London Made Me

Welcome to London

It had only been two days since Christine officially moved into her tiny apartment in North London — a sixth-floor walk-up with creaky windows and a heater that hissed like it had attitude. Still, everything had that shiny, uncertain scent of new beginnings — fresh detergent, vanilla candles, and the tiniest trace of nervous sweat.

Her Aunt Wanda had helped her settle in. Well... if dropping off a half-filled bag of groceries, handing her a tub of hair grease, and throwing in a dramatic warning about "boys with too much cologne and too little sense" counted as help. Christine had chuckled politely. Mostly to hide the anxiety chewing at her insides.

And now, here she was — standing stiffly in front of the heavy, wrought-iron gates of Dennis College. The name sounded like it belonged to a polite uncle, but the vibe? Money. Power. People who had private chefs and called their parents by their first names. She could practically smell the generational wealth.

Christine tugged on the sleeves of her oversized hoodie and pulled her curls into a high puff, hoping she looked chill and not like she was panicking internally.

Okay, Christine, she told herself. First day of your new life. Don't embarrass yourself. Too much.

"Christine, right?"

The voice snapped her back to reality — bright, confident, and just a little mischievous.

She turned and saw a girl approaching with the kind of stride that said I know exactly who I am. She wore loose, vintage jeans and a fitted navy top that made her gold chain pop. One AirPod in, lip gloss popping, space buns perfectly symmetrical. Her winged eyeliner was so precise it deserved a standing ovation.

"Y-yeah," Christine said, blinking.

"I'm Kenya." She stuck out her hand with a grin. "Technically, I'm part of the meet-and-greet crew for new students, but unofficially? I just like spotting pretty girls who look like they need saving."

Christine let out a startled laugh. "Oh. Wow. Okay."

"There it is!" Kenya said, satisfied. "A real smile. Come on, I'll give you the version of the tour they don't put in the welcome packet."

They started walking through the sprawling campus, and Kenya pointed at different buildings with an unapologetic honesty that made Christine instantly like her.

"That's where the future CEOs pretend to study while gossiping about yacht parties." "That's the leisure hall — also known as the place where good grades go to die." "That vending machine? Don't touch it. I swear it's possessed. One guy got stuck with 17 packets of plain crackers."

Christine relaxed without realizing it. Kenya had this energy — like she knew exactly where she stood in the world and didn't need to prove it to anyone. She didn't try too hard. She didn't have to.

By the time they reached Christine's first lecture hall, she was actually smiling for real.

"We should hang sometime," Kenya said, tossing her curls. "Like, when we're not pretending to be responsible."

"Yeah," Christine said. "I'd really like that."

She stepped into the room and chose a seat near the middle. It was quiet. Calm. She was already halfway through unpacking her pens when the door opened — and he walked in.

Everything about him said trouble. But like, the expensive, well-dressed kind. He had on a navy blazer that probably cost more than her rent, and dark curls that fell into his eyes in that perfectly annoying way. His skin was smooth, golden-brown, and he carried himself like he didn't care if the room exploded — as long as he looked good walking away from it.

He glanced at her. Smirked.

Then leaned in to whisper something to the guy next to him. Whatever it was made their whole row burst into laughter.

Christine froze. Was that about me?

She shifted in her seat, her cheeks heating up just as the professor glanced up from the roll sheet.

"Miss... this class is for second years. You're in the wrong place."

The words hit her like cold water.

"Oh," she croaked, stomach dropping. People were already murmuring.

She scrambled to gather her things and ducked out as fast as she could without actually sprinting. Once she was out, she leaned against a column, squeezed her eyes shut, and let the humiliation fully slap her.

Day one and I'm already the clumsy American girl with no clue. Awesome.

Eventually, she found the right class — no blazer boys, thank God — and slipped into a seat at the very back, burying herself in her hoodie like it was armor. At least this professor didn't make a scene.

Afterwards, instead of heading straight home, she wandered through campus with her phone pressed to her ear.

"It's freezing here," she whined into the camera. "Like... my bones feel betrayed."

Her mom cackled on the other end of the video call, the warm kitchen back in Ohio glowing in the background. Her little sister, Skye, popped her head into the frame, yelled "I MISS YOUUUU," and ran off.

Christine smiled so hard her cheeks ached.

When the call ended, she found a cozy coffee shop tucked between a bookstore and a record shop. The place smelled like cinnamon rolls and early ambition. She ordered a caramel latte and a toasted bagel, then sank into a corner window seat and people watched.

She saw students in trench coats and platform boots, others with leather satchels and vintage headphones. None of them looked like her — or even noticed her. But for the first time that day, she didn't mind being invisible.

Her next class went better. She arrived early, sat in the front, and took notes like a woman on a mission. The lecturer even complimented her answer during a class discussion, and a few students nodded like they were impressed.

Maybe she could do this.

When the last bell rang, the sky outside was streaked with orange and pink. Christine stopped by a corner shop, grabbed frozen pizza, strawberry yogurt, and a bottle of Dr. Pepper — basic, but familiar. Comfort food for the soul.

Back at the apartment, she changed into sweats, tied her hair up, and played music while she cleaned her barely used kitchen for the second time that week. It wasn't about mess. It was about keeping her hands busy, keeping her brain from spiraling.

After dinner, she curled up on her bed with her notes open and New Girl playing softly in the background. At exactly 11:00 PM, she set her alarm for 4:30 AM.

Tomorrow would be better. It had to be.

And if it wasn't?

Well, she didn't come all the way from Ohio to fold.