**Diary Entry: A Twist of Fate**
I wandered through the dimly lit streets of Manchester, oblivious to what awaited me. My mind had gone blank, my intuition silent. An hour earlier, my wallet had been stolen—every last quid gone. I trudged forward, unsure how to get home, forgetting entirely about the phone in my pocket with a card linked to it.
*”I could take the tram, even hop on without a ticket. Or call Dave, but it’d be awkward to bother him.”* The thoughts swirled until a woman’s voice cut through.
“Excuse me…”
I turned. Two women stood there, but only one spoke.
“Could you point us toward the café ‘Moments’?” she asked, a faint smile playing on her lips.
I looked at her—and the world stopped. I swear I’d never seen beauty like hers. I’m not some wide-eyed lad in his twenties, but my heart hammered like a schoolboy’s, my throat tightening.
“Which one? There are two nearby,” I blurted. “One’s for romance, the other for business meetings.”
“Are you joking?” She raised an eyebrow.
I knew I’d put my foot in it, but my old boxing coach used to say, *”Keep moving, even if you’re wrong. Motion is your leverage.”*
“Not joking,” I said, scrambling. “Both are just round the corner, but I don’t know which one you want.”
“And how are we meant to decide?” she teased.
“Well, one’s for career women, the other…” I trailed off, feeling the conversation slip away.
*”Dig yourself out before it’s too late.”*
“Did you mean to say ‘for blondes’?” Her eyes sparkled with mischief.
I knew I was floundering, so I doubled down. A mate of mine, a psychologist, once said, *”With some people, lying’s pointless.”*
“Look, it’s none of my business,” I started, “but if my sister were choosing, I’d steer her clear of the business one. As for blondes… Tell me, how should a woman pick a man? By his bank balance or how he makes her feel? If it’s the first, she’ll end up competing with him. And women? They’re better at that than we are.” I paused, words tumbling out. “She’d win but lose her joy. That’s why I asked. Didn’t want that for you—but I can’t dictate either.”
“Smooth recovery!” She laughed. “Though no speech can hide the blonde joke.”
Her friend gawped at us like a cat hypnotised by a laser pointer.
“Here’s the thing,” I pressed, riding the momentum, “I could explain properly if you give me a chance. But fair warning—my arguments are hard to resist.”
I glanced between them. She held my gaze, sizing me up.
“Let me meet you at the café in half an hour? Just need to sort something first.”
Her eyes flicked to a streetlamp—I’d bought time.
“One favour,” I said, handing her my phone. “Put in your number. In case I can’t spot you in the crowd.”
As she took it, I felt like I’d handed over my heart.
“James,” I offered as she typed.
“Emily,” she replied, returning the phone with a smile.
***
Three blocks in, still no ATM. My card had barely enough for a coffee. *She doesn’t seem like the type to expect me to pay… but just in case.*
*”Will she ditch the friend? That ‘I’m with my mate’ routine always set my teeth on edge.”* I jogged onwards, scanning for a cash machine.
***
The summer terrace of ‘Moments’ buzzed with chatter. Laughter, fairy lights, potted ferns—everything blurred into a vibrant haze. I reached for my phone when I saw her wave. Alone. My chest tightened. I strode over, forcing confidence, though inside I was sinking.
“You really saved that,” Emily said as I sat.
“Didn’t have a plan,” I admitted. “Just knew standing still wasn’t an option.”
I dropped into a wicker chair, a fleece blanket draped over its back. Spring clung on, the nearby fountain’s mist sharpening the air.
I rambled about nearby cafés—‘Mozart’ and ‘Salieri’—blaming my frayed brain for mixing names. She laughed but needled me about the blonde remark. I let it slide.
An hour vanished. Maybe more. Strange, really—I wasn’t ogling her figure or imagining anything untoward. She felt like chatting with Dave, effortless and bright.
Then the waiter came. “Anything else?”
And it happened.
“Could we get a beer?” Emily asked, playful defiance in her tone. “And some nuts.”
*Nuts.* The word detonated in my skull.
“Two beers,” I added quickly. *Act now, panic later.* “And extra nuts.”
The magic dimmed. I overthought: *What next?* The connection frayed.
Only Dave could salvage this. I grabbed my phone, typing: *”Emergency! At ‘Moments.’ With a girl, two beers, and no cash.”*
The waiter returned with bottles, glasses, and a dish of nuts. A busker’s guitar floated over from the square. Emily watched him, then checked her phone, smiling at the screen.
My stomach dropped. *That’s the smile women give texts from men they fancy. Is she taken?*
“Back in a sec,” she said, rising.
*If it’s her mate, why leave?* I checked my messages—and froze. I’d sent it to *Emily.*
The crowd’s noise, the fountain, the music—all vanished. Just a ringing in my ears: *”God, what have I done?”*
Then her voice:
“Relax. My treat tonight. But you owe me. Blonde tax means double. Deal?”
I looked up. She stood there, grinning, her eyes alight.
And so I fell into the loveliest debt of my life. She’s never called it in. Funny thing—some debts aren’t made here, or meant to be repaid. Now I’m certain: that pickpocket was no thief. They were angels. Maybe hers.
**Lesson:** Luck wears disguises. Sometimes it even steals your wallet to give you something better.
