One Day: One Year On

One year ago One Day first took over TikTok, and at first, I resisted. The teary reaction videos, the Edinburgh compilations, the endless video essays overanalysing every longing glance – it all felt like another overhyped internet obsession. But after handing in my dissertation, I felt I needed a reward. Something easy, cosy, a little indulgent. So, seeing a One Day renaissance online marking a year since its release, I finally gave in, subscribed to Netflix, and prepared for mediocrity.

A glance at the blurb didn’t do much to ease my scepticism. A privileged southern boy and a working-class northern girl, caught in each other’s orbit for two decades, reconnecting every 15 July, St Swithin’s Day? He drifts from one opportunity to the next, cushioned by money and connections. Meanwhile, she has to battle to break into the historically classist creative industry and teeters on giving it all up for a more secure job in teaching. It didn’t sound particularly believable. Or moving. Or funny. Or even especially aware of the class tensions at its core.

And yet – against all odds – it won me over.

Time Flies When It Breaks Your Heart

A limited series is the perfect format for One Day. Each year (bar the heart-breaking final two episodes) gets its own beautifully produced miniature set piece.  Every episode is crafted with care and detail by a production crew who clearly valued the source material. From the costumes, to the locations to the soundtrack, every element serves a purpose in immersing us in these characters’ worlds, building their lives and relationships with such precision that each moment feels earned. It’s not just a series but a visual and emotional journey.

Despite the varying tones and settings, nothing ever feels disconnected. Each episode, with its outstanding supporting cast and meticulous details, builds on the last, ensuring we’re never lost in the time jumps and that no matter how much time passes, their story always feels whole.

And, God, it passes so fast. In one sitting, I had travelled from Edinburgh at a boozy graduation ball to a midnight heart-to-heart in a lamplit maze, eight years later. The bingeability of it all was intoxicating. I was so engrossed in each year that hours flew by without even noticing.

Fresh Faces, Timeless Love

The whole show’s fate rests on Emma (Ambika Mod) and Dexter (Leo Woodall). We have to believe in them, root for them, and ache for them both as a couple and individually. Mod and Woodall don’t just carry the series; they elevate it. Their performances are so lived-in that the adaptation never feels like a performance at all. As someone who read the book (admittedly, the same weekend I watched the show), I worried their chemistry wouldn’t translate. But, wow, does it.

Watching them fall in love is exhilarating. Watching them fall apart is just as devastating. The actors are in such fluid harmony with the writing and with one another that it makes the case for hiring fresh blood proving that new faces can bring a depth and authenticity that feels both timeless and wholly unique.

It’s almost impossible to believe this is Mod’s first leading role -every emotion is conveyed flawlessly. While she made waves in This Is Going to Hurt (another show that left me questioning my emotional stability), this was her moment to prove herself, and, my God, did she deliver. It’s hard to believe she nearly turned the role down because now, Mod is Emma and Emma is Mod. Her portrayal is so instinctive, so real, that you forget you’re being played. Well, maybe apart from 1994’s opening scene where Emma attempts the first lines of her novel – no author writes like that, especially not one with a first-class English degree from Edinburgh.

From there, Mod will shatter you with a single line, then, just as the weight of it settles, disarm you with a wry remark that makes you laugh through the burgeoning lump in your throat. Her performance is a masterclass in contrast – grief and wit, longing and levity – blended together so effortlessly that you barely notice the shift, only the ache it leaves behind. Each moment with Emma feels like she’s walking right beside you, a person so vividly real, so achingly human, that it’s impossible not to feel both her joy and her pain in equal measure. It’s a mystery how since the series was released Mod has yet to become a household name.

Woodall, too, is a revelation. He takes Dexter, who could have been nothing more than an insufferable playboy (which, at times, he absolutely is) and makes him complex, magnetic, and, crucially, human. His charm is effortless, but so is his ability to peel back the layers of Dex’s privilege, arrogance, and aching vulnerability. And then, just when you think you’ve seen all he has to give, he delivers a performance so raw, so devastating, that the crying compilations I’d seen online for the last year suddenly added up. His portrayal of loss is unflinching – grief that isn’t poetic or neatly packaged but messy, suffocating, and painfully real.

Each 15 July that we come back Emma and Dexter we can feel the development in their relationship.  Their chemistry, initially awkward and unsure, matures with each passing year, slowly transforming into something deep and natural. By the time we reach the later seasons, the bond between them feels earned, layered.

Brilliant but Bruised

The characters that share this bond become equally as layered as year by year we watch their successes, their miseries, their growth. Emma traps herself in relationships, jobs, and versions of herself that she knows don’t make her happy, but she convinces herself they’re all she deserves. She hides behind sharp wit and self-deprecation, using them as both armour and chains – deflecting her own self-doubt, pushing away the very things she wants most. She’s brilliant but refuses to believe it, talented but too afraid to chase what she loves. It’s a slow, aching kind of self-sabotage, one that’s all too familiar.

Dexter strides into adulthood thinking he can do anything, and for a while, it seems like he can. Fame, fortune, fleeting admiration – he gets almost everything he wants with effortless charm. But after eating the world, he’s still hungry. Addiction takes hold first, a temporary escape from the pressure. But it’s the loss and the missed opportunities that truly unravel him. The death of his mother, the people he pushed away. I saw myself in Emma more than I expected to, but Dexter’s journey hit just as hard. By the time I reached the final episodes, it wasn’t just about wanting them to be together – it was about wanting them to be okay.

When the Inevitable Still Hurts

Because I had read the book and couldn’t escape the dissection of the plot online, I went into the series already knowing the famous tragic ending. But instead of diminishing the experience, it somehow made it richer. Knowing what was coming made me savour the good moments even more, yet those moments were bittersweet in their own right. The happiness felt fleeting, shadowed by the inevitable. But what hit hardest was how it made the downs feel even worse. Each missed opportunity, every moment of distance between them, felt like a punch to the gut.

Even if you couldn’t avoid the spoilers online, it’s still worth watching. Because the emotional depth, the chemistry, the one-liners, the nuances of each year – those things can’t be spoiled. And they’re what make this journey unforgettable.

And despite my forewarning, the ending was not any easier, I still found myself sobbing in the corner of my kitchen, having to convince my flatmate (who walked in at the worst possible moment) that no, an immediate family member had not just popped their clogs. It’s a show that haunts me. Whenever I hear the evocative In Cold Light online, I immediately have to skip to the next video before I break down all over again. And that’s how I know: it was worth it. It was worth every tear, every laugh, every heartache.

After a year of putting this show off, I can’t help but feel glaikit – just like the characters themselves, I wasted so much time avoiding something that was right in front of me. One Day isn’t just a love story; it’s a reminder of how time slips through our fingers, how we convince ourselves we have more of it than we do. It’s about the chances we don’t take, the people we lose before we’re ready, and how life keeps moving, whether we’re paying attention or not.

If you are to dive into the six hour mini series (which I couldn’t recommend more) do finish it on a Saturday because you’re going need a day or two to recover before going back to class.

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