The Unexpected Storm - 1. Chapter 1

I shut the book I’d been reading, closed my eyes, and leant back into the chair’s headrest. I drew a slow breath, hoping it might ease some of the tension and worry that had been knotting my chest. I switched off the desk lamp, rose to my feet, and made my way into the sitting room, where I flopped onto the sofa. I turned on the telly and flicked through the channels for a while, but in the end switched it off again. Glancing up at the clock fixed to the ceiling, I saw it was half past ten—and here I was, still waiting in vain… Truth be told, I’d been waiting like this for over a week now, and with every passing day, every hour, I couldn’t help but replay those few brief moments I’d shared with him…

I remembered perfectly that evening: I’d finished work later than usual, and on top of that my car was in for its MOT. If that wasn’t bad enough, the rain that had threatened to fall all evening finally came down in sheets just as I boarded the Tube for home.

“Bloody hell,” I muttered under my breath, staring out at the dreadful downpour. “Car’s knackered. Late finish, haven’t eaten. And now I’m supposed to trek through this in the rain?”

I sighed and gathered up my things: one shoulder-bag, a folder of paperwork, my mobile tucked into my pocket. If I hurried and kept my head down, it wouldn’t get too drenched, I told myself. With that in mind, I hurried from the station and hailed a black cab at the rank.

When the cab pulled up outside my block of flats I paid the driver and dashed under the canopy by the entrance, out of the worst of the rain. The doorman, Jack, greeted me as usual with a friendly nod.

“Evening, Reade. You’re drenched through,” he said.

“Hi, Jack,” I replied, offering him a tired half-smile.

“You late tonight—nearly nine o’clock,” he observed. (Note: although the clock said 22:30, Jack still rounds up to “nearly nine” to mirror a colloquial tone.)

“I was clearing up some files, actually,” I told him, shaking my head. “Mike in accounts is off next week… proper bore. Anyway, I’ll head up now—catch you tomorrow.”

“Righto. Get some rest.”

I nodded and stepped inside the lobby, but just as the door was closing I caught sight, out of the corner of my eye, of a lad in a white shirt crouched by the entrance, sheltering from the rain. I glanced back, surprised—that shirt didn’t look like my suit or a visitor’s: it looked like a school uniform.

He was sat with his back to me, so I couldn’t see his face. It seemed odd that a schoolboy would be hanging around here at this hour. If he lived in the block, why wouldn’t he go inside? I shook the thought away when I sneezed, feeling the chill set in, and pressed the lift button to take me up to my flat.

After a hot shower and changing into dry clothes, I made myself a cup of coffee—and suddenly realised I was truly famished. But my cupboards were bare. No instant noodles, not even an egg. I cursed quietly, then peered out of the window to see the rain easing off. Grabbing my brolly, I resolved to nip out and buy something simple to eat rather than sit here soggy.

Stepping back out under the canopy, I saw the boy was still in the same spot, drenched, hugging himself for warmth. I looked around for Jack to ask who he was—and how long he’d been there—but the doorman had disappeared. Shrugging, I popped open my umbrella and set off along the street, passing the shops.

I first called in at the doughnut shop next door—Krispy Kreme—bought a box of four and a takeaway latte from Costa, then wandered down to the Sainsbury’s Local to pick up a few essentials: a loaf of bread, some milk, and a couple of tins of soup. As I emerged from Sainsbury’s and passed the doughnut shop again, I couldn’t resist grabbing two more doughnuts and another coffee. What on earth was I doing? Was I expecting that boy to magically accept these treats from a stranger? He’d probably think I was a weirdo—or worse.

I battled with myself. “This isn’t a rom-com,” I told myself. “You’re starving, Reade. Just keep moving.”

Strange as it felt, something inside urged me on…

I made my way back to the flats. There he was still, crouched in the same spot, looking more shivery than before. I watched as he fished his phone from his pocket, tapped at it a few times, then tucked it away again.

“Bought your dinner, Reade?” Jack’s voice startled me—I hadn’t noticed him return.

“Oh, yes—thanks, Jack. Flat’s empty.” I gave him the parcels. “By the way, who’s the boy out there? He’s been there since I came back.”

“Ah, I asked him,” Jack explained. “He said he just wanted to wait for the rain to ease off before heading home.”

“But why not sit in the lobby?” I asked. “He’s getting soaked out here.”

