I made a pact with my childhood friend: if I wasn’t married by 40, I would marry him. A lot…
As a child, I made a naive pact with my best friend: if I was still single at 40, I would marry him.
Life went on, separated us and took us each to a different place until, after a devastating divorce and a forced return to my hometown, I found myself having dinner alone on my fortieth birthday.
That’s when someone touched my arm and said, « Sorry, but I had no choice. »
Hello everyone! I’m Linda, and this is Linda Love Stories. I hope you enjoy this story.
The hum of the alarm clock echoed faintly in the old room where Olivia had returned to sleep after almost twenty years. She got up slowly, feeling the familiar weight of the walls that held the echoes of a younger version of herself.
The room was now a pile of cardboard boxes, old clothes, and furniture that her mother had never had the courage to give away.
As she searched for a clean blouse in the tall wardrobe, something caught her eye: a cardboard box forgotten in a corner, covered in dust. She stood on tiptoe and carefully pulled it down, almost dropping it. She sat on the bed and opened the box.
Inside, she discovered old books neatly stacked, each with a yellowed paper bookmark. Books from her adolescence. Silent companions from a time when being different weighed more than any schoolbag.
Olivia looked at the calendar hanging on the wall.
May 15th. His 40th birthday.
She smiled ironically. Even her mother didn’t remember it.
Three weeks earlier, she had returned to the small town of her childhood, not out of nostalgia, but for lack of alternatives. The painful divorce. The discovery of her ex-husband’s secret family. The dismissal after fifteen years at the publishing house. The loss of her apartment.
Everything collapsed with such precision that it seemed choreographed.
She now found herself back in her teenage bedroom, transformed into a storage space for memories she preferred not to revisit.
Olivia leafed through the books she had found, pausing at each bookmark. They were notes from her adolescence, naive reflections on love and destiny.
She closed the book forcefully.
She didn’t need adolescent philosophies now.
The bookstore in his old neighborhood was exactly the same as in his memories: small, cramped, hidden behind the central square, with the same little bell on the door announcing each visitor.
Olivia had decided to treat herself to a book for her birthday. It was a tradition she had kept since she was fifteen, when she would save her pocket money for months to buy a single book.
The scent of old paper and coffee mingled, creating a fragrance that instantly transported her to a simpler time. She ran her fingers along the shelves, feeling the texture of the book spines, until she stopped at the children’s classics section.
When she reached for a book with a worn blue cover, her fingers brushed against another hand that was about to take the same book.
« Oh… sorry. » She instinctively stepped back.
The man gave a slight smile. He was tall, thin, with a light beard, and his eyes expressed a curious mixture of serenity and weariness.
Olivia did not recognize him, but something about him seemed familiar, like a song whose name she could not remember.
« You can keep it, » the stranger offered, stepping back.
« No, please. I’m sure there are other copies, » she replied, scanning the shelves.
« Actually, I think that’s the last one. I was just reminiscing about the past. »
« This book was important to me when I was a child. »
Olivia looked at him more closely.
« Me too. My father used to read me stories… » He paused, avoiding delving back into his memories. « Anyway, it’s been a long time. »
The man nodded his head as if he understood the implication.
For a moment, we thought he was going to say something else, but he just smiled and headed towards another shelf.
Olivia felt a strange familiarity in that smile, but she chased the thought away, convinced that it was only nostalgia for the place that was affecting her perception.
After buying the book, she went outside for some fresh air, feeling strangely lighter. Perhaps it was simply the ritual completed, or perhaps it was this brief human contact, devoid of pity or questions about her recovery.
That evening, Olivia walked into a cozy restaurant, the only one in the small town. She was wearing a simple dress. It wasn’t a party, just a dinner to celebrate the occasion.
She ordered a glass of wine and the house specialty, ignoring the waiter who asked her if she was waiting for someone.
While she ate, she observed couples and families at other tables, all absorbed in their own stories.
She felt no envy, just a curious distance, as if she were observing a different species.
She was finishing her dessert, a small treat adorned with a discreet birthday candle that the waiter had insisted on bringing her, when she felt a soft caress on her arm.
« Excuse me, » said a voice, « but I had to make sure it was really you. »
She looked up, confused, and recognized the same man as the one from the bookstore.
« I’m Benjamin, Ben, from Maple School. »
She blinked several times, trying to connect this image to her school memories.
« The very small one, » he added.
He laughed, and the sound of that laugh triggered a whole gallery of memories.
« That’s right, » Olivia breathed. « Except now I’m taller. »
Olivia brought her hand to her mouth in surprise, and laughed too — sincerely.
« My God! I can’t believe it. How long has it been? »
« Twenty-five years, more or less, » he calculated quickly.
« You’ve changed so much, » remarked Olivia, remembering the chubby boy who carried piles of books and sat alone during recess.
« That’s life. » He nodded toward the empty chair. « May I? »
Olivia nodded and Ben sat down.
« I came back two months ago. My mother needs care; she has early-stage Alzheimer’s disease. »
« I’m sorry. »
» That’s life. »
He observed her. « And you? What are you doing here after all these years? »
Olivia hesitated. The full version would be too much for an informal reunion, so she chose the short version.
