💌 Fifteen Minutes at a Time, a Romantic Short Story
The other night I watched Pride and Prejudice again, and it reminded me why I’ve always loved romance stories. Not the perfect, fairy tale ones, but the quiet kind, where feelings show up in small gestures we almost miss.
So I decided to write one.
💌 Fifteen Minutes at a Time tells the story of Emily and Daniel, two people who keep finding each other under Waterloo Bridge, sharing rain, coffee, and conversations that slowly start to mean more than either of them expected.
You can read the full story now on my blog (just below) and on Wattpad (click here to read on app).
And yes, I’m still working on Parenting Unpacked. But every now and then, I like to take a little detour. This one felt worth sharing.
I’d love to know what you think.
🥐 Fifteen Minutes at a Time
“I figured it out—what’s wrong with me,” Emily said, her breath clouding the damp air.
Daniel turned his head just enough to catch her in the corner of his eye, a smirk tugging at his lips. “Only one thing? That’s almost disappointing. Go on.”
They stood pressed back against the stone under Waterloo Bridge, rain falling so hard it blurred the city into watercolor. Emily tugged at the cuff of her sleeve, the denim dark and heavy. Beside her, a cup of iced coffee sweated on the ledge next to a paper bag she swore held the best croissant in London—worth every soaked step of the fifteen‑minute walk from her flat.
It had been her ritual long before he started showing up. She never invited him, but for months now Daniel—her best friend’s older brother, with his habit of appearing just when she thought she’d be alone—had been there like clockwork. She told herself it was coincidence. She didn’t quite believe it.
“You’re not going to guess?” she asked.
“Wouldn’t dare.” He leaned against the wall, a strand of wet hair clinging to his temple. For a moment his eyes lingered on her before he added, softer, “But I’d listen.”
The rain roared over the river, buses drummed across the bridge above, and for a second Emily swore she could hear her own pulse louder than both.
She leaned back against the cold stone. “It’s love,” she admitted finally. “That’s what’s wrong with me. I don’t think it’s for me.”
Daniel’s smirk faded. “That’s a bold claim for twenty‑one.”
“I mean it.” Her voice came out quieter than she intended. “Everyone else just seems to… fall. Like it’s easy. And me? I walk fifteen minutes every day for coffee and a croissant that’s mostly butter, and that feels like the closest thing I’ve got to a relationship.”
He gave a short laugh. “So I’m just your wingman in a pastry romance.”
Her lips twitched, but the smile slipped fast. She tugged her sleeve tighter. “I don’t think I believe in the kind of love people write songs about. Maybe it’s a myth. Maybe I’m not built for it.”
For a moment, the only sound was the rain hammering above them. Then Daniel shifted, close enough that she felt the warmth of his arm. He looked at her fully now, eyes steady.
“Maybe the problem isn’t you,” he said gently. “Maybe you just don’t recognize it when it’s standing right in front of you.”
Emily’s throat burned with words she couldn’t say. “You make it sound so simple. Like I can just… switch something on.”
Daniel tilted his head, rain dripping from the ledge above. “I’m not saying it’s simple. Just… maybe you’re looking for the wrong shape.”
“Love isn’t supposed to have shapes,” she murmured. “It’s supposed to be fireworks. Lightning strikes. Hearts racing.”
He hesitated, then let out a breathy laugh. “That’s what movies say. Not life. I mean—” he rubbed the back of his neck, sheepish “—I’m not an expert. I just… notice things.”
She folded her arms. “So what, then? People just settle?”
“Not settle,” he said, low enough she had to lean closer. “Just different. In some places, love isn’t about sparks. It’s about family, stability. Like in India, where it sometimes grows after the vows. Or… in Japan, where it’s about shared values and respect for family.” He paused, biting his lip. “And here… we romanticize fireworks. But sparks aren’t the only way to burn.”
Her stomach flipped. “So which one’s real love?”
“All of them,” he said. “Depends what you need.”
She searched his face. He wasn’t teasing now. Something in his eyes made her breath stumble, as if maybe he wasn’t talking about love in general.
The rain softened into a steady curtain, headlights smearing gold across the bridge. “So you’re saying I’ve been waiting for the wrong thing?” she asked softly.
