The streets of Manchester were alive, buzzing with the energy of New Year's Eve. Music pulsed from speakers, mingling with the laughter and chatter from the crowd that swelled like a tide through the city. Neon lights painted the night in vibrant hues, casting a kaleidoscope of colors on the faces of the revelers.

Amidst the celebration, I wove my way through the crowd, my eyes flicking to my phone every other second. I was on a mission: to find Jordan, the guy I had been seeing for a couple of weeks. Jordan, with his easy smile and a passion for philosophical debates, was an exchange student who'd decided to stick around for the New Year's festivities. Coming from a humble family that had just enough to support his studies, going back to his country represented a big financial burden for him and his family.

We'd agreed to meet in front of the Town Hall for the countdown, a spot buzzing with excitement and anticipation. After navigating the sea of partygoers, I finally reached the designated spot. I paused, taking in the grandeur of the big old building in front of me, its architecture a stark contrast against the modern festivities. I pulled out my phone and snapped a photo—the illuminated tower forming a perfect backdrop—and sent it to Jordan with a quick text:

"Here, 📍 Where are you?"

As I pocketed my phone, a blend of anticipation and nervous energy buzzed through me. We hadn't defined what 'this' was—our casual dates, the late-night chats—but tonight felt like it could be a turning point. The air was electric, not just with the promise of a new year but with the possibility of something more between me and Jordan.

I glanced around, my heart skipping a beat every time I thought I spotted him in the crowd. The noise seemed to increase as the minutes ticked closer to midnight, with each laugh, each shout, and each burst of music adding to the anticipation.

Jordan materialized from the crowd, his breath visible in the cold Manchester air. "Hey, sorry, I'm late," he said, a hint of distraction in his voice. He was bundled in a jacket that seemed too thin for the chill.

My excitement wavered for a moment, replaced by a flicker of concern. "Everything okay?" I asked, peering into his eyes, searching for the usual spark of enthusiasm.

"Yeah, all good," Jordan replied with a quick, somewhat forced smile. The reassurance didn't quite reach his eyes, but I decided not to press. It was New Year's Eve, after all, and I didn't want to dampen the mood.

Shaking off the nagging feeling, I turned my attention back to the festivities. "Are you ready for the fireworks?" I asked, trying to rekindle the excitement.

Jordan shrugged. "I saw them last year; not a big deal; I've seen better, to be honest. But you'll like them." His tone was nonchalant, almost indifferent.

I felt a twinge of disappointment. I'd hoped he would share my enthusiasm, but the night was young, and there was still fun to be had. We continued our conversation, our breaths mingling with the frosty air, our bodies shivering slightly from the cold.

Looking to lighten the mood, I reached into my pocket and pulled out two mini bottles of rum. "Emergency warmth supply," I announced with a grin.

Jordan's laughter, genuine this time, cut through the night. "You're full of surprises, aren't you?"

We unscrewed the caps and raised our bottles in a makeshift toast. "To new beginnings," I said with a hopeful note in my voice.

"To new beginnings," Jordan echoed, a little more warmth in his tone.

We took small sips, the warmth of the rum spreading through us. The countdown was nearing, and the crowd's anticipation was building by the second. I tried to focus on the joy around me, but a cold seed of doubt lingered, a silent acknowledgment that perhaps some sparks were just not meant to ignite.

As the countdown was about to start, Jordan suddenly said he needed to use the toilet. "Can't you wait? It's almost midnight," I asked, my excitement fading into a tinge of concern.

"No, I've got to go. I'll be back in a second," he promised, then vanished into the crowd.

Left alone, a knot of doubt and anxiety tightened in my stomach. This was our moment, the one we were supposed to share. The air buzzed with excitement, but for me, it was overshadowed by a growing sense of unease.

The crowd started counting down. "10,9,8..." I scanned the sea of faces for Jordan, but he was nowhere. Frantically, I pulled out my phone and texted him. No reply. I tried calling, but it just rang into the void. "7,6,5..." My heart pounded louder with each number.

Sweating and desperate, I started pushing through the crowd. "4, 3!" I shouted his name, hoping against hope that he'd appear.

