Time Difference
London — December 2023
Leah Williamson had developed a routine.
Wake up.
Training.
Rehab.
Pretend she wasn't terrified about returning too soon.
Text Elle Smith.
The last part had become embarrassingly important.
By December, they spoke every day.
Not intentionally at first.
It just... happened.
A message became a conversation. A conversation became voice notes. Voice notes became falling asleep with phones still in their hands.
Leah tried not to think too hard about what that meant.
Because thinking too hard usually ruined things.
Tonight London was freezing. Arsenal's Christmas lights had been strung around the training ground and someone had forced festive music into the gym speakers again.
Leah was currently lying flat on a yoga mat staring at the ceiling while a physio counted reps beside her.
"Twelve."
"This feels fake," Leah complained.
"Thirteen."
"No human being naturally does this movement."
"Fourteen."
Leah groaned dramatically and reached blindly for her water bottle. Her phone lit up beside it.
Without thinking, Leah opened it immediately.
A mirror selfie.
Dark curls. Red top. Reading glasses low on her nose. A book.
She looks good in red.
Caption:
cancelled plans to read and honestly? growth.
Leah smiled instantly.
"You're grinning again," the physio said.
"I'm literally not."
"You literally are."
Leah ignored him completely and replied to the story.
Rockstar lifestyle.
Three seconds later:
You're one to talk, Miss ACL rehab.
Leah snorted quietly.
Harsh.
Accurate.
Another photo came through immediately after.
The book Elle was reading now rested beside a coffee mug on her tiny kitchen table. Rain blurred New York behind the window.
Leah zoomed in slightly before she could stop herself.
Books everywhere.
A hoodie hanging over the back of a chair.
Tiny apartment kitchen.
Warm lighting.
It looked real.
That was what she liked most about Elle.
Nothing about her life felt manufactured despite the following and campaigns and old Miss America clips floating around online.
Even her popularity felt accidental.
Elle posted like someone talking to friends instead of performing for strangers.
And somehow that made people adore her more.
"You're gone," the physio said knowingly.
Leah blinked. "What?"
"You've done the same stretch for two straight minutes."
"Oh."
The physio laughed. "Girlfriend?"
Leah nearly dropped the resistance band.
"No."
The answer came far too quickly.
The physio raised an eyebrow but wisely didn't push it.
Girlfriend.
Leah's chest felt strange at the word.
Because technically no, obviously.
But also...
Her phone buzzed again.
Leah took a quick picture of the rehab room floor and the resistance bands around her knees.
Living the dream.
Elle replied with a voice note this time.
Leah pressed play immediately.
"You know," Elle's voice said softly, "I think you deserve financial compensation for how often you suffer in that gym."
Leah laughed quietly to herself.
In the background of the voice note she could hear New York traffic and faint music.
"Also," Elle continued, "I just saw one of those edits of you on TikTok."
Leah closed her eyes immediately. "Oh no."
"You people are insane in England."
You people? Leah typed.
Another voice note came instantly.
"There were dramatic black-and-white clips, Leah. One girl wrote 'she could ruin my life and I'd thank her.'"
Leah burst out laughing properly now.
"Oh my God."
The physio looked over in confusion.
Leah waved him off.
That's deeply concerning behaviour.
I don't know, Elle replied.
I kind of get it now.
Leah stared at the screen.
A slow warmth spread through her chest.
Flirting with Elle never felt forced.
It just slipped naturally into conversation so easily it scared her slightly.
Like they'd known each other longer than a month.
—
Later that night Leah sat alone in her flat wrapped in an Arsenal hoodie, laptop open but ignored beside her.
Rain hit softly against the windows.
Her knee ached again today. Not badly. Just enough to remind her recovery still wasn't over.
The fear crept in hardest at night.
What if she came back different?
What if she wasn't as good?
What if everyone expected the same Leah and she couldn't become her again?
Her phone rang suddenly.
FaceTime.
Elle.
Leah answered immediately.
The screen filled with New York evening light and Elle's face curled sideways against her couch cushion.
"No glasses tonight?" Leah asked.
Elle gasped dramatically. "So you do notice things."
"Unfortunately."
Elle smiled softly.
God.
That smile was becoming a problem.
"You look tired," Elle said quietly.
"Long day."
"How's the knee?"
Leah hesitated briefly. "Fine."
Elle just looked at her.
Not pushing.
Just waiting.
Leah sighed eventually. "I'm scared to come back."
There it was.
The truth.
Elle's expression softened immediately.
"Yeah," she said gently. "I would be too."
No forced positivity.
No "you'll be amazing."
Just honesty.
And weirdly, that made Leah breathe easier.
"I keep thinking everyone expects me to be exactly the same."
"You won't be."
Leah frowned slightly.
"That's supposed to comfort me?"
"I mean it in a good way," Elle said softly. "You went through something hard. People change after hard things."
Leah looked down briefly.
The room around her felt quieter suddenly.
"You know what I think?" Elle continued.
"What?"
"I think you've spent so long trying to become unbreakable that you forgot people can love broken things too."
Leah went completely still.
Nobody spoke for a few seconds.
New York glowed softly behind Elle's shoulder. London rain whispered against Leah's windows.
Thousands of miles apart.
And somehow this still felt closer than most things in her life.
Then suddenly Elle grinned.
"Also," she added, "your hair looked really good in that TikTok edit."
Leah groaned loudly.
"There she is," Elle laughed. "That's the Leah I know."