We said we’d keep in touch with each other, but of course, we never did. I figured she’d be at university and was probably loving it. I took a few weeks off when I got back, then helped a friend out with a bit of casual work for a while. Soon after my return I was determined to go travelling again once I could afford it, or maybe I’d get a loan or something. It was all I could think of for a few weeks and it seemed unthinkable to me that I would do anything else. I had loved it and my memories of it all were wonderful, filling me with happiness.
Three months after I returned I met Anna, who I started to date. I wasn’t sure if it would get serious, or if I wanted it to, but before long my whole life was being shaped by our relationship. We were soon buying a house together and, caught up in many emotions and a wave of happiness and sudden contentment we were married a few months later. I was happy, I mean, I loved Anna, and it felt right. It wasn’t until I went back to more serious full-time work and started to pay-off the mortgage and go round the supermarket on a busy Saturday with Anna that I remembered my previous plans to travel again, and thought back to my adventures and of Fran and our week together. I never told Anna about Francesca, but I guess I’d be lying if I said I hadn’t thought about her from time to time.
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