The Biker's Beautiful Bride

It was strange to realize that I was finally being asked to go back to the countryside. After several years of working and staying in the big city, I had become one of its most beloved journalists. I had spent the better part of my time learning how the city worked, knowing which streets became crowded during the morning rush and which restaurants were frequented by politicians, businessmen, and celebrities. I knew how to chase a story. I knew how to find someone who didn't want to be found. I knew how to smile at people who were trying to hide something from me. The city had become familiar. Perhaps too familiar. And yet, I was in dire need of a break. My editor had practically forced me to take the assignment. “You've been working for months without a proper vacation,” she had told me. “I've taken days off.” “You spent those days answering emails.” “That still counts.” “It doesn't.” And that was how I ended up returning to the countryside. I told myself that it would be good for me. I could sleep. I could breathe. I could meet some of the people I had known before leaving. There were folks who seemed far better at doing what they could do with their lives, and perhaps I needed to stop worrying so much about my own career for a while. Still, I felt a strange sense of trepidation when someone told me that he was coming back. My former high school friend. Jason. I hadn't heard his name spoken in years. Instead of staying, he had gone far overseas to make something out of himself. I had heard pieces of information about him through other people. He had gone to another country. He had started working there. He had apparently become successful. Very successful. But I had never bothered to ask too many questions. There were some memories that were easier left untouched. “Jason is returning,” one of the women said. I sighed. Then I looked toward the sky, thinking hard about the situation. What was going to happen now that they realized I had returned as well? I had avoided them as far as I could. Not because I hated them. Not because I wanted to forget everything. It was simply easier. “I heard that he became quite successful,” one of the young women whispered. “Successful?” “Yes. Like he created something great out of himself.” Another woman nodded. “Apparently he owns several businesses now.” I stared at them. “Several?” “That's what I heard.” I hadn't realized that was the case. For some reason, hearing it made me uncomfortable. Perhaps because I had spent years convincing myself that we had gone in completely different directions. He had left. I had stayed. He had gone overseas. I had remained in the city. He had apparently built an impressive life. And I had built mine too. At least, that was what I told myself. I groaned softly and fixed my reporting clothes before slipping them on. It was rather strange knowing that I would be meeting people I hadn't seen in years. I didn't know whether it would be pleasant. I didn't know whether they would ask questions. I didn't know whether someone would bring up the past. Most of all, I didn't know what I would do if Jason was there. I had spent years imagining that moment. Some part of me had always wondered what would happen if we met again. Would I be angry? Would I cry? Would I feel nothing? I didn't know. Regardless, I found myself remembering the earlier days of our time in high school. We had been childhood sweethearts. It had been simple then. We would walk home together. He would wait for me after class. Sometimes we would share food. Sometimes we would sit beneath the old tree near the school grounds and talk about our futures. I had thought we would grow up together. I had thought he would always be there. Until one day, he told me that he was leaving. Not just for another city. Another country. “I'll be gone for a long time,” he had said. I remembered staring at him. “How long?” “I don't know.” That answer had frightened me. He had been serious. I had wanted him to tell me that it wouldn't change anything. That we would find a way. That distance didn't matter. Instead, I had looked at him and felt something inside me collapse. I felt it strike me to the core. “Let's break up. You will be leaving anyway, right?” His expression had been serious as he looked at me. For several seconds, he hadn't answered. Then he nodded. “That makes sense.” I was quiet. I had expected to be hit by a cluster of emotions. Pain. Anger. Regret. Perhaps even desperation. But none of them came in the way I had imagined. I simply stared at him. He had agreed. Just like that. “That makes sense.” Those words had stayed with me. For years. I didn't understand why. I had been the one to suggest breaking up. I had been the one who had told myself that it was better this way. And yet, hearing him agree had somehow made everything feel real. “So that's it?” I had asked. He looked at me. “What else can we do?” I didn't know. Maybe I had wanted him to fight. Maybe I had wanted him to tell me that he wouldn't leave me behind. Maybe I had wanted him to say that I was worth changing his plans for. But he hadn't. And I hadn't asked him to. So we had said goodbye. Then he left. Years passed. I grew older. I became a journalist. I built a life in the city. And eventually, I stopped thinking about him. At least, that was what I told myself. Now, standing in my childhood home, I looked at my reflection. I was no longer the girl he had known. I had changed. My hair was longer. My clothes were more professional. My face had matured. I had spent years becoming someone who could stand on her own. I picked up my bag. Then my phone vibrated. A message appeared. They're holding a gathering tonight. I stared at it. Another message followed. Jason will be there. My heart stopped for a moment. I closed my eyes. Of all the people I could have encountered after returning home, it had to be him. I took a deep breath. “It doesn't matter,” I whispered. It had been years. We were different people now. He had his life. I had mine. There was no reason for anything to happen. And yet, when I looked at myself in the mirror again, I found myself wondering the same thing I had wondered all those years ago. What would happen if I saw him again? Would he remember me? Would he look at me and feel nothing? Or would I finally understand why his simple words had hurt me so much? That makes sense. I picked up my bag. Then I walked toward the door. I didn't know it yet, but the moment I stepped outside, the life I had carefully built in the city was about to collide with the past I had spent years avoiding.