Page 82 of Set to Love

“You’d better,” he says. “I’ve already started making plans for us.”

I can’t stop smiling. “That sounds ominous.”

“Safe travels, Keller.”

I smile into the dark alleyway. “Good night, Max.”

I shove the phone in my pocket and take a deep breath. I head back inside to the smell of espresso and the sound of my friends’ laughter.

Tomorrow, I start the next chapter of my life.

Twenty

London isn’t the kind of city that welcomes you with a warm hug. It’s more of a cold, sideways-mist kind of greeting, paired with a subway system that feels like one giant obstacle course. Seriously. My smartwatch has already logged nearly ten thousand steps, and I’ve only been here a couple of hours.

The trek began with the marathon walk from the arrivals gate at Heathrow to passport control, which felt like crossing a small country on foot. Then came the Underground, also known as the Tube.

I didn’t know what I expected, but it wasn’t a labyrinth of narrow escalators, lots of transfers between lines, and a crush of commuters. By the time I finally reached Stratford, my arms were shaking and my body was damp with sweat. I’d gotten a grueling full-body workout just from lugging my two oversized suitcases through the crowds.

The calendar has officially flipped to September. For at least the next three weeks, my home away from home is a studio room in an aparthotel. It’s a place designed for business travelers and people living in limbo. You have all the comforts of home, but nothing actually belongs to you.

The room is a study in neutral decor. The carpets are gray. The walls are beige. There’s a tiny kitchenette tucked into a corner with exactly two of everything—two mugs, two plates, two spoons, forks, and knifes. In one corner of the room, there’s a sleek glass desk with a rolling chair, while the other contains a queen-sized bed.

I drop my bags and sink onto the mattress. Even though the building is located on a busy street, the double-paned windows keep the room completely insulated from the noise of the traffic below. I take out my phone to break the stillness.

I check in with my parents, then send a quick message to my bestie.

Katie

I made it! Here’s a photo of the new digs. Definitely an upgrade from your sofa. Can’t wait to give you the grand tour. Let me know what time works for you.

I hit send, not expecting a reply for a while. It’s early in Orlando and Zoe had a late night.

Then I pull up my thread with Max. He hasn’t replied to the message I sent from Heathrow before I lost my signal, but I knew he’d be in a rehearsal by the time I landed. I type a quick update.

Katie

I’m officially East London’s newest resident. I made it to the flat. Now I’m on the hunt for some decent coffee. Any recommendations?

The jet lag is starting to settle into my bones. My body is telling me I should probably sleep for twelve hours. But my mind is too wired to sleep and too restless to sit still. So I do what any new resident does when they move to a new country and a new city—go exploring.

I let the tangled lines of the Tube map dictate my adventure. I take the Central Line into the heart of the city, emerging from the underground into a swarm of people at Oxford Circus. There is so much to take in. The red double-decker buses, the black cabs weaving through traffic, and the sheer volume of languages being spoken on every corner.

I walk until I find a Big Bus Tour stop near Piccadilly Circus and purchase a day pass. A part of me feels embarrassed for playing the part of a stereotypical tourist. You know, the ones who are camera-happy and stare at everything with a wide-eyed expression. But the truth is, I am one of them.

I make a beeline for the upper deck. The wind cuts straight through my hoodie, but the view is worth being chilly. As the bus chugs along, a recorded voice acts as a tour guide, rattling off dates and the names of dead kings. I barely listen, mostly focusing on taking a flurry of selfies to prove I’m actually here. There’s a blurry Big Ben, a sweeping shot of Tower Bridge, and a somewhat lopsided one of Buckingham Palace.

I send them to the group chat with Zoe, Lina, and Randy.

Katie: Look at what I got to see today. Also, please send me some sun. I think I’ve forgotten what a blue sky looks like.

I lock my screen and stare out at the sea of people below. It’s a strange, hollow sensation—being surrounded by hundreds of humans and yet feeling completely invisible.

Back in Orlando, if I were lonely, I had Zoe and Lina.

But here? Zoe is five time zones away. Lina is an ocean away. Even Theo is busy with his own life. For the first time in a long time, I’m entirely on my own. The one familiar person in this city is Max.

“Welcome to the West End,” the recording chirps, snapping my head up as we roll to a stop. “This is London’s historic theatre district, where you’ll find some of the world’s most legendary stages . . .”