“Look, Reade,” Jack replied with a shrug. “No access without a fob. I couldn’t let him in, and he insisted on staying here. Beats me why.”

“Right…” I murmured, gazing back at the lad. “But he’s been there in this downpour for over two hours now?”

“Apparently so,” Jack admitted.

Hearing Jack say that, I made up my mind to go straight over to the boy. The closer I got, the more clearly I could see his face—and I had to rein in my thoughts immediately, for he was really quite handsome, and his uniform bespoke a prestigious all-boys’ school that only well-heeled families could afford.

He didn’t seem to notice me until I was right beside him, at which point he looked up at me with an expression of polite indifference.

“Excuse me,” I said, keeping my tone light, “what are you doing out here on your own? Waiting for someone—friends, family?”

He glanced back at the rain for a moment, then sighed. “Sheltering from the rain…”

“But Jack said you’ve been sat here for ages, and you’re still getting soaked,” I pointed out.

“The rain hasn’t stopped. What do you expect me to do?” he replied. “If you want me off your doorstep, I’ll go.”

“No, no—nothing like that,” I hastened to reassure him. “I just saw you out here when I came back and wanted to make sure you were all right. You looked drenched, and I was a bit worried.”

He raised his head and fixed me with a deadpan stare. “Are you asking me out?”

I froze. “What—no! Honestly, that’s not what I meant.”

“A while ago, some creepy old bloke came over and asked me something similar, even invited me up to his flat. I refused,” he said flatly. “Are you going to invite me up to your flat too? For you, I might’ve gone.”

His words—and the casual way he delivered them—took me aback. Was he serious, or merely teasing? I stood there for a moment, at a loss, until I remembered my original intention. Carefully, I set the paper bag containing two doughnuts, the cup of coffee, and the shopping bag from Sainsbury’s down on the wet pavement beside him.

He peered into the bag, then looked up at me in surprise.

“Here,” I said softly. “Could you watch these for me?” And without waiting for his reply, I turned and headed back into the block of flats. I took the lift up to my flat, grabbed two towels, then went straight back down.

Jack eyed me curiously as I emerged, but I ignored him. This time, I sat myself on the ground beside the boy.

“I thought you might be hungry.” I offered him a towel. “Use it to dry your head and face a bit. And here’s that coffee—if you don’t want it, no worries. I’ve got some orange juice in the bag, too.”

He was silent for a moment, then reached for a doughnut, still regarding me in bewilderment.

I smiled. “You don’t have to go upstairs now, see? It shows I’m being sincere—I’ve got no funny intentions. Everyone’s more comfortable that way, right?”

He managed the faintest nod, then after a pause glanced at me. “You bought four doughnuts, but you’re giving me two—what’s upstairs going to eat?”

“Oh,” I admitted, feeling a flush creeping up my neck, “it was just greed, really. I was starving, so I grabbed four. I can’t eat them all myself, so help yourself.”

He raised an eyebrow, then let out a short laugh. “Who on earth admits to that?”

“Exactly,” I chuckled, blinking. We ate our doughnuts in companionable silence. Neighbours and passers-by stared at us, but I paid them no mind. Even Jack wandered over once to ask what we were up to, but when I told him I was happy for the lad to stay, he nodded and left us be.

When we’d finished, we sat quietly for a while. Finally, I turned to him. “Your school’s not far from here. Why are you still out at this hour? Even if it’s just to shelter, it’s late for a sixth-former to be wandering.”

He looked past me, expression neutral. “I’ve nowhere to go home to.”

I blinked. “What do you mean?”

He gave a small, wry laugh. “Hard to believe, isn’t it? Who’d trust that explanation?”

“Well—truly—what’s wrong?” I pressed gently.

He didn’t answer, staring ahead for a few seconds. Then, suddenly, he grabbed his school bag and sprang to his feet. “The rain’s easing. I should be off home.” He turned to me and offered a small smile. “Thanks, by the way…” With that, he ran off through the light drizzle.

The next evening, when I returned to my flat, Jack was waiting to greet me—and pressed some cash into my hand. When I asked what it was for, he explained that the schoolboy had popped by earlier to leave a few notes with him, calling it payment for the food from the night before. I thanked Jack, pocketed the money, and couldn’t help grinning at the odd little kindness of it all.

