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The one that got away

It happens, at my age, that your mates start getting married. And your exes get married. And also, the girls you had crushes on get married.

That's what happened with Hannah. Hannah is a friend, or at least a good acquaintance, but we'd kind of lost touch, which is a shame because I think I could have easily fallen in love with her.

Nothing ever happened between me and Hannah. Not even close. But every conversation we had was brilliant. It fizzed and crackled, we laughed and flirted. Chemistry, I think it's called.

To clarify, Hannah isn't some outrageously attractive superwoman totally out of my league. She's just a normal girl with unspectacular looks. I just had a good feeling about her.

But we were never more than pals. Either I was going out with someone, or she was going out with someone, or we didn't have a chance to talk properly. It just never came up. We saw each other rarely. We weren't close enough friends to go out for a drink together. Yet we were friendly enough that any suggestion of romance would seem odd.

[See also: Why guys are scared of being single]

And so, I did nothing, and she did nothing, until last month, when I bumped into her at a mutual friend's party. I hadn't seen her for two years but within nanoseconds of speaking to her, that warmth and spark flowed back. I was being hilarious and so was she. We'd been brought together again — could this be it? I was happy, excited. But I'd momentarily forgotten what happens at our age. She told me she was getting married next month. Her fiancé proposed a few months after they'd met.

I congratulated Hannah, I didn't flicker. I'm good like that. We carried on chatting; nothing was different on the surface, despite my disappointment. I was concocting some story about owning a weasel, which she correctly disbelieved. It was banter (weird banter, admittedly). And it ran so smoothly, until we were interrupted by someone saying goodbye to her. She half-introduced me to this person as I shuffled away.

"This is Dan," she said. "Still a liar... and still fit."

She said the second, slightly jaw-dropping, bit almost under her breath and looked into my eyes. Finally! It was the first time ever that either of us had said something overtly amorous. I knew it - she felt the same! But I was already edging away, back into the throng.

The next time I saw her was two days ago, on Facebook, in her wedding dress, with her new husband. I was pleased for her, but regretful. Should I have done something? Back then, when there was a chance. Because it's too late now. Was she 'the one', did I let her slip?

It quickly dawned on me how gobsmackingly self-indulgent I was being. She's married... she's found her one, and that justifies the fact that we're not together — emphatically! I'll never know if she felt the way I did and I'll certainly never ask her. But even if she did at one point, she didn't give two hoots about it now. She's in love with another man! That's why they say: you'll know in the end if it's not meant to be.

But do we know for sure? We're at the age where everyone gets married, but almost 50 per cent of marriages end in divorce. In a few years, will I be at the age where my mates and exes start separating? And if so, does that mean me and Hannah are still on?

Of course not, I'm being silly. But I do think marriage is about being in the right place at the right time. And I probably should have said something to Hannah at some point, really.

Sorry for going a bit soft. I promise to talk about womanising again next week.

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