Emma
We went to the café for lunch before going to the station. We were just trying to delay the inevitable. The café smelled of sugar and cinnamon rolls just pulled from the oven. The little bell over the door chimed softly as we stepped inside.
Tommy ordered for us; two sandwiches, one apple tart to share, and tea. The woman behind the counter smiled knowingly, as though she saw straight through the pretense.
We found a small table by the window. Outside, the street was shining in the afternoon sunlight, the sky full of seagulls.
Tommy stirred his tea, the spoon clinking softly against the cup. "You'll be alright getting back home after?"
I smiled faintly. "You sound like my dad."
He grinned that lopsided grin, with a tender look in his eyes.
We talked about ordinary things — the twins' new obsession with roller skates, Teddy's plans to fix up an old bike, Zoey's new favourite toy. But beneath it all, every word had weight, every silence stretched too long.
At one point, I looked up and caught him watching me. He didn't look away.
"What?" I asked softly.
"Nothing," he said, shaking his head a little. "Just… trying to remember everything about you. So I can play it back when I'm not here."
My throat tightened. "That's silly."
He smiled gently. "Maybe. But I'm still doing it."
We shared the tart at the end, eating it from one plate with two forks. It tasted of apples and caramel, sweet and tart all at once, like everything between us.
When we finally left the café, we were moving even slower than before. He took my hand, and we walked in silence toward the station, the sound of our footsteps and distant gulls filling the quiet.
The closer we got, the tighter his hand felt around mine. Neither of us wanted to be the one to let go first.
The station smelled faintly of oil and steel, the distant hiss of brakes mingling with the murmur of waiting passengers. People moved around us in currents; strangers with their own destinations, their own goodbyes, but all I could see was him.
Tommy's arms came around me, strong and certain, as though he could hold back time itself. My cheek pressed against his chest; I steadied myself with the rhythm of his heart, memorising it. Every second was a countdown I wanted to stop.
"I hate this," I whispered, my voice catching. "I hate watching you leave."
His hand slid into my hair, fingers gentle but sure, and he tipped my face up until I was staring into his eyes; those deep, honest eyes that always seemed to see straight into the deepest parts of me.
"I hate it too," he said quietly. "More than anything."
Our lips met again, desperate, clinging, as though a kiss could anchor him here. The crowd blurred; I didn't care who saw.
"You'll write to me," he murmured, though it wasn't a question.
"Of course. Always." My voice was steadier now, though my chest ached.
"I've been saving…" I told him, hesitating.
His brows knit. "Saving?"
"From my wages," I explained, "I'll have enough in about five weeks. Enough for a ticket."
He blinked. "Ticket?"
"I'm coming to visit you. I was already thinking of it before you came here." I explained.
For the first time since stepping onto the platform, his mouth lifted into a real smile, his eyes lit up.
"Or…" He hesitated, his fingers tracing the edge of my cheek. "We could meet somewhere in the middle. Just us. A little town, a quiet place. I'll book a room. No interruptions. No one telling us when to go home."
The thought hit me like a rush of warmth and air all at once. Just us; no waiting, no stolen moments under curfews and watchful eyes. My lips parted, trembling. I nodded.
"Yes," I breathed. "Yes, that's what I want too."
He kissed me again, softer this time, slower, like he was writing the promise into me. My fingers curled into the back of his shirt, desperate not to let go.
Then the tannoy crackled. The announcement came, tinny and cruel, pulling him away from me.
My stomach twisted. I wanted to beg him to miss the train, to stay one more day, but I couldn't. He had to go.
We clung tighter, both of us knowing it was seconds now. His lips pressed to my hairline. "I'll see you in a few weeks," he whispered.
My tears slipped free, unchecked. "Yes," I whispered back.
When he finally pulled away, it felt like something was tearing from inside me. His hand lingered on mine until the very last second, our fingers slipping apart as he stepped onto the train.
I stood there long after it pulled away, the promise of that quiet town; of seeing him again, the only thing holding me together.
Tommy
The train lurched forward with a low groan, wheels grinding against the tracks. I dropped heavily into the seat by the window, my bag forgotten at my feet. My palm still tingled from her touch, as if her fingers had branded something permanent there.
Emma stood on the platform, small and still amid the swirl of strangers. She looked fragile, but she didn't move — not until the train had carried me far enough that she blurred into the distance.
I pressed my forehead against the glass, my heart hammering. Already, I missed her so fiercely it hurt to breathe.
Her voice lingered in my head — A few weeks. Simple words, but they were everything. A lifeline. A promise.
I thought about the North Star necklace glinting at her throat, the way she touched it when she was nervous. The promise ring on her finger — the one I'd been terrified to give her, afraid it wouldn't be enough to hold what I felt. Seeing it there every day since had been proof. Proof she was mine, and I was hers.
I shut my eyes. For nearly a year, I'd lived on her letters; every scrap of paper, every looping line like a secret language only we shared. But the letters hadn't prepared me for this; the sound of her voice fading, the echo of her goodbye still caught in my chest.
Still, the next time I would see her was only weeks away. I could survive weeks for another day like yesterday. Another night with her in my arms, her head tucked beneath my chin, breathing in rhythm with me.
I opened my eyes to the blur of countryside rushing past, soft greens and greys melting together. For the first time in months, the future didn't feel uncertain.
I could almost see it; Emma stepping off a train at some quiet station halfway between us, her eyes bright, her smile like sunlight breaking through rain. A small B&B, a door that closed against the world. Just us.
I let out a long breath and smiled faintly to myself.
Emma was everything.
My North Star.
My compass.
My home.
No distance, no train, no stretch of weeks could change that now.