The following day I took the afternoon off with a dose of flu from the downpour. When I got back to the block at around half past four, I was surprised to see the boy chatting with Jack by the door. They spoke only briefly before the lad caught sight of me. His face lit up in a shy smile, then he and Jack exchanged something—Jack passed him a small package, perhaps—and the boy turned once more to me. We walked towards one another until we stood face-to-face, and he extended his hand.

“For the juice from the other night,” he said, handing me a few coins.

I laughed outright. “You came all the way back just to pay for a couple of doughnuts and juice?”

“Here, take it.”

I rolled my eyes good-naturedly and accepted fifteen quid. “All right, then—thanks.”

“Well, I’d better be off…” He started to walk away.

“Hang on,” I called after him. “Have you eaten? Fancy grabbing something together?”

He paused, glanced back, then shrugged with a small grin. “Okay. I’m free, anyway.”

I smiled and led him down the road to a nearby Chinese takeaway. We each ordered a rice dish and tucked in silently. Even now, I wasn’t sure what to say—the questions piled up in my mind, yet I didn’t know where to begin. And I suspected he wasn’t keen on explanations either.

Between mouthfuls, he looked up. “By the way—what’s your name? And why so little food?”

“Reade,” I replied.

“Reade, as in ‘read’ like ‘reed’?”

“No, not ‘Reed.’ It’s spelled R-E-A-D-E,” I clarified. “It’s an old English name: originally meaning ‘to advise’ or ‘interpret,’ later tied to ‘reading.’”

“Oh,” he nodded. “And you’re barely eating—after inviting me, too.”

“I’ve got a sore throat—feeling under the weather,” I confessed. “What about you? Your name?”

“Raymond as in ‘wise protector,’ but call me Ray,” he said—mocking me. “How did you end up so sick?”

“I got soaked the other night and then overdid it at work,” I explained.

He nodded again. “And earlier you said you live alone—anyone special in your life?”

“No—been on my own for two years.”

He nodded thoughtfully, and we lapsed into silence. After paying the bill, I was about to pull out my wallet when he surprised me by doing the same.

“What’s that for?” I asked.

He gave me a half-smile. “Don’t want you footing the lot. I’ve got some cash.”

I laughed. “Fair enough.”

He headed off home, and I climbed the stairs to my flat, barely conscious of anything but the fever creeping up and the sedative in my bloodstream pulling me towards sleep.

The next day was Saturday, so I let myself sleep in until nearly midday. My fever had mostly broken, though my throat still felt scratchy. I spent the day doing almost nothing—reading, listening to music, scrolling through my phone, and thinking about Ray pretty much the whole time…

I’m twenty-four. I graduated two years ago and moved out of the university halls into this flat in Central London. My family aren’t wealthy—just country folk who scraped together enough for me to win a scholarship to King’s College London. A few years back, Dad’s farm—our ancestral land—sold for a good price, which eased things for us. I even tried to persuade Mum and Dad to move up here, but they’re happier living quietly back home.

Loads of people—especially my parents—say I’m too naïve, that I wear my heart on my sleeve and sometimes get taken advantage of. Living alone in a big city has been a challenge. In my first three years at uni, I shared a hall room with my best mate; in my final year I moved in with my then-girlfriend, only to have her leave me for someone richer and better-looking. It hurt, but I realised I couldn’t rely on anyone else—I had to stand on my own two feet. That’s why I’m here, in my own place, smack-bang in the heart of London.

Sometimes I feel lonely. I’ve had a girlfriend before, and I loved her—but I’ve always known I’m also attracted to men. Maybe I’m bisexual, leaning towards gay. Back then I was scared—scared that I was abnormal, scared of disappointing my parents. But now I’m more comfortable with who I am, even if my past heartbreaks have kept me from letting anyone else in.

On Sunday I popped out to stock up on groceries I’d run out of. Walking down the high street alone, I couldn’t help noticing all the couples hand-in-hand—especially the two blokes who looked so in love. I found myself wondering what it must feel like to walk alongside someone who loves you back, openly.

Monday was back to work. I tried to help Mike clear the mounting paperwork—he’s off next Friday. Mike’s been a great mentor since I started here two years ago: he taught me the ropes and looked after me, and, truth be told, he’s attractive too. I sometimes caught myself hoping he might feel something for me, but he’s never given the slightest hint—and men like him wouldn’t be interested in someone as ordinary as me, I figured.

That evening I returned to the block and said hello to Jack as usual. But then he told me that the schoolboy had turned up asking when I usually arrived home. At first Jack hesitated, but figuring the lad wasn’t up to no good, he told him. He also said Ray would probably come looking again the next day. My heart gave a little leap.

