**»Whod ever want a dull little grey mouse like you?»** theyd laugh. But time, as it often does, had a way of turning things around.
Each day blurred into the next for Eleanor. She sat at her desk, stacks of paperwork piling before her like a living thinggrowing, swallowing her time and space. Folders, files, reportsall teetering in a precarious tower. Her colleagues approached with easy smiles and effortless requests. «Ellie, love, you wouldnt say no, would you?» «Sweetheart, Im swampedcould you take this on? Youre the only one wholl do it properly.» And Eleanor never refused. She couldnt bear the thought of disappointing anyone.
The clock ticked past eight in the evening. The office was quiet, save for the hum of her keyboard and the distant snores of the night guard. The glow of her screen cast shadows under her tired eyes. At thirty-two, she wore a plain grey cardigan, her hair pulled into a neat bun. Reliable. Dependable. Convenient.
Her phone buzzedMum flashed on the screen. Eleanor drew a breath and answered.
«Ellie, darling, where are you? Still at work?» Her mothers voice was threaded with worry.
«Yes, just finishing up. Everythings fine.»
«Love, youre always working. When do you ever *live*?» Her sigh carried the weight of the world. «At your age, I was already courting your father. And you»
«Mum, please,» Eleanor pinched the bridge of her nose, a headache brewing. «Actually theres someone. A man.»
Silence. The words had tumbled out before she could stop thema shield against her mothers fretting.
«Really?» Her mothers voice brightened. «Oh, Ellie, why didnt you say? Whats his name? Tell me everything!»
«Its new. I wanted to wait until things settled.»
«Bring him Saturday! For Sunday roast! Ill make your favourite treacle tartjust like you love! I *must* meet him!»
Eleanor closed her eyes, picturing it. Seven days to find a man willing to play the partto spare her mothers hopes.
«Alright. Well come.»
Hanging up, she dropped her head into her hands. What had she done? Where would she find someone to go along with such madness?
The next morning arrived with a throbbing head and dark circles. Shed spent the night scouring dating sites, every profile lifeless and hollow. How did one describe herself? *Quiet accountant seeks temporary plus-one for family deception*?
«Ellie, you look dreadful,» chimed Lucy, a bubbly blonde from marketing. They werent close, but Lucy had a knack for barging into personal spaces uninvited.
«Just tired,» Eleanor muttered.
«Rubbish. Out with it.»
And somehow, she did. Maybe from exhaustion, maybe from the weight of it allshe spilled everything. The lie. The roast. The imaginary beau.
Lucy clapped her hands, triumphant. «Right. Heres the plan. Ill give you a proper makeover. Well find you someone decent, and your mum will be over the moon. Sorted?»
«Lucy, no»
«Too late! Meet me after work.»
That evening, Lucy whisked her to a posh restaurant in Mayfair. Crystal glasses. White linen. Prices that made Eleanors stomach drop.
«I cant afford this,» she whispered, shrinking into her chair.
«Relax! The right sort of men come here.»
But Eleanor didnt know how to be the «right sort.» She hunched in her worn cardigan while Lucy charmed strangers, trading jokes and numbers. It felt like acting in a play she hadnt rehearsed.
«LookOliver. Owns a chain of coffee shops,» Lucy whispered, nudging her as a polished man approached.
Ten minutes of monologues about expansion plans later, he wandered off without asking her name. Next came Henry, then Charles. All glanced, all lost interest.
«Chin up,» Lucy said on the way home. «Tomorrows a confidence workshop. Proper people there.»
The workshop was worsea cramped room of strangers shouting about self-love and hugging. Eleanor pressed against the wall, panic rising. When the facilitatora man in a neon-green jumpercalled her forward to share her deepest fears, her knees nearly buckled.
«Youre blocking your joy!» he declared. «Let yourself be happy!»
She stayed silent. She wanted home. Tea. Quiet.
The week dissolved into a parade of parties, gallery openings, networking events. Eleanor forced smiles, made small talk, and felt emptier each hour. A world of masks and pretence.
On Fridaythe day before the roastshe stayed late again, finishing a colleagues quarterly report. A familiar figure appeared in the doorway.
«Still here?»
It was Thomas from IT. Tall, steady, glasses with simple frames. He fixed their computers, always quiet, always efficient. Theyd exchanged maybe three sentences in five years.
«Nearly done,» she said, not looking up.
He lingered. «Ellie youve seemed off lately. Everything alright?»
She met his gazeno mockery, no pity. Just kindness.
«Its complicated,» she admitted.
And again, the truth poured out. The lie. The roast. The exhausting charade. Thomas listened without interrupting.
«Maybe,» he said when she finished, «youre looking in the wrong places. If you pretend to be someone else, youll only find whats not real.»
The simplicity of it struck her.
«But the roast is tomorrow. I cant disappoint her again.»
«Want me to come? As a friend. Well meet, chat. Later, we can say it didnt work out. No harm done.»
She stared. «Youd really do that?»
«Course. Colleagues, arent we?»
On Saturday, Thomas picked her up. A blue button-down, a modest bouquet of daisies, a box of chocolates.
«For your mum,» he smiled.
