In the eccentric town of Willowbrook, Sophie and Callum make a pact to revolutionise their lives with self-care: waking up early, exercising, drinking good coffee, and, embracing cold oats. As their love story unfolds, they discover that the journey to self-care isn’t just about routines—it is about self-discovery, forgiveness, and learning to carry one another without losing themselves.
What happens when life demands a reset?
Can a fresh start heal old wounds?
Willowbrook wasn’t paradise, but it had a way of wrapping you up in its charm. The narrow streets seemed to smile with each twist, and the air smelled of pine and fresh bread from the local bakery, Crumbs of Comfort. For me, Sophie Bellamy, it was a place to forget.
Forget the suffocating monotony of my old life. Forget the man who once promised me forever but left the moment things got hard.
Then there was Callum Hayes. He wasn’t running away so much as trying to piece himself back together. His startup had imploded, and with it, his confidence. The weight of his failures bore down on him like a shadow he couldn’t shake.
I found him one morning, looking lost at the café counter. He was tall, his dark hair perpetually unkempt, his jawline sharp but softened by the weariness in his green eyes.
“Excuse me, is this coffee strong enough to wake the dead?” he asked the barista, and I couldn’t help but laugh.
“It is good, but not that good,” I quipped.
That was the beginning.
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What drives two strangers to make a pact?
Callum and I bonded over coffee at The Early Bird, Willowbrook’s only café open before 8 a.m. I learned he was recovering from his own chaos—a failed startup, a distant family, and an endless cycle of self-criticism.
“I have been thinking,” he said one morning, stirring his Americano. “We are both a bit… broken, aren’t we?”
I frowned. “That is not very uplifting.”
“No, hear me out,” he said, leaning forward. “What if we tried to fix ourselves? Like, actually tried. Together. Make a pact. Self-care, every day.”
Can two people hold each other accountable?
The pact was simple. We would:
- Wake up early.
- Exercise first thing.
- Drink good coffee.
- Stop worrying (as much as possible).
- Limit screen time.
- Read books.
- And, perhaps most crucially, eat a bowl of cold oats every morning.
Callum claimed the oats were non-negotiable. “They are symbolic,” he insisted. “Simple, healthy, and boring enough to remind us that consistency is key.”
I rolled my eyes but agreed.
What binds two strangers together?
Our apartments were in the same weathered building on Oak Street. Mine was a studio with mismatched furniture I had scavenged from flea markets: a faded mustard armchair, a scratched wooden coffee table, and a bed that squeaked if I so much as breathed.
Callum’s place was almost identical, except his walls were bare, and his kitchen was a graveyard of takeout containers.
One evening, as I carried groceries up the creaking stairs, he held the door open for me. “Do you cook, or is this all for show?” he teased, glancing at the fresh herbs sticking out of my bag.
“I cook,” I shot back. “You should try it. Might save you from the MSG apocalypse you are building in there.”
He grinned. “Touché. Teach me sometime?”
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Can love bloom through brokenness?
The idea for the pact came after one particularly raw conversation. We’d been walking along the cliffs, the sunset spilling gold over the horizon.
“I don’t think I have been okay for years,” Callum admitted, his voice breaking.
“Neither have I,” I said. “But maybe we don’t have to stay like this.”
That night, we wrote it all down: wake up early, exercise, drink good coffee, stop worrying, less screen time, read books, and—of course—cold oats every morning.
“You really believe cold oats will save us?” I teased.
“No,” he replied, leaning in closer. “But I believe in us.”
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What happens when love enters the equation?
Somewhere between cold oats and long walks through the forest, Callum and I stopped being just accountability partners.
One evening, as we shared a bottle of wine in my tiny apartment, he leaned over and kissed me. It wasn’t planned, and yet it felt inevitable.
“Was that part of the pact?” I asked, breathless.
Can love survive the weight of expectations?
Falling for Callum was easy, but the routines that had once grounded us now felt like unspoken rules neither of us dared break.
“Do you ever feel like we’re trying too hard?” I asked one evening as we walked along the cliffs, the sea roaring below us.
“Trying to what?”
“Be perfect. Fix everything. Maybe we are supposed to be messy sometimes.”
He looked at me for a long moment, then said, “Maybe. But I think I am scared of what happens if we stop trying.”
How does intimacy find its way?
It was a quiet night when our connection deepened into something physical. Callum had come over with a bottle of red wine after our usual evening walk. We sat on the floor of my apartment, leaning against the squeaky bed.
“This place suits you,” he said, his voice low. “It is small but… warm.”
“Kind of like me?” I joked, though my heart was pounding.