Then, "2, 1," my phone buzzed. A message from Jordan: "I'm sorry, I really am. I left; I'm not sure I can do this."

"Happy New Year!" The world around me erupted in celebration, but I stood frozen, staring at my phone. A hollow feeling engulfed me, a mix of confusion, betrayal, and pain.

I tried calling him back, only to be met with, "The number you have dialed is not in service." I tried again, just to hear the same robotic voice saying, "The number you have dialed is not in service." Again and again, I dialed, until defeat settled heavily in my heart. I started to walk away from the crowd, their joy a distant echo.

Fireworks exploded overheard, splashing the sky with colors I couldn't see, lost in my own shadowed thoughts. "What did I do wrong? Why would he just leave like that?" I wondered, each question a sharp sting in my already aching heart.

I found a bench on a quieter street and sat down, no longer able to hold back my tears. This night was meant to be a celebration, a beginning. But for me, it was an abrupt, unexplained ending to something that might have been.

As I checked my phone once more, a vain hope flickered within me for a message from Jordan. But it was futile. Instead, my screen was lit with New Year's wishes from friends and family. "Happy New Year, son, I love you," one read. Another, from my best friend Dave, said, "Happy new year, bitch, I miss you." They were brimming with love and good wishes, but at that moment, they felt like echoes in an empty hall to me.

Then, a message caught my eye—one from George—the one that got away, the one I truly loved but couldn't be with. It had been months since we last spoke, but there it was—a message that offered a glimpse of relief over the ache I was feeling.

On a whim, or maybe driven by a need for connection, I decided to video call George. I pressed the call button, expecting it to go unanswered, but to my surprise, after just two rings, George's face filled the screen. He was in his bedroom, not amidst any celebration. There was a momentary pause, a silent acknowledgment of all the unsaid things between us. "Hey, Dani," he said softly. "I wasn't expecting your call tonight."

"Yeah, well, I wasn't expecting to call," I admitted, feeling a familiar flutter in my chest. "How are you?"

"I'm okay. Quiet night in, and you? How come you're not celebrating Mr. Party Boy?" George inquired.

I chuckled, a little sadly. "Guess I'm not in the party mood."

"Oh-Oh, that's odd coming from you. Are you OK?" He asked, his concern evident.

"Yeah, it's just that I am feeling a bit homesick, that's all," I lied. "Besides, all my friends have gone back home, so yeah, a bit lonely too," I continued, this time telling the truth.

George's face showed genuine sympathy. "I'm sorry you feel this way, but hey, think of this day as just another one of many. You're in Manchester now, and it's such an exciting experience, so don't let sadness ruin it," he advised.

"Thank you, George," I replied, discreetly wiping tears from my eyes, and with a weak attempt at a smile, I looked back at him. "I'm happy you're here with me now—well, behind the phone, but you get the point."

George chuckled. "I'm happy you called."

A pause hung in the air, filled with a thousand unspoken words. George finally broke the silence. "You know, I've always regretted not telling you sooner how I felt. I've never stopped caring about you, Dani. I want you to know that."

Hearing those words, something in me stirred—a mix of old feelings and newfound hope. "George, I've always felt the same. There's always been something about you, something I couldn't quite let go of."

And it was true. Ever since our paths had dramatically separated, I carried the memory of George with me—a love that I suffered and fought for, even though I had made the promise to move on and start fresh. But it seemed like our lives always found a way to reconnect.

Then, almost instinctively, I pulled out the remaining bottle of rum and took a sip. "Hey, don't drink without me," George chided playfully, disappearing for a moment to grab a drink for himself. When he returned, I raised my small bottle, and he raised his beer, placing them in front of the screen. "To us," he said.

"To us," I echoed, a bittersweet smile tugging at my lips.

Our conversation flowed easily, reminiscing about our time at Loescher and updating each other on our lives now. I walked home with George on my screen, his presence a comforting balm to the night's earlier events.

By the time I reached home, our conversation had mellowed into comfortable, sleepy exchanges. George, unable to fight off sleep, dozed off without hanging up. I watched him through the screen, a peaceful expression on his face. In that tender moment, a soft whisper escaped my lips: "I will always love you, George," before sleep claimed me too.