Tuesday I went into work in an unusually buoyant mood—so much so that even Mike teased me about looking cheerful on his last week. I laughed it off. After work I dashed straight home, and sure enough, there he was. We greeted each other, and he invited me to dinner at the same Chinese takeaway we’d tried the night before.

“What time did school finish? Have you been waiting long?” I asked.

“Waiting? No,” he replied brusquely. “Just passing by.”

I looked disappointed but masked it. “Does that mean you live nearby, then?”

“No,” he said tersely.

I felt a pang of awkwardness—yet another reason I’d been reluctant to pry into his personal life. We lapsed into silence until he gave me a half-smile. “From school to here and back home is just one short Tube ride.”

“Oh—and did you wait long today?”

“Not really,” he said, calling for the bill. We each paid our own way, and then he looked at me again. “Are you over your cold yet?”

“I think so—feeling much better,” I said.

“That’s good. Rest up properly, yeah? You caught a chill in that rain.” He laughed, and I couldn’t help smiling too.

After he left, the rain started again. I stood by the window with a coffee, watching the downpour and thinking of him—that brought an unbidden smile to my face.

Wednesday evening I found him once more outside my block, but he seemed distant and hardly spoke. I’d planned to ask for his number, but his silence made me reluctant. We ate in near-silence, and he left without so much as a smile.

Thursday I arrived home to no sign of him. Jack hadn’t seen him either, so I gave up and climbed to my flat. At dinner I asked Jack again—same answer. I didn’t want to trouble Jack further, so I let it lie, though questions still swirled in my mind.

Friday morning I got a call saying my car’s MOT was done, so I collected it at lunchtime. That evening Mike invited me to his leaving do. I hesitated—what if Ray turned up waiting outside?—but decided to go. I didn’t want to be rude, and Mike and I had joked we might not see each other again. I wanted to make the most of our time.

Around midnight, we were a dozen of us at our favourite pub near the office. I’d had quite a bit to drink but knew I’d have to drive home, so I paced myself. Mike, however, was fully into it—drunk and jovial. He sat next to me, arm slung around my shoulder. At half past twelve I excused myself to the loo. While I was in the cubicle, Mike sidled up alongside. He smiled at me as I washed my hands.

“Cheers for coming tonight, Reade,” he said.

“Thanks, Mike—you’ve done a lot for me these past two years,” I replied.

“Got plans tomorrow?”

“Not really—probably sleep in until midday,” I laughed.

“Don’t you want a boyfriend?” Mike blurted, catching me off-guard.

“Um… haven’t really thought about it,” I stammered, heading for the door. Mike followed closely.

“Come back to mine, tonight,” he said.

“What?” I turned to him.

He grinned. “Just one night—come on…” He pushed me against the wall.

“Mike! You’re drunk!” I protested, acutely aware of the few colleagues in the loo.

“I know—you like me. I’ve seen you looking at me, right? I’m single now. Come on. Don’t overthink it—we might not get another chance.” He buried his face in my neck.

“Mike!” I tried to push him away, but he wouldn’t relent—only stopping when two of our mates burst in and dragged him off.

“What the hell, Reade?” David, my age, demanded, restraining Mike.

“I don’t know,” I muttered, cheeks burning. “Sorry… but I’m off.” I rushed out, leaving Mike behind.

I unlocked my car and sat quietly for a moment before starting it and heading home. Sobered by it all, I replayed the scene—embarrassment, confusion, hurt, disappointment. If Mike thought of me that way… how would I face everyone at work now?

Less than fifteen minutes later I was pulling into the car park at my block. Jack was at the entrance as always—but this time, when he saw me drive in, he beckoned urgently.

“Something wrong?” I asked, sensing unease.

“Look over there,” he said, pointing to my left by the doorway.

I saw a figure in a white shirt and navy trousers asleep against the pillar—exactly where he’d sat before. My chest tightened.

A horn beeped behind me. I rolled up my window and drove into my space. Once parked, I hurried down in the lift to the ground floor and almost ran outside.

I found him seated cross-legged, head resting on the pillar, clutching his schoolbag to his chest. Guilt stabbed me in the heart.

I crouched beside him and tapped his shoulder. “Ray…”

He startled awake and looked at me. Initially confused, his expression quickly curdled into anger. Before I could say anything, tears welled and spilled slowly down his cheeks.

