Felicity's POV.
At The Queen's College, I woke up to the loud, annoying scream of my alarm clock. It was Monday morning — my first official day at Oxford — and I was extremely late. I was finally ready for college, prepared to face a new life and explore England.
"I'm a fresher… of course I would oversleep," I groaned.
I jumped out of bed like a ninja escaping a life-or-death situation, rushed to freshen up, then slipped into the cutest outfit I packed: a bright yellow gown that screamed sunshine and confidence. I styled my blonde hair to one side and crowned it with a sunflower headband. If England refused to give me sunshine, I would simply be the sun.
I wolfed down a bowl of cereal, and decided to call Mom before heading out. I needed to thank her for everything — her love, her support, and all the years she spent raising me alone. None of this would be possible without her.
"Hi Mom, good morning. How are you doing?" I asked.
"Oh, Ninu," she sighed dramatically. "My night was terrible. You weren't here to bother me. I miss you."
My heart pinched. "Oh Mom… I miss you too. But I have to do this — for me, and for my future. I have to go now, I'm extremely late. Bye for now."
She sniffed. "Okay, baby. Take care of yourself. Pay attention in lectures. And eat."
"Yes, Mom."
"I love you."
"I love you more," I whispered, my heart ache.
I hung up. Reality hit. I dropped the empty bowl, grabbed my bag, locked the door, tossed my keys inside and instantly panicked. I was running late, I didn't have a bicycle, and my shoes were far too cute for running. So, I decided to call a cab.
As I waited, I noticed a guy standing about six meters across the street. Tall. Handsomely cute. Perfect jawline. Casually dressed yet strangely elegant, with short, straight black hair. And his eyes? Fixated on me. I quickly looked away and pretended he didn't exist. The cab arrived, finally. We both rushed toward it at the same time and slipped inside together.
"Hi, this is my cab, and I'm extremely late," I said.
"I got here first, so you need to get out. Get out!" he shot back, calm but annoyingly firm.
His voice angelic and wrapped in the most annoyingly hot British accent on Earth, just like my dad's. But unlike my dad, his charm clearly stopped at his face. His face? Stunning. His attitude? Not so pleasant.
"I don't want to argue. Just let me go, I'm late for school," I insisted through gritted teeth.
"Well, I'm in the same pickle as you, love, so you'll have to get down," he snapped back.
The love felt like an insult.
"Fine. I don't like you anyway," I shot back.
"Fine. Me either. Have a nice day — and I hope I never see you again," he smirked.
I got out. The cab drove off. With him in it.
"Ugh. He's such a snob," I muttered.
I called another cab, finally secured one and asked to be taken straight to the lecture hall. When we arrived, I paid the driver and stepped out, taking in the view. It was beautiful — fresh flower gardens, ancient stone buildings, stunning architecture, and students rushing everywhere. I couldn't help but wonder how my first day would turn out. I was both excited and nervous. Oxford was breathtaking. My Oxford.
'I'm a fresher, and I've got this,' I whispered.
I hurried inside with my books in hand, too distracted by the breathtaking view and bumped into someone. CRASH! My books scattered across the floor. I looked up… and there he was.
Mr. Taxi Snob. Cab thief. Annoyingly hot stranger. We both snapped at the same time,
"You again?"
Of all the people in the world, why him?
>>>>>>>>>>
Christopher's POV.
My shift at the café ended that morning, and I was extremely late for lectures. Royalty by birth, barista by bad life choices. I dashed out, desperate for a taxi. Faster. Easier. Less disastrous. That's when I saw her.
A young lady was standing across the street and wow. Her symmetrical face was captivating. She looked absolutely gorgeous. A girl dressed like summer. Her long, curly blonde hair was styled to one side, adorned with a sunflower crown. A smile waiting to happen. Her pink lips were fiery, and—
'What am I thinking? I don't even know her. Oh my goodness.'
I stared anyway. She glanced at me, then quickly looked away. A taxi arrived, and I got in. She followed. That's when the quarrel broke out — the petty, ridiculous, "I-was-here-first" kind of fight. We were both late and both stubborn. She had an American accent, bold and sharp. I liked that. She didn't like how rude I was. She lost the taxi battle. She got out, and we drove off.
I glanced back — she was staring at me, frowning like she wanted to set me on fire with her eyes. I quickly looked away, but she stayed stuck in my head the entire ride. The kind of girl who makes a heart race and a headache start.
We arrived at the lecture hall. I paid the driver and headed straight to my best friend, Jake — second-semester genius and full-time clown. Jake spotted me first, already grinning like he knew trouble had followed me.
"Hello, chap," I greeted.
"Hi, fella. How are you today?" Jake asked, voice suspiciously cheerful.
"I'm alright," I replied — though the frown on my face betrayed me.
"You look bothered," he said, eyebrows lifting.
"I'm fine."
"No, you're not," he pushed. "Spill. What's the matter? Talk to me."
"It's that girl. I don't know her name, and I don't want to. She's cute and all, but she's irritating and stubborn. She's not my type. At all," I muttered.
Jake froze. Then burst out laughing.
"Woah! Slow down, Romeo. Who's this mystery girl messing with your brain? Congratulations. You're in love."
"Oh please, don't start. I'm not in love. I only met her this morning," I snapped.
"Okay… Which is exactly why you're in love," he declared, still cackling.
"You're impossible. I'm heading to class. Catch you later," I said, turning away.
"Yeah, I love you too, Romeo," he called after me, laughing his head off like he'd just discovered a new species of stupidity — me.
I shook my head and marched into the hallway.
Then fate decided to body slam me. Someone bumped into me — hard. Books fell everywhere. A pen rolled dramatically across the floor like in slow motion. I looked up…
And there she was. Miss Sunshine Crown: Miss I-Hope-I-Never-See-You-Again. Round Two. Her hand brushed mine. A spark — literal electricity — shot up my arm. My pulse tried to escape my body. I pretended it was heartburn. And I said to myself, 'You've got to be kidding me.'
We both snapped in perfect synchronization:
"You again?"
She looked annoyed. I looked obsessed. But I could never admit that.