Kiki had never imagined Oxford would feel like a dream, but it did—the cobbled streets, the libraries that smelled of time, and the way the rain fell like poetry itself. Yet nothing enchanted her more than Professor Adrian, the man who introduced her to the music of Victorian verses. He was charming in that effortless London way, with a voice that carried both authority and warmth. At first, their encounters were just fragments of a student and teacher’s world—discussions on Tennyson, exchanges about Browning. But slowly, the lines blurred.
One rainy night, as the city drowned in silver mist, they found themselves beneath a single umbrella. “You’ll catch a cold if you keep wandering like this,” he teased softly, his hand brushing against hers. She laughed, nervous but unafraid, and in that fragile moment, the distance between them dissolved. What began as a kiss meant for nothing more than curiosity bloomed into nights of warmth, laughter, and secrets.
“I thought this was just…fun,” Kiki whispered once, her head resting on his shoulder.
“Maybe it was supposed to be,” he murmured, kissing her hair, “but tell me it doesn’t feel like more.”
And it did. Every stroll along the Thames, every hidden cafe, every quiet hour reading poetry together stitched their hearts closer. For the first time, Kiki felt as though London itself had become a love letter written just for them.
But fate was not kind. The day her job offer arrived from India, joy turned bitter. Adrian held her hand, his thumb trembling against her skin. “So this is it?” he asked, trying to mask the ache in his voice.
She smiled through her tears. “I wish I could stay, but some journeys call us back.”
They parted not with promises, but with the heavy silence of two souls knowing their story would remain unfinished. And as Kiki boarded her plane, London’s rain fell once more—as if even the city mourned the end of a love that had burned so brightly, yet could not last.