“Maybe you’ve been waiting for fireworks when you’ve already had something better.”
Her pulse skipped. “Better?”
He shifted, his shoulder brushing hers, the faint scent of his aftershave cutting through the damp air. “Fireworks fade,” he murmured, eyes holding hers. “But showing up—every day, rain or shine, croissant or no croissant—that lasts.”
Heat crept up her neck. She thought about the months of walks, the way he always matched her stride, how he never once let her walk home alone. And now, standing there with rain dripping from his hair, he looked like he meant every word.
“You make it sound like you’ve got it all figured out,” she whispered.
For the first time, he faltered. His hand shifted on the stone ledge, fingers brushing so close the warmth seemed to leap across the inch between them. “Not everything,” he said, his voice catching. “But maybe I know more than you think.”
The drizzle lightened, carrying the clean scent of wet stone. Emily shifted closer, their shoulders touching.
“You make it sound like some grand theory,” she said, trying for lightness.
“Maybe it is.” He gave a nervous laugh. “You ever think about how we’ve been doing this for months? Rain or shine. Coffee, a croissant, and fifteen minutes of my awful jokes.”
“Your jokes,” she corrected.
“Exactly.” His gaze softened. “Maybe that’s what love looks like. Not fireworks. Just choosing someone’s company, over and over again.”
Her laugh came out shaky. “So you’re telling me my epic love story is just… you and me, coffee in the rain?”
Daniel tilted toward her, close enough that his sleeve warmed her damp jacket. His lips parted like he might say more, then closed again. His gaze lingered.
Her body betrayed her — a step back before she even realized she’d moved. A car horn split the night above them, jolting her the rest of the way. She folded her arms tight, rain sliding cold down her neck. “You really missed your calling as a philosopher.”
His smile dimmed. His eyes searched hers, raw, then he looked away, shoving his hands into his pockets. “Guess that’s what happens when you spend too much time with someone who questions everything.”
Her fingers curled against the stone to keep from reaching for him. The rain pounded harder, footsteps above dragging them back to safe, familiar ground. If I don’t move now, I’ll lose this. I’ll lose him.
She stared at the Thames. “Maybe I was right. Maybe love just isn’t for me.”
Silence. His jaw tight, his gaze on the water. The ache in her chest nearly stole her breath. She could already see tomorrow: coffee, croissant, pretending this never happened. And then one day, he’d stop showing up.
The rain softened again, a hush over the city.
“You’re wrong, you know.”
Her head snapped toward him. No smirk now. Just steady eyes, rain clinging to his lashes.
“Love’s not a myth,” he said quietly. “It’s showing up when it’s inconvenient. Knowing your order without asking. Standing under a freezing bridge because fifteen minutes with you feels like the best part of the day.”
Her throat ached. His sleeve brushed hers, and this time she didn’t move away.
He leaned closer, voice low. “If you still think love’s not for you, maybe you’re just not seeing what’s right in front of you.”
The air hummed, one heartbeat, maybe two.
Her fingers shifted, brushing his hand. He stilled, then let his thumb graze the back of hers.
“You make it sound easy,” she whispered.
His smile was small, a little unsteady. “Not easy. Just worth it.”
Warmth spread through her chest, chasing off the chill. She’d thought love was fireworks. But here it was: quiet, steady, waiting for her to finally see it.
When the rain eased, he reached for the bag on the ledge. “Your croissant’s probably soggy,” he said lightly, his thumb brushing hers before letting go. A flicker of nerves crossed his eyes. “Guess that means I’ll have to meet you here again tomorrow.”
Emily smiled, the kind of smile she hadn’t worn in a long time. “Good.”
They stepped out from under the bridge together, their footsteps falling into rhythm. And for the first time, she knew love didn’t have to be fireworks. Sometimes it was a croissant, a coffee, and someone who kept showing up — fifteen minutes at a time.
Under a rainy London bridge, Emily admits what she's never dared say aloud: maybe love just isn't for her. But Daniel - her best friend's older brother who keeps showing up on her daily coffee runs - isn't convinced. As the rain falls and secrets slip out, Emily begins to wonder if love doesn't always arrive in fireworks... sometimes, it shows up fifteen minutes at a time.