"Or write a book. Amanda would love it. She loves all that crap."

"Well at least Amanda would be happy."

"And Lizzie would want to sell our story to the national press."

"Of course."

"The modern day Romeo and Juliet?"

Noah stopped laughing and clasped his hands in mine, a desperate look in his eye.

"Promise me, Poppy, that we won't become like them?"

"Like who?"

"Like Romeo and bloody Juliet. Don't ruin your life or end it, just because we're apart. Live it. We can't be together, but live it for me. Make the most of it. And I'll live mine for you. And I'll try and be happy for you and you've got to try and be happy for me. That way, somehow, we'll always be together. We'll be living for each other in the only way we can."

I nodded through another sob. "I promise."

Noah went to kiss me but I stopped him.

"We can't. What if we hurt people?"

"There's no one around for miles, I'm sure of it. Please, let us just be together one last time. Let's make a memory we can hold on to when we're old and grey. A feeling we can access at any time to remember what it is to be loved, to be really truly loved and to be really truly together."

There were no more words, only feelings.

As Noah and I kissed, the heavens didn't open and rain hell on us, the earth didn't shake, a blizzard didn't blow in. Instead, the sun shone a little brighter into our cave, making us warm again. The sky went the bluest I'd ever seen it. We kissed for for ever, or maybe minutes, I can't remember. But I do remember smiling. The sort of smile that hurts your stomach, it's born from so much happiness. The smile your face can only produce if you're really, truly in love.

We curled up together on the cave floor. Noah was behind me, pressing every part of his body against my back, stroking my hair. The sun shone in through the gaps in the stones, making the world glow like we were stuck in an angel's halo.

We closed our eyes and slept together.

And when we heard the helicopter we kept our eyes shut. Noah squeezed my hand and I knew it was his way of saying "I love you".

I squeezed it back and we lay still.

When they came for us, we were both still smiling.

It started just like any other day, with the sun rising.

It streamed through the curtains and my halls-of-residence room was transformed into a deep egg-yolk-yellow colour. I closed my eyes, feeling the sun burn my eyelids. I wasn't going to go back to sleep. I could tell.

I watched the glow of light move slowly up the wall as time passed. It was incredible really. How the world can just keep on truckin', doing what it always does, without giving you personal acknowledgement that today wasn't just like any other day. That today was going to be hard. I threw off my duvet and the cold air hit me. It was almost Christmas.

It was exactly two years ago today that they took him.

I'd already texted my course friends and Frank to tell them I was missing first lecture. With the grades I'd been getting, I reckoned I could get away with it. Frank and I'd ended up at the same uni after all, and did, on occasion, find the time to go to a "grungy" gig (much to Frank's bemusement) or struggle through essays in the library together. I had Lizzie visiting that weekend and I'd cleared the weekend of essay work so we could properly celebrate her making editor of her student newspaper. She was arriving tomorrow, and I couldn't wait to see her. Lizzie was still the thread that kept us all connected, and I was sure I'd hear all of the gossip about Amanda, Ruth (and Ruth's new boyfriend, no doubt).

I skipped breakfast and stuffed my completed and hopefully first-class essay into my shoulder bag. Wrapping my knitted scarf around my head multiple times, I braced myself for the cold walk into campus.

They're a weird thing, anniversaries. Marks in time against particular dates small squares in the calendar that you count down to with either dread or excitement. Most of the time, life is all "What's next?" "Who's next?" "Where the HELL am I going, please?" But on anniversaries, you take the time to stop and look back and it's like watching a play of your past dance across your memory.

At this exact time two years ago, Noah and I must've been handing over our letters. The letters they'd somehow found the heart to let us write. So we can always be there with each other, in a small way, as calendar squares are marked off, one by one, in the galloping blur towards whatever comes next.

Nobody was really sitting outside in the union garden; it was far too cold. I was glad for the solitude. One, because I needed to do this alone, and "alone" wasn't a concept easily achieved at university. And, two, because banana milk becomes an even more uncool beverage to drink when you become a university student.

I took a seat on a cold picnic bench and turned my face to the weak winter sun. I picked up my glass and held it to the sky.

"Here's to you, Noah," I whispered to the heavens. "And here's to us."

I closed my eyes, wishing, waiting...

And, just as I'd begun to worry I'd only imagined it last year, on that horrible first anniversary, it happened again. A breeze picked up out of nowhere, rattling the trees, lifting my hair and giving me goosepimples. The air smelled like apples. I felt him all around me.

"I love you," I said, and the sun suddenly burned brighter, illuminating every bare tree branch, giving my surroundings a yellowy silver lining. It was us doing this, together. I knew it. Because, wherever he was, at this precise moment, I knew he was looking at the same sun and thinking the same thing.

Here's what I've learned since that awful day. What should happen isn't always what does happen, especially where love is concerned. Happy endings are reserved strictly for the fiction shelves of bookstores. In reality, people don't chase their lovers through airports to stop them getting on aeroplanes. The most popular guy in school doesn't fall for the class geek. Friends don't suddenly realize their eternal adoration for each other at the countdown to New Year's Eve, on the top of the Empire State Building, in the rain.

