Faith wandered through the long hallway of her flat, moving as slowly as the evening itselfgolden and lingering, the sun reluctant to slip behind the rooftops. She set down her teacup and opened her laptop. Among the new emails, one stood out: «Class of 2004. Reunion!» It felt strangetwenty years had passed. She stared at the screen, remembering herself in a school uniform, the ridiculous ribbons her desk-mate used to wear.
The evening stretched, soft light pooling on the white curtains. Faith wondered how few threads still connected her to the girl who once ran down these same streets. She reread the email: their old form tutor had organised a reunion. A smile tugged at her lipsmemories surfaced effortlessly. Most classmates had scatteredsome to London, others stayed local. She only kept in touch with two friends, and even those conversations had grown rare.
As her tea cooled, Faith debated whether to take charge. Doubts swarmedwould there be time? Would anyone come? But the thought clung. If not her, who?
She glanced around the room. Violets bloomed on the windowsill. Childrens laughter floated up from the garden below. Faith pulled an old scrapbook from the shelf. Faces she hadnt seen in decades stared backcropped hair, braids, gawky grins. She remembered hiding in the staff room cupboard with Imogen, convinced theyd never be found.
Memories tangled into one another. Faith caught herself smiling. Shed decided: the reunion would happen. A quiet unease settled in her chestcould she really gather everyone? And would she ever reclaim that lightness school once gave her?
She messaged her two friends: «Heard about the reunion? Lets get everyone together!» Replies came instantlyone eager, the other hesitant. Faith persuaded her: «If youre in, so am I.»
And so it began. Faith logged into an old classmate site. The newsfeed was a sea of strangers. In the «Class» tab, familiar surnames lingered. Some profiles hadnt been touched in years. She sent quick notes: «Hi! Its Faith. Planning a reunion. Fancy it?» Green dots blinkedsomeone was online.
The search proved harder than expected. Numbers no longer worked. Some had married, changed names; others used holiday snaps instead of photos. She messaged strangers with similar names, just in case. Each time, her pulse flickered.
As she hunted, memories surfaceddebating Dickens in English, class trips to Brighton, her first crush: Alex Thorne from the parallel class. Even now, the thought of him warmed her.
One evening, a message came from Anthonythe quiet boy from the back row. «Hello. Good idea. Ill come.»
Faiths confidence surged. Two more classmates joined the search. They debated venues over chat.
The flat grew warmeror maybe it was just the open windows. Spring air rushed in, carrying the scent of blossoms. Faith brushed her fingers over the violets each time she passed.
Then, Imogen called.
«Remember our first assembly?» Imogen laughed.
«Of course! I was terrified Id forget my poem.»
«And I stepped on my new pinafore right in front of the headmistress.»
They cackled.
«Still meeting up?» Imogen asked.
«Absolutely!» Faith said.
Evenings blurred into listschecking off names, jotting numbers. Late-night messages debated menus, whod bring old photos, souvenirs.
Alex Thorne haunted her. His profile was dormant. No mutual friends remained. She scoured old group chatsno one had his number. Then she found a photo by the seasideAlex stood slightly apart, smiling faintly.
«Dyou think hell come?» she murmured.
Reunion day arrived. The school had lent their old classroom. Faith came early, tracing the same pale hallway. Wildflowers sat on the windowsillssomeone had left them.
Classmates trickled in. Some brought kids, others photo boxes. One hugged Faith so hard she nearly dropped her folder. Whispers filled the roomfailed exams, field trips. Laughter bounced off the ceiling.
Faith kept scanning the door. Every time it opened, her breath hitched. She chatted, asked about jobs, familiesbut tension coiled tighter.
Then the door swung open again. Faith froze.
Alex Thorne walked in. Hed barely changeda little grey, the same straight posture, the same quiet smile that used to steal her breath. His eyes found hers across the room.
He approached. The noise around them dulled.
«Hello, Faith. Good to see you after all this time,» he said softly.
«You too. You look just the same,» she whispered.
«Couldnt miss this.» His smile widened. «Thank you for organising it.»
Suddenly, the months of searching mattered only for this moment.
Conversations deepened. Some spoke of careers, moves abroad. Plates of scones and jam sat half-eaten. Someone had brought a paper boat, another a yellowed ruler. Faith sat by the open window, warm air brushing her skin, listening to Imogens camping tales.
Watching them all, she realisedtheyd changed, yet somehow hadnt. Time had folded, letting past and present touch.
Alex sat opposite. He lingered, catching her eye now and thennot pushy, just kind. Theyd spoken of the big things already; now, they simply enjoyed being near. His voice was deeper, steadier than at seventeen. She remembered being too shy to stand close.
Laughter softened. Someone toasted their old teacher. Faith checked her phonea message blinked: «Shall we make a group chat?» She agreed instantly. Messages flooded insummer picnic plans, reunion photos, jokes about ageing.
The room quietened. Dusk pooled outside. Streetlights cast gold stripes on the blackboard. The scent of flowering hedges drifted in. Faith felt calm, as if shed rebuilt bridges to her past.
As goodbyes began, hugs lingered. Even those whod barely spoken at school now shared grown-up worries. Anthony spoke of his daughter; Imogen flashed prom pictures.
Alex stayed till the end, helping clear plates.
«Shame holidays dont last,» he said.
Faith nodded. «Weve got the chat now.»
He smiled. «Well message more.»
No promisesjust quiet understanding.
Faith left the school last. On the steps, she gazed up at the familiar bricks, feeling a bittersweet gratitude. Voices murmured behind her.
Home was silenta gentle hush after the clamour. She plugged in her phone and sat by the window. A car passed; a motorbike growled in the distance.
Morning came softly, light filtering through curtains. Faith reached for her phonedozens of messages in the new chat.
Photos from the reunion. Summer walk ideas. Old stories retold.
«Thanks, everyone. Felt so warm,» some wrote.
«Whens the next one?» others asked.
Faith scrolled slowly, savouring each word.
She typed: «Thank you. So happy to be part of this again,» and sent a heart.
Suddenly, the past wasnt a detached fragmentit had woven itself back into her life, a circle of support and joy, spun anew by the chat and the promise of more meetings.
Birds sang outside. A breeze stirred the curtains, fresh with the new day.
Faith smiled. It all felt like a beginning.
