Summary
In the quaint but dreary town of Fernwich, Coco’s life revolves around winning her parents’ elusive approval, navigating emotional highs and lows, and balancing her people-pleasing habits with a spark of rebellion. The charming yet perplexed Kenny unexpectedly steps in, challenging Coco to rethink everything she believes about love, worth, and, most importantly, herself. Through humour, introspection, and satire, Coco’s story encourages us to look at our own lives and wonder—do we truly know what we are chasing?
“Is People-Pleasing the Only Way to Earn love?”
The morning fog hung over Fernwich, thick and unyielding as if it was stitched right into the air itself. The mist seemed to creep into one’s very being—just like the ways Coco had learned to please others seemed to have seeped into her very soul. Fernwich, a sleepy town nestled somewhere between a grey sea and an eternal drizzle, was home to her constant efforts to win over the love and approval of her family, her friends, and almost everyone she met.
You see, Coco’s parents, Dr. and Mrs. Doughty, weren’t your average, cookie-baking types. Her father, Dr. Doughty, was a retired archaeologist whose heart seemed harder than any of the rocks he’d studied over the years. As for Mrs. Doughty—she was a bit of a local legend, mainly for her ability to look past Coco with the precision of a telescope that has set its sights on a faraway planet.
Coco always tried her best. She smiled, laughed at their jokes, and tended to any need they even remotely hinted at. But each smile was met with a curt nod, or, on special days, an ‘I suppose that will do.’ In short, Coco’s life was a careful balancing act of pleasing everyone around her, even if it meant losing herself in the process.
It is funny, isn’t it? We are born into families, hoping for a foundation of love. Yet sometimes, we end up building our own worth on shaky ground. Have you ever wondered if you are living your life for others, or is it truly your own?
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Why is Love So Elusive?
One particularly damp evening, Coco met Kenny—though “met” might be a generous term. She crashed into him while juggling a box of freshly baked scones (baked by the housekeeper, naturally; Coco was there to deliver them for her mother’s social circle).
Kenny had the sort of face you’d call ‘charmingly bewildered,’ with hair that looked like it couldn’t decide if it wanted to be brown or auburn. He was leaning on the gate of Fernwich’s only park, apparently lost in thought or, as he later admitted, lost in general. But when he looked up, his eyes held a warmth that Coco couldn’t quite recall ever seeing directed at her.
“Pardon me! Scones emergency,” Coco muttered, bending down to gather the scattered treats.
“Scones emergency? Sounds dangerous,” Kenny replied with a smirk, bending down to help her.
“You’d be surprised.” Coco grinned, trying not to blush as their hands brushed.
As she walked away, her mind swirled with questions. Could people really be…nice? Could they help each other without expecting something in return? What a curious thought.
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“How Long Will You chase Validation?”
The next day, Coco’s mother’s voice floated through the house as sharp as any alarm clock. “Coco, have you remembered that it’s your father’s luncheon this afternoon?”
“Yes, Mother,” she replied, smoothing her hair, already checking if her outfit met her mother’s standards.
That was the thing about Coco’s world—it was crafted around meeting needs that weren’t even spoken aloud. She’d become an expert in deciphering every micro-expression, in noting the slight furrow of her father’s brow that meant she’d said something ‘inappropriate.’
But here is a curious thing about people-pleasing: it is like trying to fill a well that has no bottom. Coco’s friends, or more accurately, the people who kept her on speed dial for favours, never asked how she was doing. They never asked if she was happy.
Have you ever asked yourself, ‘Is this really who I am, or am I just an echo of what others expect me to be?’
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“Is Happiness Something You Earn or Something you find?”
One day, Coco and Kenny bumped into each other again at the Fernwich Fair. The fair was an annual affair, complete with mud-spattered children, a towering Ferris wheel, and enough fried food to make a doctor weep.
Kenny looked at Coco with curiosity, like she was a puzzle he was slowly piecing together. “So, Coco, what do you like to do? You know…when you’re not delivering scones in perilous situations?”
Coco paused, thrown by the question. No one had ever asked her this. In fact, she wasn’t quite sure of the answer.
“Oh, I…um…” She cast about for a hobby, anything. “Well, I bake. Occasionally. And I read.”
Kenny raised an eyebrow, his eyes twinkling. “Bake? Read? Coco, everyone reads. Surely, there is more to you than that.”
Coco looked away, her cheeks flaming. “I just…I do things for others, I suppose.”
“A noble pursuit.” He leaned in, as if sharing a secret. “But you know, you’re allowed to want things just for yourself. No one’s going to cancel your ‘Good Person’ membership.”
His words made her stomach twist, in a good way, like hearing your favourite song on the radio after a long, bad day. No one had ever told her she was allowed to want anything. And from that day on, Coco found herself thinking about what she wanted. Not for her parents. Not for her friends. But just…for her.
“How Can You Love Others If You Don’t Love Yourself?”
Coco’s heart was in turmoil. Meeting Kenny had cracked something open inside her—a longing she hadn’t allowed herself to acknowledge.
One evening, Kenny brought her to a quiet spot overlooking the sea. The sky was a deep blue, the kind that seems to hold infinite secrets, and the salty air carried whispers from distant lands. They sat in silence, watching the waves crash against the shore.
Kenny turned to her and said, “Coco, don’t you think that you deserve more than just…existing for others?”
Coco felt tears prick her eyes. “I…I don’t know. It’s been so long, I don’t know if I even have anything left for myself.”
“Well, you can’t pour from an empty cup,” Kenny said gently, placing a comforting hand on her shoulder.
Kenny had this way of making her feel seen, like all her fears and insecurities were laid bare and somehow still accepted. It was terrifying. It was exhilarating.
And she couldn’t stop herself from wondering…who would she be if she let herself feel the love she so freely gave to others?
“Can True Love Happen if You Don’t Know Yourself?”
As the days drifted by, Coco realised she was slowly finding herself. She started to explore hobbies she’d always dismissed, like painting. She stopped answering calls at odd hours for favours. She even started saying ‘no’—a word she’d once thought of as the worst offence.
But, of course, her family noticed. Her mother gave her a pointed look one evening over dinner. “Coco, you have been acting…different lately. Is there something I should know?”
Coco took a deep breath, something she seemed to be doing a lot of lately. “I just think…I think I need to live my life for myself, Mum. I need to figure out who I am.”
Her mother’s eyes narrowed, and her father’s gaze turned cold. The silence that followed was so heavy, Coco felt she could drown in it. But this time, she didn’t backtrack. She didn’t rush to make amends.
Perhaps this was what freedom felt like—terrifying, yet beautiful.
Reflection and Redemption
Months later, Kenny and Coco walked through the town hand-in-hand. She was still learning to trust herself, to forgive herself for the years of self-neglect. But with every small step, she felt her soul knitting itself back together.
Kenny turned to her with a smile. “So, Coco, have you figured out what makes you happy yet?”
She looked out at the misty horizon, a soft smile playing on her lips. “I think I have an idea. And for once, I’m in no rush.”
Maybe she wasn’t “fixed.” Maybe she was still messy and unsure. But Coco had finally realised that she was enough—just as she was.
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Bio
Tushar Mangl is an Energy Healer, Counsellor, and Author of The Avenging Act. He writes on mental health, personal finance, and the art of creating a balanced, fulfilling life.
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