Noah and I could never run into the sunset.

Real love doesn't mend everything. Real love doesn't conquer all. And, most importantly, real love doesn't require a happily-ever-after that's not what it's about. But real love does change you. It moulds you. It burns your heart into a charred cinder that relights like a phoenix, stronger and more blazing than ever.

I took another sip of my drink and smiled. I was so proud of myself. For getting here, after that awful time following the separation when I never thought I would breathe again. The true test of life isn't how you cope when everything is going in your favour; it's how you deal with things that could destroy you, if you let them.

I reached into my bag, pulled out my special notepad, and the letter fell out from between the pages. I wanted to cry just seeing his handwriting. I traced the imprint his biro had left on the paper with my fingers and swallowed the lump in my throat.

I unfolded it and read it again, although I knew all the words off by heart.

Poppy, There is so much to say, so much I will probably leave out by mistake and then I'll hate myself for ever for missing the opportunity.

But, if this is all you'll have left of me, this is all I need to say really. I love you, Poppy. I will never have the chance to say that to you again but every time you read this, know that it is me saying it afresh, wherever I may be.

I will always love you, for ever, with every bit of my soul.

Whenever I feel the sun on my face I will think of you and those last moments we shared together. I am so grateful we were able to make that memory. It will help me every day.

Life is long though, Poppy. Don't break our promise to each other. Don't make your life a sacrifice to us. Be you, be happy. Find happiness in everything you do. I ask only this: every year, on this day, let's look to the sun and raise a drink to each other. Let's both take a moment to remember us as we were. And that way, we'll always be together.

You are perfect and I am yours for ever.

Noah.

That's the thing about love. However you have it, however you've had it it never goes. Once it's touched you, it's touched you for ever. You'll be permanently scarred by its brilliance. You can walk through the rest of your life with that wonderful knowledge...

Someone once loved me and it was beautiful.

No one can take that from you.

And there are times, sometimes, when you need to remember that. Acknowledge it. Remember how lucky you are that you ever had it at all.

And then there are the times when the only appropriate thing to do is stop crying, let it go, with light and love in your heart, and to continue living your life to the best of your ability.

I actually can't believe I'm writing my acknowledgements page for my first novel! You'll have to bear with me a bit here because I've fantasised about doing this since about the day I discovered what books were.

So, firstly, a huge thank you to Maddy, for making this pipe dream real. Thank you for not only being a totally kick-ass agent, but also one of the loveliest people I've ever met. Your support of, and dedication to, Soulmates has literally changed my life. There will never be adequate words to express my gratitude for that.

A massive bigs-up to Usborne, the perfect home for Poppy. I don't think there is anything else you guys could've done for this book and I am so happy you took Soulmates on board. Thank you for all the tireless hard work you put in to make it so much better.

*cue emotional orchestral music*

Writing this book has been a bit of a journey, so I just want to thank the people responsible for holding me together throughout the process.

To Mr. Dundas, for helping me believe I could write when I was a disgusting grumpy teenager who thought everything I did sucked. And to Jonathan Foster, whose brilliant-albeit-terrifying teaching made me the writer I am today. It is a beautiful gift to have a teacher in your life who inspires and moulds you. I was fortunate enough to have two.

To Rich, for being there from the beginning, and helping me right through to the end. Even when you didn't have to. Words are silly things, really, when it comes to such a thank you.

To Lisa, my unrelenting cheerleader. Thank you for reading the MESS that was the first draft and championing it from day one. Your support has been unyielding and wonderful, and yet I repay you by blatantly plagiarising bits of your life. Thanks for a) not minding, and b) generally being a frickin' fantastic mate.

I want to thank my colleagues at TheSite.org, for their incredible support throughout this process. Especially to Emma and Nic, for dealing with my emotional rollercoasters eight hours a day, five days a week. I am so proud to work with you guys and to be part of the amazing work you do helping young people.

To my wonderful sisters, for putting up with me. Eryn, I only hope your Poppy has less drama than mine. And to Willow, for being so patient with me constantly trying to hack into your young brain.

To Owen...well for everything. For holding my hand through this process, especially when I'd made some tough decisions that I didn't know were going to turn out okay. Thank you for seeing the light when I couldn't. Thank you for reading a 140,000 word messy manuscript about two lovestricken teenagers, and thank you even more for liking it. I couldn't have done it without you...but no, you're not getting a joint byline.

And, finally, the biggest thank you typing can muster to my beautiful and amazing parents. To Larz and Olivia thank you for absolutely everything. I am so lucky to have you, you don't even know. Everything I do is to make you proud.

Holly graduated with a first-class degree in Journalism Studies and spent two years working as a local news reporter on the Surrey Mirror, garnering a nomination for Print Journalist of the Year in 2010. She now works as a journalist for TheSite.org (www.thesite.org), an advice and information website for 16-25 year olds. Holly is twenty-seven and lives in London. Soulmates is her first novel.

Find out more about Holly at www.hollybourne.co.uk.

www.soulmates-book.com.

