, Lily. If only I could see you once more! I want to breathe, but theres no breath
Leonard and I are both eighteen now. Were being moved in spring, no chance of meeting again. My hearts in shreds! I do hope Ill get over you and mend.
Farewell, my irreplaceable one!

Signed: Forever yours, William.

Inside the envelope, pressed flat and brittle, was a faded flower.

A sharp pang of guilt hit me. My heart squeezed at the thought that nothing could be changed now. The phrase we are responsible for those we have tamed echoed through my head.

Id had no idea quite what passions raged in Williams heart. But honest truthI couldnt have returned his feelings. Hed awakened in me no great surge of emotion. Friendly curiosity for a clever companion, that was all. Yes, Id teased and flirted, just a sprinkle here and there, never realising my playful sparks were fueling his emotional bonfire.

Years have flickered by since. Williams letter is yellow and brittle, the flower, reduced to dust. But I still remember those sweet meetings, our carefree chats, and Williams wild jokes.

And the story does have an encore. Sophie was moved by Leonards tough childhoodhis parents had left him because he was not quite standard. One leg was much shorter than the other. Sophie graduated teaching college, now works as a special education teacher. Leonard turned out to be the love of her life; they now have two fully grown sons and a happy home.

William, from Leonards stories, remained solitary. When William hit forty, his mother, driven by guilt or rediscovered love, arrived at the home, saw her disadvantaged son, wept, scooped him up and took him back to her little village. After that, all traces faded awaySometimes I think back to that summerhow the promise of adventure turned into a lesson you cant learn in classrooms. Williams letter taught me about the weight words can hold, and how a careless kindness can become anothers lifeline. I never saw William again, but every time I pass a wildflower growing stubbornly between pavement cracks, I remember the faded bloom tucked into his final note. Its a small, guilty ache, but also a reminder: even brief encounters can change the course of anothers life.

Sophie visits often. We sip tea and laugh at our teenage selves, marveling at the ripple that simple friendship sent through time. She says Leonard still folds paper cranes, and sometimes, when the boys are loud and joyous, she picks up one of those delicate origami birds, sets it in the sun, and thinks about how love arrives in the least expected places.

None of us are perfect, and were certainly not heroesthe best we could do was offer a little companionship. Yet, as years roll forward and old regrets soften, Ive learned to honor the memories for what they were: fleeting, bright, sometimes bittersweet, sometimes glorious.

Its odd how people come into your life, leave you a letter, a flower, a storyand then vanish. You carry the map they drew for you, navigate by it in ways you never planned. And maybe, in another lifetime, I might have loved William differently. But even now, I hope he found peace under his mothers care, in the gentle quiet of the village, his heart finally allowed to rest.

We only ever pass through each others worlds for a little while, but sometimes, if youre lucky, the visit lingers like the last rays of summersoft, golden, unforgettable.