“Exactly like you,” he murmured, brushing a strand of hair behind my ear.
The kiss came naturally, like slipping into a dream. His hands cradled my face, gentle but insistent. As we moved to the bed, his touch was both tentative and urgent, as though afraid I might vanish if he hesitated.
“Are you sure?” he whispered, his breath hot against my neck.
“Yes,” I breathed, pulling him closer.
That night, the world outside fell away. It was just us—two broken souls finding solace in each other’s arms.
What shadows linger from the past?
In the weeks that followed, our routines felt like lifelines. But the ghosts of our pasts were never far behind.
One rainy afternoon, I found Callum staring at an old photo of a younger him, arm around a woman I didn’t recognize.
“Who is she?” I asked gently.
“Emma,” he said, his voice hollow. “We built the startup together. And when it failed… I failed her, too.”
“You didn’t fail,” I said, resting my head on his shoulder. “You just lost your way.”
He turned to me, his green eyes shimmering. “And you are helping me find it again.”
When does love become a home?
We began spending most nights together, merging our lives in subtle ways. My armchair ended up in his apartment, while his favorite coffee mugs found a home in my kitchen.
One night, as we lay tangled in bed, I traced the scar on his chest—a remnant of a childhood accident he rarely spoke of.
“Does it still hurt?” I asked.
“Not anymore,” he replied, his fingers brushing my cheek. “You?”
“Sometimes,” I admitted, my voice barely audible.
He pulled me closer. “Then we will keep healing. Together.”
How do small changes lead to big transformations?
At first, it felt like a chore. The 5:30 a.m. alarm was my mortal enemy. I groaned my way through sun salutations while Callum texted me from the nearby gym: I hate this too, for the record.
But slowly, things began to shift.
“I finished two chapters of that book you gave me,” Callum said one morning, pouring us both cups of freshly brewed coffee. His hair was messy from the rain, and he looked younger, lighter.
“Which one?” I asked, curious.
“The one about habits. You know, the one you wouldn’t shut up about.”
“Atomic Habits?”
“Yeah. Turns out, you were right.”
“You should get used to that,” I teased, and he laughed—a sound I realised I wanted to hear more often.
What happens when the pact is tested?
But love didn’t erase our struggles.
One morning, after a sleepless night filled with doubts about his future, Callum snapped.
“This isn’t working,” he said, pacing my apartment. “I thought I could just patch myself up with routines and pretend I was fine, but I’m not.”
“You don’t have to be fine all the time,” I said, trying to reach him.
“I don’t want to drag you down, Sophie. You deserve better.”
I grabbed his hands, forcing him to look at me. “And what if I want you, exactly as you are?”
He broke then, collapsing into my arms.
Can two people truly save each other?
That night, as we lay side by side, Callum whispered, “I don’t know where I would be without you.”
“You’d still be Callum,” I said, kissing his temple. “And that is enough.”
In that moment, I realized self-care wasn’t just about cold oats and exercise—it was about letting yourself be loved, flaws and all.
What does it mean to take care of yourself?
The breaking point came on a cold winter morning. Callum hadn’t shown up for our usual coffee date, and his texts had been brief, distant.
When I found him in his apartment, he was sitting on the floor, surrounded by unopened books and an untouched bowl of cold oats.
“I can’t do this today,” he admitted, his voice barely above a whisper.
I sat beside him, taking his hand. “Then don’t. But don’t give up, either. It is okay to fall apart for a little while.”
He looked at me, tears brimming in his eyes. “How do you always know what to say?”
“Because I have been there.”
Over time, we learned to navigate the balance between love and self-care. Some days, we stuck to the pact. Other days, we threw it out the window and ate pancakes in bed.
Because in the end, taking care of yourself isn’t about being perfect. It is about showing up—messy, broken, and real.
How do you carry love without losing yourself?
In the weeks that followed, we learned to be gentler—with each other and with ourselves. Not every day had to be perfect.
Some mornings, we skipped the cold oats and lingered in bed, talking about everything and nothing. Other days, we read quietly side by side, the silence between us a testament to how far we had come.
Does self-care ever truly end?
Willowbrook changed us, but it didn’t fix us. We were still a little broken, still learning. But isn’t that the point?
On our one-year anniversary, Callum surprised me with a picnic at the cliffs. As we ate cold oats from mismatched bowls, he raised a glass of orange juice.
“To us,” he said, grinning. “And to taking care of yourself.”
“To love,” I added, clinking my glass against his. “And to giving yourself permission to be messy.”
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Author Bio
Tushar Mangl - Healer and Author of "Ardika." Writes on personal finance, Vastu, mental health, food, leisure, and a greener, better society.
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