Where did the idea for Soulmates come from?

I've always thought there's this big disconnect between what we want love to be, and what love actually is. That we're spoon-fed happily-ever-afters and dramatic romantic gestures as love, whereas real relationships are a lot more complicated than that.

I started writing Soulmates in the midst of the Twilight epidemic, where huge sections of bookstores were suddenly dedicated to dark romance stories. I read the Twilight books and quickly became utterly obsessed with the "forbidden" love of Edward and Bella. And it was also a bit like, Why has nothing this romantic ever happened to me?

It got me thinking about why we always want love to have this huge overarching dramatic narrative. Why do we crave fireworks and drama and forbidden-this-and-that, when it's actually probably not very good for us? So I took the most romantic idea of all soulmates and thought, What would happen if finding your soulmate was actually the worst thing ever?

What is your favourite part of the writing process, and what was your favourite scene to write?

I have two favourite parts:.

1) The wonderful heady early days when you get A New Idea and all the excitement that comes with that.

2) When the whole thing is finished and you didn't screw up aforementioned idea and there's a half-decent first draft sitting on your laptop.

All the stuff in between points one and two is generally HORRIBLE and fraught with neurotic obsession, insecurity, and a hermit-like existence.

My favourite scene to write was the last scene. I hadn't planned to finish the book that day I just thought I'd sit down and write a few words. And then, without warning, it all just kind of poured out of me and hours passed without me realizing. This never happens, and usually I find writing is like pulling out wisdom teeth with a teaspoon. But, with the ending of Soulmates, it just wrote itself and when it was done I was a sobbing mess perched alone on this couch, in an empty flat, feeling massively melodramatic. The last few paragraphs of Soulmates haven't been touched throughout the entire editing process.

How did you get into writing?

I trained to be a journalist and was a news reporter for two years on a local paper. In my humble opinion, news journalism is pretty much the best writing training the world will ever give you. Any self-indulgence with word counts, or jarring adjectives, or meandering away from The Story is beaten out of you pretty quickly by your terrifying editors.

Grateful as I am for that training, I found dealing with people's problems on a day-to-day basis, and then having to write about it in an exciting way, almost utterly intolerable. The idea for Soulmates was floating about my brain for a while and, on one particularly gruesome news day, I came back from a twelve-hour shift and just started writing. It became my little sanctuary from the horrors of the job, and it built from there.

Who is your favourite character in Soulmates and why?

Funnily enough, neither of my protagonists! It's probably Lizzie. I always wrote her with a big grin on my face. I love her brazen ambition, her no-nonsense delivery, her utter inability to keep a secret, and yet she would have Poppy's back always. There is a big soft spot for Frank in my heart too.

How long did it take you to write Soulmates?

It took two and a half years of fitful writing bouts, punctuated with leaving my job and deciding on a whim to drive from one side of America to the other which, as you can imagine, took a while.

Did much change in the book from your first draft to the book we're reading now?

You are fortunate enough to be reading the condensed version of this book which has been cut to normal-ish length. The first draft was at least 30,000 words longer, and much thanks to my agent and editors for saying "Umm, no, CUT," and "No, we don't need a 4,000 word chapter where the girls go shopping for Poppy's gig outfit."

The setting of the epilogue is also different, as in my first draft I jumped way waaaay into Poppy's future where she was an adult and quite a few people found that jarring.

Do you have any tips for aspiring writers?

It's so hard to not just regurgitate good advice I've nicked off writers much better than myself mainly the whole of On Writing by Stephen King.

But simple as it sounds just sit down on your arse and write something! Stop thinking about doing it and do it. Stop telling people about doing it and do it. Stop worrying it's a monstrosity against literature and do it (and, from my experience, the worse you think it is, the better it may be). Only from writing and writing and writing will you make a first draft, and only from a first draft can you start creating a half-decent book.

Oh, and when you're not writing, read. Read all the time.

We all found ourselves tearing up at the end of Soulmates... Which books make you cry?

I am very much one of life's criers. Anything sets me off reality TV weddings, that Adele song, and, on an uber-emotional day, spotting a raggedy pigeon on a train platform which only had one leg.

That said, when it comes to books, I very rarely cry. Even if the author kills off my favourite characters. Without fail though, the end of To Kill A Mockingbird makes me cry every single time I reread it which is at least once a year. It's never a big bawly cry with snotting into a tissue, but a few stray tears leak whenever Scout is standing on Boo Radley's porch and I marvel at just how beautiful words can be.

Can you give us a teaser of what we should expect from your next book, The Manifesto on How to be Interesting?

It's about a girl called Bree, a loner and wannabe novelist who decides her life is too boring to be a writer, so she starts identifying what makes a person interesting and dedicates her life to conforming to those ideals, blogging about what happens.

And finally...do you believe in soulmates?

I believe in love. And I believe in souls. Whether souls are connected to love, and your soulmate is someone you're romantically supposed to be with...well...I don't ruddy know, and writing a whole book about them hasn't helped me much.

But if you believe in soulmates, well then, that's a gift, and don't let anyone tell you otherwise.