Id never ventured out to visit my aunt and uncle in the countryside before, mostly because I had absolutely no clue what one was meant to do there. Honestly, whats the big deal about woods and fresh air, when you could be lounging by the seaside, soaking up the sun instead? However, this year, fate threw a curveballmy assistance was needed, and as a trustworthy sort, I showed up.
Wandering around, trying to find my uncles house, I ended up stumbling across a girl selling apples. It was getting late and she had three colossal buckets of apples by her side. She was so stunning, I nearly forgot how to breathe. Imagining her lugging all those apples back home, I couldnt just leave her to it. So I stopped, asked her how much they were, and bought every last bucket. The apples were delicioussweet, juicy, the sort that make you question supermarket fruit. Still, my uncle gave me a proper telling-off for bringing so many apples. Thankfully, my aunt was a bit more charitable; she’d already guessed Id met Sophiewho was, genuinely, a vision.
Whenever I helped my uncle with the renovation work, I kept catching myself thinking about Sophie. So, I asked around. Turned out she was an orphan, living with her great-grandmother and some distant relatives. She was either at home or selling fruit and veg by the roadside. They never let her breathealways working, never allowed to go to school in town.
Im not usually shy, yet simply rocking up at her house felt a bit awkward. So I kept cycling around the village until one evening, Sophie appeared again, this time with two more buckets of apples. Obviously, I had to buy them, all while chatting her up and asking if she fancied a stroll down the lane.
First time, she turned me down, claiming she was busy. But when I returned the next day and took two more buckets off her hands, she finally gave in.
She was utterly lovelysweet, funny, clever. She kept teasing me with a sly grin, asking whether my aunt and uncle and I were secretly launching a cider business with all those apples. What else, she wondered, could I want so many?
Some folks might say I lost my marblesbecause after two months of village romance while assisting my uncle, I whisked Sophie away and proposed to her. She didnt say no, and when autumn arrived, we both moved to my flat in town.
Now, while we quietly plot our wedding, Sophie is enrolled in a hairdressing course, and occasionally reminds me about the apples. My aunt and uncle? I suspect they’re still munching away contentedlystill secretly hope well bring them a crate of homemade cider somedayjust to see my uncles face. Sophie laughs at the idea, twisting a shiny strand of hair around her finger, and sometimes I catch her packing up apples for her great-grandmother, even in the city.
Every so often, when clouds drift lazily across the sky and the air tastes sweet as September, we ride back out to the countryside together. On the way, we always pass the old lane where Sophie first sold apples, and she insists we stop to fill our bags at the wild orchard nearby. Afterward, we sit beneath the trees with sticky hands and happy hearts, sharing secrets and tart slices, watching the world spin quietly around us.
Funny how a pile of apples and a chance meeting can turn your entire life upside downor, as Sophie likes to say, right-side up.
