Smile, though your heart is aching.
Smile, even though it's breaking.
When there are clouds in the sky,
you'll get by.
If you smile through your pain and sorrow,
Smile and maybe tomorrow,
You'll see the sun shining through
For you.

--Smile by Charlie Chaplin

Five years earlier, Rachel Berry chose to uproot her life and move halfway across the globe to London because of a boy.

At the time, she made the decision out of pettiness and hurt because she was afraid to face a life she thought that she couldn't understand.

But in the long run, it was the best decision of her life.

It began with an end.

Shoving his hands deep into his coat pockets, Dean took a deep breath. Rachel wondered why he had asked to meet her at the park out of the blue that morning; but now the troubled look that crossed his handsome face made her worried.

"What's wrong?" Rachel asked timidly. "Why'd you ask to meet me here?"

"Rach…" Dean started, running a hand through his short, sandy brown hair. "I can't marry you."

Rachel's jaw dropped and she felt something tear inside of her. She wanted to say something—she had something to say for everything—but no words would formulate.

He dropped his head and turned to walk away, but then he looked back. When his painstakingly blue eyes met her deep brown ones, he said, "I'm sorry."

"Why?" was the only word she could choke out as the tears formed.

Dean shook his head and repeated, "I'm sorry."

He then walked away from her.

Rachel Berry was not used to not being prepared, and as such, everything she did came with a carefully constructed plan.

So at the abrupt end of her engagement, Rachel promptly went into her routine of crying, freaking out, composing herself, and plastering on a smile. Then she went to the extreme in order to figure out what to do next.

Of course, only Rachel Berry could come up with one of the most extreme and dramatic solutions to cure a broken heart.

Moving to London was a bit rash and extreme even for her, she will admit. But, luckily, everything came together for her.

Rachel spent two days after the break-up figuring out what to do, and all she knew was that she couldn't stay. Fortunately, she had a new independent project that was being filmed in England which provided the perfect getaway.

She fell in love with London. The sites, the sounds, everything about it just called out to her even more than New York's Broadway ever did.

And most importantly, no one had ever heard of Dean Matthews.

She decided to stay.

Rachel had made a home of the same hotel ever since the end of the film's shooting, but she decided that it was time to find her own place.

Finding her dream apartment—or flat, as it were called—was a stroke of luck.

Flashback:

Rachel walked towards the Starbucks across the street from her hotel. As she entered the door, she shivered as the pleasant warmness enveloped her. She ordered her forbidden and vocal-cord-destroying treat of a venti white chocolate mocha with a double shot of espresso and a bagel. After grabbing her order and finding a table, she noticed a stack of newspapers and decided to leaf through one to find some available real estate.

Money wasn't an issue for the actress, but finding a place that spoke to her was the most difficult part for Rachel. Nothing in the newspaper appealed to her, and she was slightly distraught.

However, her worries were soon to be for naught as her prayers would be answered in that very café.

"You know, the only thing I hate about you getting married is your moving out," a pretty accented voice said. "Now I have to find and break in a new flat-mate."

Rachel's ears piqued. She normally didn't approve of eavesdropping, but she couldn't help herself. She turned towards where the voice came from and saw two women nursing their coffees.

"I know," the other woman said. "But you'll do fine."

"Easy for you to say," the first voice said. "I had a hard time adjusting to you at first. I have to start all over again!"

Rachel looked at the two, debating whether or not she should speak up. The first woman was a beautiful African-British (if that is the politically correct term, Rachel thought) woman with striking features and an outfit that screamed something artsy about her. The other was a pretty blue-eyed blonde that donned both an engagement ring and a dark grey suit that implied businesswoman. Looking at them individually, Rachel thought that she would have never guessed the two were friends. But together, they were an imposing force.

With nothing to lose, Rachel decided to take a risk. She took a deep breath, pushed herself out of her chair, and walked towards the pair.

"Excuse me," she started nervously. "I was sitting over there, and I rudely eavesdropped on your conversation. I just decided to move to London, and I'm looking for a flat to share or rent."

The two just stared at her silently, waiting for her to continue.

