Voilà! I really hope you like it, please tell me what you think of it!
- Jay.
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London had been boiling for the past two days and everyone was a little bit on edge. No one here was used to such heat and as the thermometer kept going up, people started getting crazier and crazier in town. Piccadilly had become an actual circus and I couldn’t really stand it anymore. So I decided to head to a much calmer place. Hampstead wouldn’t be so crowded since it was so far away from the city center and not so much a touristic attraction. I’d grab a cool smoothie and go to Keats house, sit in the garden and read a little. I sat in the tube for a good half an hour, thinking I was going to melt to death, and when I finally emerged I thanked the gods of transportation for letting me out alive. As I left the station, I went straight down to Starbucks and got myself a strawberry and lime smoothie. I wasn’t too sure which way to go after that to get to Keats House, so when I walked out, I took my phone out of my pocket to quickly check the map. But googling the location of a romantic poet’s house and walking clearly don’t match, and as I was about to get my answer I violently bumped into someone, getting three quarters of my drink spilled on my shirt. I yelled because it was so cold, and my shirt was destroyed. But as the surprise faded away, I realized he was yelling as well!
“Couldn’t you be a bit more careful, really?! Look at that! There’s… What even IS that fucking pink liquid all over my shoes?! MY TOES ARE FREEZING!”
His blue eyes were shooting lightning bolts and for a second I was unable to move. I just stood there, staring at him with frozen boobs and my mouth wide open. He was still rambling about how he loved those shoes, and he had no time to go back home and change, and really this day was just shit from the beginning, and then he looked at me and everything stopped. We admired each other’s face in silence for a good twenty seconds before I finally stuttered out a timid “I… I’m sorry.” He chuckled and shook his head before raising his hand and running his fingers through his long hair. “No, it’s… It’s nothing, really, I shouldn’t have yelled at you like that, after all I spilled your drink. Here, let me buy you another one, okay?”
I agreed, of course, and we got back inside to get a second strawberry and lime smoothie. Whatever was that urgent thing he had no time to go and change for, I will probably never know, because he did nothing of what he had planned that day. We both went to Keats house, sat on a bench under the trees drank my smoothie and talked. His name was Louis, he was nineteen and a singer. He refused to tell me more about his singing activity, but he did say that he had a gazillion siblings whom he loved endlessly, and his passion was football. I told him all about me as well. Really we just sat there all afternoon blabbering about everything we could think about just to have an excuse to stay together. When night fell and we had to leave, he brought me to a bar, then a restaurant, after which we walked around town most of the night to get back to my place. I did not invite him in. After all, I barely knew him, even though it felt like I’d known him forever. But I did get his phone number and the promise that we would see each other again very soon. And we did. Every single day for the past three years.
