Hey love, Ive got a little story for you think of it as a chat over a cuppa.
It all started on a flight from London to Edinburgh, two seats sidebyside, a single destination and a chance encounter that could have turned into a simple fling. He was Ethan Turner, a brilliant wildlife photographer whose life was a carousel of expeditions and gallery openings. She was Ellie Clarke, an architect who builds not just buildings but her whole career with meticulous precision.
Both were independent, confident, and each carried the baggage of a recent divorce that taught them to value their own space.
The idea popped up like a flash in a dark room: why not keep this thing light, with no strings or daily chores attached?
No one thought it would last long, especially Ethans mates at the studio. They even kept an informal bet going: how long would the new uncatchable Ethan stay around? Most of the time it counted in months.
Women were often drawn to Ethan good looks, a creative gig, never dull or stingy. But his colleagues also knew his other side. He lived on the whims of inspiration, was a nightmare at home, unpredictable in his moods, and loved a tipple. Yet whenever he announced hed found someone, everyone sighed with relief. A lovestruck Ethan worked like a man possessed; his photos brimmed with passion and life.
Then he met Ellie, his true muse. A woman who asked for nothing more than the joy of being together. Lets try it without the dreaded domestic drama, without the where have you been? and why didnt you call? Ethan suggested. Lifes hard enough as it is.
Ellie smiled and agreed. She was sure it would be a shortterm affair, and after a tough divorce she didnt want to settle down forever. Their needs matched perfectly.
Ethan could spend a week living in her cosy, perfectly arranged flat, then vanish for months back to his cluttered studio piled with gear and film negatives. They flew together to Bath, then didnt see each other for weeks. Theyd spend three days in a country house and part ways for three weeks.
A year later, Ellie became the goto person at their creative gatherings.
Dreams do come true, she would say to her friends, nursing a martini. As a kid I was obsessed with books about Arctic explorers strong, independent, always on the move. Ethans like a modernday explorer. He disappears on expeditions behind the lens and returns with flowers and that sparkle in his eyes.
Ethan was on cloud nine.
Ellie is a breath of fresh air, hed tell a mate over a glass of whisky. My life is chaos. Sometimes I crawl home and cant even form a sentence. Other times I just need someone to listen and treat me like a kid. Most of the time I just need a week alone. She gets it. If we lived together wed drive each other nuts in a year. But as it is I always show up with flowers and a grin, like its a first date.
He allowed himself the occasional side fling, but always came back to Ellie. It felt like a karmic bond, something sturdier than a boring marriage. From the outside, Ellie always looked perfectly content.
Five years slipped by. Then the gallery Ethan worked closely with suddenly shut its doors, the magazine he contributed to hit a slump, and his old creative collective began to unravel. Everyone went off hunting for new paths.
A couple of years later, Ellie ran into Grace in a café a mutual acquaintance from those days. They chatted, reminisced, and of course the conversation drifted to Ethan.
Ellie gave a wry smile, staring into her cappuccino:
Yeah, were still on the same old seesaw. He pops up, disappears, and reappears. Honestly, Im getting tired of it. The moment we hint that its time to settle down, he looks at me like a trapped animal and asks, Are we not happy? He even gets jealous of his own shadow, scared Ill slip away.
What about you? Grace asked.
Im ready to live together, maybe even have a kid. But it feels like Im doing it alone, so Im not starting anything serious with anyone else.
So you still love him? Grace pressed gently.
Probably. Or maybe its just habit, Ellie sighed. Or a stubborn hope that one day, just a little bit more, hell wake up, change, become the man I imagined. My own.
Grace shrugged. Ive never bought into the whole free relationship thing. But a free spirit is a free spirit, as they say. Lifes short and you cant get those years back.
A few months later Ellie finally mustered the courage to see a therapist. She talked about her fear of being alone, burntout relationships, and unfulfilled hopes. After one session she went home, brewed some tea, and perched at the kitchen window. Her eyes landed on an old photo frame a gift from Ethan.
It held a picture of them, laughing, arms around each other against a sunset. She lifted the frame to dust it off and it slipped, shattering the glass. A tiny envelope fell from the back.
With trembling fingers she tore it open.
Inside was a photo, not the posed sunset shot but a candid one her asleep, wrapped in a blanket, a desk lamp casting light over her sketches. Ethan had taken it while she was dozing. On the back, in his handwriting, read: The only place the chaos inside me quiets down. Sorry I never had the courage to say it out loud. Ive always been yours; I was just scared to admit it.
A week later, as usual, Ethan rang her doorbell with a bunch of pink peonies. Ellie opened the door and, instead of her usual smile, handed him the old photo.
He looked at the picture, then at Ellie, and for the first time his eyes held a weariness that had been buried under years of running away.
It seems, he whispered, our expeditions are ending. Its time to come home.
And this time, when he crossed the threshold, he wasnt just a guest he was finally staying for good.