Rachel turned to the woman losing her roommate and said, "So, I'm sure that it's really odd for a complete stranger to suddenly want to share an apartment with you, but I'm really interested in seeing the place at least." Not really sure what else to say, she kind of grasped at straws and blurted, "I promise that I'm a really nice person and totally not serial-killer material."

The woman who was getting married gave her roommate with a knowing look. Pursing her lips, the other woman glared at her appraisingly and finally said, "A Yank? It's a possibility. I'm Gwen. And you are?"

"Rachel Berry."

Gwen introduced Emily, who was getting married two weeks later, and invited Rachel to visit the apartment. As soon as she walked in the door, Rachel knew that this was the right place for her. The bedroom was spacious with natural lighting, and the kitchen was equipped with everything she could ever need if she ever wanted to cook.

She informed Gwen that she loved the place and that the rent should not be a problem for her.

The dark-skinned beauty wrapped her fashionably-clad arm around Rachel's shoulders and said, "Well, Rachel Berry, this is a start to something new. Welcome home."

Rachel's dreams and aspirations were not all shot down just because she changed locations. All it meant was that she had to adjust and work with what she had. And, luckily for her, what she now had was London's West End theatre.

She had at first feared that the London stage would not find her a suitable actress, but she was pleasantly surprised (read: ecstatic) when she got her callback as Maureen in Rent.

Rehearsing every day and performing by night, Rachel found her fill of musical theatre heaven. And the audience loved her. Rave reviews were made about the rising American star with a heavenly voice who was making her way as the lead of quite a few productions. She became the belle of West End.

A day hasn't passed in which Rachel Berry forgot about her life before London. A day hasn't passed in which she hasn't felt the pain. But with each passing day the pain was slowly ebbing away. She was gaining back the control and confidence in her life.

Gwen, a part-time artist and a full-time gallery owner, quickly became Rachel's closest friend in London (although the now married Emily and her husband James were close seconds). She kept in touch with Quinn and Finn and her fathers, of course, all of whom visited whenever they could. Rachel also bonded and made lasting friendships with her cast mates in every production she worked on, often in which she was the lead.

Five years had passed, and now Rachel was the lead in yet another revival of The Phantom of the Opera after having West Side Story, Wicked, Beauty and the Beast, and Rent on her very impressive resume.

She was twenty-seven and already a successful ingénue. Rachel couldn't have asked for more.

Except… something was missing for her. And she knew what it was.

But she wasn't about to let her heart get broken again. Dean Matthews had already done a great job of that.

Lying on her stomach on her plush lavender bedspread, Rachel was peacefully tuning out Gwen's designated art music and reading her copy of Ivanhoe for the millionth time. Most girls love Pride and Prejudice or Jane Eyre, she would often say, but Ivanhoe is badass, chivalrous, and romantic. Plus, Rebecca is a Jew, you know.

She was so engrossed in Sir Brian de Bois-Guilbert's declaration of love for Rebecca that Rachel jumped as she heard Gwen yell for her about a visitor. Curious because she wasn't expecting anyone, she marked her place in the book and then set off down the stairs to see who her guest was.

Rachel gaped when she saw someone that she never would have guessed would ever call on her.

The boy who once threw slushies at her.

The boy who sang to her, broke up with her, and became her friend.

The boy who she hadn't spoken to since college.

"Puck?!"

Author's Note: HEY!!! I am so sorry for the really, really delayed update! I've been really busy the past month with schoolwork and college stuff and Ivanhoe (I am finding myself in love with the ever-bad Sir Brian, who must be the most misunderstood and romantic character in all of literature). So I really hope you enjoy this, although I know it lacks Puckleberry. It was meant to just give some background on Rachel.

And, please make use of the review button! I've noticed that, like, over a hundred of you guys have made this your favorite story or have put this on story alert. It doesn't take that long to do, and it makes me feel better knowing your thoughts on how this is progressing. I know, I'm a really bratty review whore. But I swear I'm really nice! Hahaha… sort of. Anyways, I bid you adieu until next time!

--Bee