Have You Ever

  London in spring has a way of pretending it’s summer—sunlight skipping across the water, pub gardens overflowing with laughter, and the faint scent of cherry blossoms weaving through the city like a secret. Maya had just exited a particularly long-winded museum exhibit on Victorian plumbing—don’t ask, it was her brother’s idea—when she decided to reclaim the day with a walk along the Thames. She sipped her oat latte and browsed the street art by South Bank, when a man stumbled backward into her path, nearly knocking the cup clean from her hand. “Blimey! I’m so sorry,” he gasped, turning to face her with flushed cheeks and apologetic eyes. “It’s alright,” she said, steadying herself. “Caffeine casualties are the worst kind.” He chuckled, brushing off invisible dust from his coat. “I’m Theo. And I promise, in most daily encounters, I’m less of a disaster.” Maya wasn’t entirely sure why she kept talking to him—but there was something about the slight crinkle near his eyes and ...

  Last summer, I found myself wrapped up in something that felt exciting—something that felt right. I had been crushing on him for a while, and when we finally started seeing each other, it was like stepping into a daydream. There was a little voice in the back of my mind, though—nagging, questioning. I knew he had been with someone else before me, and even though he reassured me that they had ended things, something inside me hesitated. Still, I silenced that doubt. I wanted to believe him. Summer passed in a blur of moments with him, fleeting but full of energy. Then he moved to Johannesburg for work. We hadn’t put a label on anything, but I thought we still had something—something unspoken but understood. I believed that whatever we had wasn’t completely over. Until one day, at work, I casually opened Instagram—and there it was. A picture of him and her. Not just together but  living together . In Sandton. In an instant, everything unraveled. The doubt I had pushed aside...

  In the idyllic town nestled near a serene lagoon, where weekends were synonymous with freedom and laughter, my heart found its anchor. He was seven years my senior, a striking figure of unwavering courage as a Navy diver, and the embodiment of grace as he glided across the waters on skis. From the first moment I saw him, he was the boy who captured my heart through all my school years. Our families’ weekend retreats were held in quaint holiday house owned by his parents, a tradition that became the backdrop to some of my most cherished memories. He was tall, his presence commanding, with a personality that sparkled as brightly as the summer sun reflecting off the water. To him, I was the younger sister, a title that became both a comfort and a source of longing. Weekends were spent on the water, where he patiently taught me to waterski, his laughter mingling with the sound of the waves. His encouraging words and the warmth of his smile made those lessons more than just a pastime—...