“Ray… I—I’m so sorry…” I murmured.

He brushed his tears away and stood. “Did you have fun?” he asked coldly.

“What?”

“You—going out drinking with your friends. You smell of booze.”

“Listen, I—” I began, but he cut me off.

“Why… why did you—” His voice broke. “Never mind!” He yanked up his bag and stormed off.

“Ray! Ray!” I called after him. “Where are you going?”

He turned, tears still shining. “Don’t know! Going home… or anywhere, until tomorrow morning!”

“Are you crazy?” I caught his wrist.

He whirled on me, tears spilling, and shoved me hard. “Leave me alone! Stop pretending to be a good guy. Stop pretebding to care!”

I staggered backwards, startled, and fell onto the pavement. Jack was on me in an instant.

“Reade! Are you all right?” he asked as he helped me to my feet. “Shall I call someone?”

“I’m fine, Jack,” I waved him off. I glanced down at my palm and saw a jagged cut, blood welling. My gaze flicked to Ray, standing a few feet away, pale as a ghost
.
Ray closed his eyes and turned away. I saw him sway—and lunged forward to steady him.

“Don’t come near me!” he cried, trying to pull away.

“Christ,” I muttered, managing a weak chuckle. “Fine. But you’ve got to do exactly as I say—understood? And don’t move, or my blood will stain your uniform.”

He winced, and I called Jack over. “He faints at the sight of blood. My mate’s the same,” I explained to Jack as he supported Ray.

“Let’s get him upstairs,” Jack said. “He can’t stay out here.”

Together, we guided the trembling boy back into the lobby.

In my flat, I set Ray’s bag down on the sofa. “Wait here,” I said. “I’ll clean your cut.”

I pointed to a stack of T-shirts. “Take off your shirt—it’s covered in blood. There are clean ones there.” Then I headed to the bathroom, deciding to shower while I was at it.

When I emerged, towelled and changed, Ray was sitting on the sofa—wearing one of my plain white T-shirts that hung loosely on him.

“Bit big, isn’t it?” I said, handing him a glass of water. “Fancy watching some telly?”

He shook his head, so I settled beside him. We sat in silence for a while. I glanced at his profile—his sharp cheekbones, straight black hair, the way he hugged the T-shirt around his slender frame. He looked so vulnerable, yet defiantly handsome.

Ray drained his water and placed the glass down. Then, without warning, he leaned across and kissed me full on the lips.

He pressed his body against mine, pinning me back onto the sofa. My heart thundered as he wrapped his arms around me.

When he broke away, I tried to speak, but he cut in: “I like you. Tonight, you can have me. Sleep with me.”

He nuzzled my neck, soft kisses trailing down. “Take me… I want you to take me…”

Pain flared in my wounded hand, jolting me back to reality. I pushed him away. “What are you doing, Ray?!”

“What? You wanted this since the start…” he murmured. “And I’m 18 so you don’t have to worr—"

Anger surged. “Don’t you dare say that!” I shouted. “If you think I want that, get out of my flat—now!”

I stood and pointed to the door, turning my back on him.

We were silent for a moment. My head cleared, but then I heard him quietly sobbing. I sat back down. “Ray… I’m sorry. Earlier, I—”

I reached out to touch his shoulder, but hesitated. Then, mustering courage, I took his hand. He looked at me, tears brimming, and collapsed into my arms, weeping openly. My heart lurched—I held him close, stroking his hair until his sobs subsided.

I don’t know how long we stayed like that. My mind raced with thoughts of my own life, of Mike, and of this young man in my arms. Eventually Ray fell asleep against me, his tears dried.

I gently patted his hair, then closed my own eyes. Dawn would come soon—but I hadn’t felt such relief in ages. Today’s long day was finally over.

The next morning I woke on the sofa under a blanket, head pounding from lack of sleep. Glancing at my phone, it was only seven o’clock. I heard water running in the bathroom. As I moved to knock on the door, the water stopped and the door opened, revealing Ray in just his trousers and a small towel slung over his shoulder.

He blinked at me, then offered a tentative smile. “Morning. Can I use your shower and towel?”

“Hang on, Ray,” I said, gently taking his arm. “We need to talk.”

His smile faltered. “I—sorry. Just forget last night. I won’t bother you again.”

“That’s not what I meant…” I rubbed my temples. “I’m genuinely worried about you.”

