Page 1 of Only When We Fall
Chapter One
Emmie
I promised myself I wouldn’t cry. Not on the train. Not in front of Gran. And definitely not overhim. But promises are weird like that, easy to make when your heart’s feeling brave.
The train sways gently as fields roll past in a blur of green and gold, the kind of late-summer light that makes everything look like it belongs in a postcard. I don’t look out the window, even though I’ll miss these views. I’ve said enough goodbyes today.
Instead, I pick up my phone. Not to check messages, God, no. I cleared most of them weeks ago. But scrolling endlessly through social media, even though I’m paying no attention to it, stops my mind from wandering to Kai Banks.
It’s stupid how easily I remember his voice. How soft he could be, how real. Not the smirking, too-cool guy from college. Just a boy. Honest. Kind. And almost mine.
Until I discovered it was all a lie.
First love. First heartbreak. That’s how Mum described it to Gran, when she called to ask if I could spend the summer with her. And, of course, Gran jumped at the chance for company.
I can’t complain. It was the break I needed. A reset and a chance to refocus on the things that really matter to me. Like university.
A new message pops up. It’s from Ava, my best friend, wanting to know if I’ve made it out of the countryside alive. I send her a quick reply.
Me: Almost there x
Then I tuck my phone away.
The city skyline is getting closer. My new beginning. New campus, new room, new people. No one here will know the version of me that got walked all over in college. No one will know I spent the summer hiding out, trying to convince myself that heartbreak doesn’t hurt forthislong.
And maybe that’s the best part. I can start a fresh. Clean slate. No expectations.
I don’t know who I’ll be yet. But I know who I’m not.
I’m not the girl waiting for Kai Banks.
The taxi drops me at the edge of campus, right in front of a red brick building with ivy creeping up its side like something from a movie set. I haul my suitcase out of the boot and try not to look like someone who’s about to throw up from nerves.
There are people everywhere. Laughing, hugging, wheeling their lives in pastel suitcases across the pavement. A girl walks past holding a houseplant like it’s a baby. Someone’s blasting Beyoncé from a Bluetooth speaker. It’s chaos. Loud, messy, alive.
And completely terrifying.
I square my shoulders and remind myself:You’re Emmie Carter. You’ve survived college, heartbreak, and three solid months of Gran’s herbal teas. You’ve got this.
My flat’s on the third floor. The stairs are brutal, and I’m already sweaty by the time I reach the top. The door is ajar, music playing softly inside. I knock anyway.
“Come in!” a voice sings.
I push the door open and step inside. The corridor feels clinical, with doors leading off to separate bedrooms, and as I walk along, I spot my first flatmate. She’s perched on the edge of her bed, surrounded by scatter cushions and fairy lights that are somehow already up. I’m instantly drawn to her style; it’s similar to the one I’ve reinvented for myself. Gone are the baggy hoodies and clothes that hide me. Instead, I rock wide-legged jeans and a cute black cropped top with a gingham overshirt.
She smiles wide, pushing off the bed and holding out her hand. “You’re Emmie, right? I’m Zara. She/her, likes Gin, hates mushrooms, and has questionable taste in men. You?”
I return the smile and shake her hand. “Emmie. She/her, likes anything with Vodka, emotionally scarred from secondary school, and possibly college. But I’m working on sorting my life out.”
Zara grins. “Good enough for me.”
It’s strange how easy it is to smile with someone who doesn’t know what your heart’s been through. Like I get to leave that version of myself behind, fold her up, tuck her in a drawer, and start again.
“Your room is next door. Our two other flat mates aren’t arriving until tomorrow.”
She points me towards the next room, and I head inside. It’s spacious with a small en-suite. I instantly fall in love. Knowing this will be home for the next year gives me a sense of comfort.
I start unpacking while Zara tells me about the party happening tonight in Block C. I’m halfway through hanging up clothes when I reach the hoodie. It’s just a hoodie. Black, worn soft at the sleeves, too big for me. But it still smells faintly like mint and something warm and boyish. I should’ve left it at home.Or burned it.
