London Has Your Eyes

Chapter 4. Alex

I see him moving away, swallowing up by the streets of the waking city. I take a sip of coffee, staring after him. As Daniel disappears around the corner, I reach into my purse and pull out his phone.

Of course, I kept it with me. Otherwise our conversation could have ended at this very spot, which I certainly didn't want. He dropped his mobile phone in the car, so I put it in my purse, turning it off just in case.

A couple or three hours of nervousness, and then I'd "totally accidentally" find the phone dropped behind something in my room. Or think of something else. Doesn't matter. Anyway, we'll have a great reason to meet again, and on such a positive note, too. Yeah, it's not very fair, but it's simple and genius.

I sigh contentedly as I look around. London in the morning is beautiful. And how nice that I don't have to rush anywhere, I can just sit on the terrace, have breakfast and watch, smelling it with every cell of my body. I love cities. If you ask me where I see my ideal vacation I would say in cities. It doesn't matter which ones. Just cities. I'm sure every metropolis, every small suburb has its own unique spirit to be felt.

If a city is close to your heart, you will feel at home in it from the very first minute. That's exactly what happened to me yesterday. As soon as I stepped off the plane, I felt a huge rush of joy. I was beginning to like the city. That's why today I just want to walk around, observe and live it. I've thought about moving here for a long time, but without getting a feel of the place, I can't make such a radical decision.

The Potter Museum won't see itself, so I google its address and, having postponed my visit until tomorrow, start exploring London from King's Cross Station. A little advice: never travel on an unfamiliar Underground if you're constantly getting lost. I don't know how long it takes to hop from car to car, but I'm getting seriously anxious. Everything looks completely different from what it looks like in Moscow. People are pushing and shoving everywhere. Stations are pronounced in English, if their name could mean anything to me.

I reach the right station after all. I can responsibly say that this is a personal feat for me. I know a lot of things, I can remember a lot of dates and events, but finding an unfamiliar road borders on the verge of fiction. And so I move through the labyrinth of escalators on my way to King's Cross without taking my phone out of my hands.

I take pictures of literally everything that comes my way. Cute cafes and a charming flower shop, as if descended from a postcard, pleasantly side by side with the majestic station building. I wander around them and find myself in a huge, stunning lobby, just under the time-table. The number of routes is mesmerising. The names of the terminal points I've seen only in textbooks or in Google, and here they are, right here in front of me. All I have to do is buy a ticket. If I move to London, I'll make a habit of coming here, picking up a ticket at random, and driving around in search of adventure.

I am distracted from daydreaming and studying timetables by the hum of many voices coming from somewhere to my left. I turn around and see a huge, unrealistically long queue of people. Someone with chopsticks, someone in scarves, and someone just impatient. It looks like the excursion will be short but very tiring. I take a place at the end of the queue and find myself in the world of social networks. I manage to put up another post about breathing of the city, reply to a few messages and even write a couple of posts about this amazingly beautiful place. I do have half an eye on what's going on inside, so I scurry about and grab any empty spaces in the crowd to get my turn moving faster.

Did I mention that this ride is shrouded in wonder? I only spend an hour in that queue without really noticing it. And so I get to the very platform 9 ¾ that reeks of childhood greetings. "Well, welcome to the fairy tale," I say to myself and move towards the trolley in the wall, fulfilling my little dreams.