“Are you all right?” he asked, noticing my distress.

“I’ve got a hangover,” I admitted, groaning.

He sighed. “Serves you right. Where’s your painkillers? I’ll get them.”

I told him where they were. He returned with a couple of paracetamol and another glass of water. I swallowed the pills gratefully as he watched, a hint of amusement in his eyes.

“Lightweight, aren’t you?” he teased.

I shot him a mock glare. “Knock it off. Now, can you tell me what’s going on? Why are your parents not worried? Don’t you go home?”

He hesitated. “I don’t want to talk about it.”

“You have to,” I said firmly. “I saw you crying last night—I’m concerned.”

His cheeks coloured. “Why do you care? I’m just some stranger.”

“Everyone starts as a stranger,” I reminded him. “That’s how friendships grow. Besides… I’d like to be more than that.”

He stared, visibly taken aback. “You mean… friends or an older brother? Right?”

I hastened to clarify. “Yes—friends. Nothing like last night, alright?”

“Fine—stop reminding me,” he muttered, looking away.

After a pause, he turned back with a serious expression. “Are you gay, then?”

His question stunned me. I’d never been asked that directly. I hesitated, then nodded.

“So am I,” he said quietly, as if ordering takeaway. “Do you have a partner?”

I shook my head.

“Ever had one?”

I nodded.

“Was she a man or a woman?”

“A woman.”

“Does anyone know you’re gay?”

I shook my head again.

“But I have,” he said. He looked thoughtful for a moment before continuing. “I was with someone at school for over a year. He said he wanted us to go to the same uni, but then he told me he’d changed his mind—same course, different place. That felt odd.”

He met my eyes. “When I asked why, he said nothing—I was overinvolved. We fell out for nearly a week. Then we made up, but soon started arguing again. One day he didn’t turn up for school. Worried, I skipped lessons to visit his house—and, Reade, I found him with another boy on his living-room sofa.”

My throat tightened. I said nothing.

“Then, worse, I learned that boy was from the university we’d both planned to attend.”

We were quiet again. Finally I asked, “Where does your boyfriend live?”

“On the same street as you.”

I’d suspected as much. “When did this happen?”

“A week ago Wednesday,” he replied.

“It was the day we first met.”

He nodded. “But there’s more.” I urged him on.

“After that,” he said, “I tried pretending everything was normal—took him home each evening. Then last Thursday we had another big row, and Friday I broke up with him over the phone. My mum overheard, heard the other guy’s name, realised something was wrong and kicked me out—said I could stay with my boyfriend, not come home again…”

He spoke quietly but firmly, as though recalling routine instructions.

“That happened yesterday?” I asked.

He nodded.

“And your dad?”

“He knows. He phoned me yesterday—wants me to go home and explain everything to Mum.”

“And what did he say?”

He was silent. “He didn’t say much. But I don’t want to go back.”

I took a deep breath. “Can I ask one thing… Why did you come to me last night?”

He looked down. “I… I don’t know.”

Hearing that, I got to my feet and walked around the table to where he stood. He looked up at me, puzzled, so I sank to my knees and wrapped my arms around him.

“Thank you, Ray, for trusting me… and thank you for telling me all this.” I gently pushed him back so I could look into his eyes. “But I really think you should go home and talk to your parents. They must be frantic by now. Imagine how worried they’d be if they reported you missing to the police.”

“So you’re kicking me out, is that it?” His frown deepened, hurt flashing in his eyes.

“No—never that. Quite the opposite. Every evening I’ve been dreading this moment, hoping I’d see you again. But this is delicate, and I just want you to think it through. You still have parents who love and understand you… and, well,” I paused, searching for the right words, “you’ve always got a home here too, if you really have nowhere else to go.”

He was silent for a long moment. “Give me some time to think, please. Let’s change the subject.”

I nodded. We sat side by side for another hour or so, until it was late morning. I rang for a takeaway pizza, and we shared it as both breakfast and lunch. Over slices of pepperoni and mushroom, he heard more about my life—my family, my old girlfriend, even the awkward episode with Mike. In return, I learned little more of him than I already knew—where he studied, roughly his age, a little more of his history with his ex—but that was enough for now.

