Faith walked slowly down the long hallway of her flat, her pace mirroring the evenings gentle, lingering warmth as the sun hesitated to slip behind the rooftops. She set a cup of tea on the table and opened her laptop. Among the new emails, one stood out: *»ReunionClass of 2004!»* It struck her as strange that twenty years had passed. She stared at the screen, remembering herself in school uniform, the ridiculous ribbons her desk mate used to wear.
The evening stretched, soft light draping over the white curtains. Faith thought of how few threads remained between the woman she was now and the girl whod once raced down these same streets. She reread the emailtheir old form tutor was organising a reunion. A smile touched her lips as memories surfaced effortlessly. Most classmates had scatteredsome to other cities, some still here. Shed kept in touch with just two friends, and even those conversations had grown rare.
As her tea cooled, Faith debated whether to take charge. Doubts swarmed: *Would there be enough time? Would anyone else commit?* But the thought clung. If not her, who?
She glanced around the room. Violet blooms crowded the windowsill. Outside, childrens laughter rose from the courtyard where they kicked a football about. Faith pulled an old photo album from the shelf. Faces she hadnt seen in decades stared backcropped hair, plaits, grins frozen in time. A memory surfaced: hiding in the staff room cupboard with Izzy, convinced theyd never be found.
The recollections tangled, tugging her into a smile. *Yes*, she decided. The reunion would happen. Yet beneath the resolve flickered a quiet unease*Could she really gather everyone? And would those school-day lightnesses still feel the same?*
She messaged her two friends straight away: *»Heard about the reunion? Lets get everyone together!»* Replies came instantlyone eager, the other hesitant. Faith typed fast, persuasion flowing naturally. *»If youre leading, Im in,»* her friend finally wrote.
And so it began. Faith logged into the alumni site, her username auto-filled from disuse. The feed brimmed with strangers. Under *»Class of 2004,»* familiar surnames appearedsome profiles dormant for years. She fired off quick notes: *»Hi! Its Faith. Reunion plansyou in?»* Green dots blinked beside names*someone was online.*
Tracking people down proved trickier than expected. Phone numbers no longer worked. She scoured other socialssome had married, changed names; others used holiday snaps instead of profile pictures. Occasionally, she messaged strangers with similar names, heart skipping each time.
Searching tugged her back to school daysdebating Dickens in English class, whole-class trips to the lake, the first camping trip. Then there was *him*Alex Thorne from the parallel class. Even now, the memory warmed her, laced with a faint thrill.
One evening, a message came from Anthonythe quiet boy from the back whod barely spoken in school. *»Good idea. Count me in.»* After that, confidence surged. Two more classmates joined the hunt, debating venues over enthusiastic texts.
The flat felt warmermaybe because Faith now kept the windows wide open. Evening air rushed in, carrying the scent of new leaves and distant city hum. On the sill, flowers unfurled; she brushed them with her fingertips each time she passed.
Then Izzy calledher partner in crime from Year 7. *»Remember our first assembly?»* Izzy laughed. *»I trod on my new pinafore right in front of the headmistress!»* Faith chuckled. *»Were really doing this?»* Izzy asked. *»Absolutely,»* Faith promised.
Nights blurred into spreadsheetschecking off names, noting numbers, coordinating menus. But Alex Thornes absence nagged. His profile hadnt been touched in years. She trawled old group chatsno one had his new number. Then she found a photo by the lake: Alex, slightly apart, smiling just so.
*Will he even come?* she wondered aloud.
Reunion day arrived. The school had granted them their old classroomwindows flung open to summers breath. Faith arrived early, trailing fingers along the same pale walls. Wildflower bunches adorned the sillssomeones quiet gift.
Classmates trickled in. Some brought children; others carried photo boxes. One hugged Faith so tightly she nearly dropped her folder. Whispers crisscrossed*remember Mr. Dawsons pop quizzes? That disastrous trip to York?* Laughter lapped against the ceiling.
Faith kept scanning the doorway. Every creak of the hinge made her pulse stall. She chatted, asked about jobs and families, but the tension coiled tighter.
Then the door swung againand Faiths words died. Alex Thorne walked in. Time had barely touched himhair lightly silvered, posture still straight, that quiet smile that once stole her breath. Their eyes met across the room.
He wove through the crowd toward her. Around them, voices dimmed.
*»Faith… Good to see you after all this time.»*
*»You too. You havent changed.»*
*»Wouldnt miss it,»* he said, smile deepening. *»Thank you for putting this together.»*
Suddenly, every frantic email, every dead end, felt worth itall for this moment.
Conversations mellowed. Pies and trifles dwindled on the table alongside childhood relicsa paper boat, a yellowing ruler. Faith sat by the window, warmth kissing her skin as Izzy recounted the first camping disaster. The room hummed with a strange magiceveryone both altered and unchanged, past and present braided together.
Alex lingered opposite her. Their silences were easy now, the important things already said. She noticed how intently he listened to others, interjecting with dry wit. His voice, deeper than she remembered, tugged at old daydreamsback when shed been too shy to stand too close.
As glasses clinked for a toast to their form tutor, Faith realised she didnt want to leave. Her phone buzzed*»Shall we make a group chat?»* She grinned, typing *»Yes!»* instantly. Messages flooded in*summer picnic plans, reunion selfies, jokes about receding hairlines.*
The classroom quietened. Streetlights cast gold stripes across the blackboard. Flowering shrubs perfumed the air. Faith felt an odd peaceas if these hours had rebuilt bridges she hadnt known were broken.
Goodbyes were long, hugs tighter than expected. Even former strangers swapped summer plans. Anthony*the quiet one*talked animatedly about his daughter.
Alex helped clear the last plates. *»Holidays over too soon,»* he murmured.
Faith nodded. *»But weve got the chat now.»*
*»Ill message,»* he promisedno grand words, just quiet certainty.
She left the school late, pausing on the steps to gaze up at the familiar brickwork. Gratitude and nostalgia swirled in her chest. Behind her, voices lingered in the car park.
Home was silent, the stillness softer after the evenings buzz. She plugged in her phone by the bed, then sat at the window. A car passed; a motorbike growled somewhere distant.
Morning light filtered through the curtains. Faith reached for her phonedozens of messages already. Photos, picnic proposals, inside jokes.
She typed slowly, *»Thank you, everyone. So glad were us again.»* Sent a heart.
And suddenly, the past didnt feel like a detached chapter. It was alivewoven into this new circle of shared stories and future plans.
Beyond the window, birds sang. A breeze lifted the curtains, carrying the promise of something beginning.
