There was just one problem.
For half the evening, Maddie talked about her ex-boyfriend, the one who’d broken up with her after three years, seemingly out of nowhere, to go study piano in Paris.
She was clearly heartbroken, but what really threw me was how she still talked about him, as if he were the most wonderful person in the world.
She spoke about him like he’d truly meant something to her. Like losing him had left behind a space that nothing else could quite fill.
It was obvious she hadn’t moved on.
I’ll admit it: I was jealous. But I kept it to myself. I bit my tongue more than once just to stop myself from saying what I really thought about the guy.
The last thing I wanted was to come off as bitter or petty. I wanted Maddie to feel comfortable around me, to trust me. And going off on a rant about her ex wasn’t going to help.
So I listened. I nodded at the right moments, asked a few polite questions, made the occasional sympathetic noise, and tried not to roll my eyes too obviously.
It was the smart move. But it wasn’t easy.
Because the more I got to know her, the harder it was to understand how someone like Maddie, so confident, so bright, so full of life, could still be hung up on a guy who’d left her without even looking back.
And more than that, I couldn’t, for the life of me, work out how some pianist, no matter how brilliant, could ever let someone like her slip through his fingers.
Spending time with her only made things worse, in the best possible way.
The more I was around Maddie, the more I realized just how special she was. Not just beautiful and bright, but sharp, funny, endlessly curious, with a calm, grounded presence that drew you in without even trying.
I lived for those evenings on the sofa, just the two of us, sipping lukewarm Guinness, smoking half-stale cigarettes, and talking about everything and nothing. Even when her housemates were there, it always felt like we had our own little bubble, sealed off from the rest of the world.
Two or three times a week, Fran and I would head over to the flat she shared with Anne and Noah in Chelsea. Compared to our mouldy little basement, it felt like stepping into another universe: high ceilings, gleaming floors, and actual sunlight pouring through proper windows. We’d stay for hours, reluctant to leave, soaking up the warmth and light, both from the space… and from her.
Eventually, Francis would disappear into Anne’s room, Noah would head off with his boyfriend Jamie, and Maddie and I would be left alone. Always the two of us, always on that same sofa. No pressure, no grand declarations, just this quiet, unspoken tension growing between us, week after week.
For a long time, we stayed friends. Maddie wasn’t ready for more, and maybe I wasn’t either. Not then.
But one evening, something shifted. The flat was still, the others gone, and it was just the two of us again… but the air had changed. There was a spark in it, a quiet charge that set my nerves alight.
Then, without a word, Maddie reached out and gently tilted my chin with her fingers.
Her eyes met mine, bold and vulnerable all at once, and before I had time to think, she kissed me.
I’d wanted that kiss for so long, but I hadn’t seen it coming.
I knew I had to be gentle; this was a huge step for her. I also knew that since Sebastian, that was his name, there hadn’t been anyone else.
But in that moment, all I felt was joy. Maddie was finally ready to move on, and she’d chosen me.
I was over the moon.
During all those long months of friendship, I hadn’t been with anyone else either.
I was too wrapped up in her, too focused on not ruining whatever was quietly taking shape between us.
I didn’t want to risk it by being careless.
That kiss meant she was ready to open her heart again.
And I wanted nothing more than to be worthy of that trust.
The months that followed were everything I’d hoped for.