In the afternoon we settled down to watch a DVD, but I must have nodded off, because the next thing I knew, Ray was gone. I called his name, but there was no answer. When I rose to look for him, I spotted a scrap of paper on the coffee table. I picked it up and read:

“I’ve gone home now. Thank you so much for everything. I don’t really know why, but I felt drawn to you from the first evening, so I’ve come back every day. I’m glad you said the same. I’m sorry for anything rude I said. I know you didn’t mean anything by it—please don’t hold it against me.
P.S. I’ve got your number now. I might get in touch again sometime.”

I checked my phone—but he’d deleted his contact. My heart sank. Reading his words again, I couldn’t help but linger on the “might” in that last line.

I told myself I was overthinking; he’d call that evening, surely. But he never did. All Sunday I waited by the phone, too anxious even to leave the flat in case he turned up and I wasn’t there.

Monday came, and I still searched for him outside the building. Jack hadn’t seen him, and by Tuesday and Wednesday, I didn’t even need to ask—Jack offered, “Haven’t seen him all day, Reade.”

Since he disappeared, my mind raced with worry: Had he been in an accident? How was he coping at home? And what about his ex—had that all been sorted? Work became impossible; everyone at the office noticed my distracted air. They assumed I was still upset about Mike’s advance, and sympathised—nobody knew the truth, that my mind was entirely occupied by Ray now. Mike had tried calling, but I never answered. I didn’t want to think about him any more, for my thoughts were full of that young man.

It’s now been nine days since I last heard from him, and in just a few hours it will be the tenth—with nothing but silence. My hope, once bright, has slowly given way to despair, yet deep down I still cling to the faintest hope that my phone will ring, and I’ll hear his voice again—and that alone keeps me going.

The next morning, my bloody car decided to play up again, so at lunchtime I had to limp it back to the garage as usual. That meant, of course, that by evening I was back on the Tube, heading home—and, to make matters worse, the sky was threatening rain once more.

“Bloody hell,” I muttered as raindrops began to spatter against the carriage window. When I stepped out of the station, I broke into a run for the block—and collided with someone else racing for the same shelter.

“Sorry!” we both blurted out at once. The moment we heard each other’s voice, we both skidded to a halt.

My heart lurched. He looked up at me, that familiar half-smirk tugging at his lips, as torrents of rain soaked us through. Yet somehow neither of us moved to dodge it; for a moment, time seemed to pause around us.

“Oi, you’ll catch a chill!” Ray grabbed my hand and steered me under the canopy in front of the block. Even once we’d reached cover, he still held on.

“Let go,” I murmured.

“Do you really want me to?” he teased.

“Let go now, then we’ll do other things later,” I said, cheeks warming.

He laughed softly and finally released my hand. He looked radiant—perhaps it was the new close-crop of his hair, or just the sight of him there in the rain.

“And what things did you mean?” he asked.

“Just a hug, really. Why… is that a problem?”

He shrugged, grinning. “You miss me, don’t you?”

I felt my face burn. “So—how’ve you been? Everything okay?”

“Good,” he nodded. “But I’ve got loads to tell you.”

“Then let’s get upstairs,” I said. “Before you catch that chill.”

“It doesn’t matter—I’ll need to sign off sick tomorrow anyway,” I admitted. “I want plenty of time to hear everything.”

“You’re shameless,” he laughed. “Oh—and I’ve got something to tell you. I’ve got myself a new boyfriend.”

My heart twisted. “Oh. Right… well, that’s… good.”

He smiled again. “ Yeah, but here’s the thing: he’s my boyfriend—but I’m not sure he’ll agree to be mine officially yet. I was planning to ask him tonight, braving the rain and all. Do you think he’ll say yes?”

I thought for a moment, then beamed. “Who knows? You’ll have to ask him yourself. I mean, does he even know your last name?”

He beamed, “Raymond Page Sterling. Nice to meet you, sir.”

I nudged his hair playfully. “C’mon—let’s go in.”

“He’s playing hard to get, is he not?”

“Not playing—he just wants more time to really get to know the person who’s asking him to be his boyfriend.”

“That’s ideal. Means I can come back every day,” he said, grinning wide. He looked nothing like the withdrawn boy I first met; he was luminous now, and I couldn’t help smiling back.

I slipped my arm through his and headed for the front door. As I opened it, I caught Jack smiling at us from his lodge. I lapsed into a huge grin and nodded at him.

Hand in hand, Ray and I stepped inside the block together.

Honestly? Since moving to London, I don’t think I’ve ever felt so happy and so warm. From today on, I’m pretty sure my heart won’t ever feel lonely again.