« Divorce. Job loss. Need to start all over again. The complete package of failure at forty. »
She tried to joke, but her voice faltered on the last word.
« Today? » he asked, noticing the candle on the dessert.
She nodded. « I’m turning 40. »
Ben’s eyes widened, he let out an incredulous laugh and ran his hand over his face as if he had just realized something incredible.
« Oh no! That’s impossible! You won’t believe it! »
« What? »
He took a deep breath, as if to confirm to himself that he hadn’t gone mad.
« Do you remember what you told me when we were… how old? Eight years old? »
« Nine, » she corrected automatically, then frowned. « Well, I barely remember myself at eight years old. »
He smiled. « You said that if you reached forty and were still single, you would marry me because I was the only boy who knew how to choose good books. »
Olivia covered her face with her hands, mortified.
« Did I say that? »
« Yes, you did. I remember it because I spent a week believing I was going to get married. »
She laughed with him. Not a coquettish laugh, but a frank and joyful laugh, the kind that comes when life throws you a curveball that seems almost comical.
« My God, I was a pretentious child. I think I read too many novels for my age. »
« You were the only one who talked to me at the library, » he said. « While the others were playing ball, you showed me your favorite books. »
« Now I remember… you had a collection of bookmarks, didn’t you? »
« Yes, even today, » said Ben, a nostalgic glint in his eyes. « It’s preserved somewhere. »
The conversation flowed smoothly and naturally. They talked about their careers and chance encounters. Both had lived for years in the same big city without ever meeting. They also discussed how different adult life was from what they had imagined as children.
« Are you married? » he asked after ordering another round of wine.
« Yes. It lasted eight years. We separated six months ago, » she replied, twirling the glass between her fingers. « And you? »
« Almost twice. But I never made it to the altar. » He shrugged. « I think I’ve always been afraid of not being good enough. »
« I know what it is, » Olivia said softly. « I spent years trying to catch up with something whose nature I didn’t even know. »
They laughed at the absurdity of their shared insecurities.
“You know what’s funny?” said Ben, looking at the small flame of the candle on the table. “I remember that pact you made with me when I was eight. I thought, ‘At least when I’m old—at forty—I’ll have someone.’ Forty seemed so far away, almost mythical.”
« And here we are, » said Olivia, « not so old after all. »
« Speak for yourself. I feel like a dinosaur when my nephews show me new technology. »
When the bill arrived, they both insisted on paying.
« It’s my birthday, » she argued.
« That’s precisely why you shouldn’t pay, » he retorted.
In the end, they split the bill. This compromise seemed to symbolize something greater than money.
However, when she left, a strange feeling persisted.
Ben felt it too, but he didn’t say anything about it, because some coincidences are so precise that no one dares to call them mere chance.
The next morning, Olivia woke up with a different feeling. Not exactly hopeful, but perhaps a little less dejected.
She got dressed and went for a run, something she hadn’t done for months. Her route took her to the small city park, where she found Ben sitting on a bench, drawing in a notebook.
« He’s always drawing, » she commented, stopping next to him.
He looked up, genuinely surprised. « Always running around, » he replied with a smile. « Fancy a coffee? There’s a great cafe right next door. »
Three days later, they met by chance at the market. A week later, at a screening at the old cinema in the cultural center. Then at the municipal library, at the city’s music festival, and at the lake viewpoint.
It was a small town with few attractions, but they met so often — perhaps because they had similar tastes.
Each encounter felt natural, without being forced. Each conversation was deeper than the last.
Olivia began to notice small details. The genuine attention Ben paid to listening to her. The sparkle in his eyes when he broached any subject. The slight trembling of his hands when he was nervous.
One rainy afternoon, sheltering on the porch of the bookstore, Ben said, watching the raindrops fall: « You know… when time takes our hand and says, ‘Enough of missed opportunities.' »
She did not respond immediately, but she felt something calm and deep stir within her — a silent recognition.
Two months after her birthday, Olivia received a job offer as a freelance writer for a digital magazine. The salary was lower than her previous job, but she could work from anywhere she wanted.
That same week, Ben received an invitation to design the renovation of an old library in a neighboring town.
That’s when they realized something was changing. Not just their professional situation, but also something between them. A trust. A complicity. A mutual understanding that defied explanation.
One evening, sitting on a bench after having a coffee, Ben asked, « Do you believe in destiny? »
Olivia, who had previously scoffed at the question, answered honestly: « I don’t know. But I believe some people have a gift for timing… as if our internal clocks are synchronized. We meet the right people when we are ready to welcome them. »
Ben smiled. « Like a forty-year pact. »
« Something like that. »
Nothing happened that night. No kiss, no declaration – just a comfortable silence that spoke volumes.
A few days later, Olivia began looking for a small apartment to rent. Living with her mother, although necessary for a while, was becoming unbearable.
It was Ben who casually mentioned that he had an annex at his house, originally intended as an office, which could be transformed into a temporary studio.
« Without any obligation, » he emphasized. « Just until you’re more settled in. »
Olivia hesitated, weighing the pros and cons.
Finally, she agreed.
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