In the car, they talkedeasily, naturally. Books (both loved sci-fi), films (old black-and-whites), his uni days playing in a band.
Her mother greeted them at the door, beaming. The roast was warm, effortless. Thomas praised her Yorkshire pudding, asked about her life, shared stories. Eleanor watched her mothers face soften with hope.
«What a lovely man!» she whispered in the kitchen as Thomas poured tea. «Ellie, hes *gold*.»
Eleanor studied himreal, unpretentious. Something warm unfurled in her chest.
Later, as they left, her mother waved from the doorstep. In the car, Thomas turned to her.
«Shes wonderful. Shell sleep easier now.»
«Thank you,» Eleanor said softly. «Really.»
«Anytime.»
Comfortable silence filled the drive.
«Fancy a walk?» Thomas veered toward Hyde Park. «No scripts. Just us.»
They strolled under autumn leaves, drank awful takeaway coffee, laughed. Thomas told her about his cat, Mr. Whiskers; she confessed her childhood dream of being a librarian.
«Why dont you ever say no?» he asked suddenly. «At workthey all dump tasks on you.»
She shrugged. «Afraid if I do, Ill end up alone.»
«Ellie, people should value *you*not what you do for them.»
She looked at him. Lamplight caught his glasses, softening his eyes.
«And what am I?»
«Kind. Clever. You listen. You love quiet things. And your smilewhen you dont hide itcould light up a room.»
Her pulse quickened.
«How do you know all that?»
Thomas ducked his head. «Weve worked together five years. Ive always noticed you. Just never found the nerve. You seemed untouchable. Perfect.»
«*Me?*» She laughed. «Im ordinary.»
«No.» He shook his head. «Youre like coming home. Being near youits peace.»
They stood beneath the trees, leaves swirling. That warmth in her chestthis was it. Not in glittering rooms, but here. Honest. Simple.
«Tom,» she whispered, «what if we didnt pretend? What if we tried just us?»
His smile was sunlight.
«Id like that.»
On Monday, Eleanor returned to work unchangedsame cardigan, same bun. But when a colleague asked her to cover a report, she said, «Sorry, Ive my own work today.»
Lucy cornered her at lunch.
«Well? Found *the one*? Mum happy?»
«Yes,» Eleanor smiled. «Just not where I expected.»
Lucy followed her gaze to Thomas passing by. They exchanged a wave.
«*Tom* from IT?» Lucy blinked. «Seriously?»
«Absolutely.»
«Right Well, congrats. Though I thought youd land someone flashier.»
Eleanors smile stayed gentle. «I dont need flashy. I need *mine*.»
That evening, they sat in a cosy café near worktea, laughter, shared quirks. A love for crosswords, a habit of steeping tea exactly four minutes.
«Funny,» Eleanor said, lacing her fingers with his. «I chased special for so long. And it was next door all along.»
«Maybe we both needed time,» Thomas said. «You to see your worth. Me to find the courage.»
«Im glad Mum pushed me.» She laughed. «Or we mightve danced around each other another five years.»
«But we found each other. Thats the real magic.»
She looked at their joined hands, at Thomas, at the quiet café. No pretence. Just them.
And it was better than any fairy tale.
A month later, her mother called.
«Ellie, when are you and Tom visiting? I miss him! And Ive a new recipe for sticky toffee puddinghe adored the last one!»
«Soon,» Eleanor promised, watching Thomas fiddle with her laptop. She hung up and slipped her arms around his shoulders.
«Know what I love most about you?»
«Hm?»
«That with you, Im just *me*.»
He tilted his head up. «And I love you *for* that. My quiet harbour.»
Dusk painted the sky lavender outside her flat. Beyond the walls, life rushed onloud, bright, relentless.
But their happiness was here. Simple. Steady. *Real.*
Sometimes, you neednt search far for what you seek. Sometimes, its enough to pause, listen, and let yourself be seen.
Eleanor learned to say nonot always, but when it mattered. She stayed kind, but ceased being convenient. And to her surprise, people respected her more for it.
Once, in the hallway, Lucy stopped her.
«You and Tomstill good?»
«Wonderful,» Eleanor said. «Meeting his parents next week.»
Lucy hugged her suddenly. «Im glad. Sorry if I was pushy. I only wanted to help.»
«You did,» Eleanor said honestly. «You made me step out. And I realisedI didnt need to change. Just to *be*.»
«Wise,» Lucy grinned. «Maybe Ill try that too.»
That Saturday, they returned to her mothersthis time with Mr. Whiskers, who promptly claimed her lap.
«Ellie,» her mother murmured in the kitchen, «Im so glad you found your happiness. I feared youd be alone, that life would pass you by. But hes *right* for you.»
«You were right, Mum,» Eleanor hugged her. «I did need to changejust not how I thought. Not myself. How I saw myself.»
In the sitting room, Thomas chatted about a new project. Mr. Whiskers purred. Pudding cooled on the table. Rain tapped the window.
And it was happinessplain, earnest, *true.*
Eleanor was no longer the invisible girl who feared her own voice. She was simply Eleanora woman whod found herself, and love, not in crowds or seminars, but where it had always been: in her own heart, and in the eyes of someone who loved her *as she was.*
