𝐎𝐜𝐞𝐚𝐧 𝐄𝐲𝐞𝐬 ✔

𝐓𝐡𝐫𝐞𝐞

𝐋𝐲𝐫𝐚

The morning air was brisk, a chill that nipped at my cheeks and made me realize just how much I still needed to adjust to England's weather. Jenifer and I stepped out of the café, bracing ourselves against the cool breeze.

My trench coat, its oversized sleeves draped comfortably, offered some protection against the chill, as my black tank was tucked into my high-waisted, off-white jeans. The boots on my feet had seen better days, but they were broken in just right. I tugged my Chanel glasses up the bridge of my nose, feeling the cool metal against my skin.

Jenifer was dressed in a white tank top and black mom jeans, topped off with a black cap that framed her short, black hair. Her breath fogged in the cold air as she adjusted the strap of her bag. "Some first day, huh?" she remarked, her green eyes catching the light, reflecting a quiet excitement.

"Yeah," I agreed, glancing at my phone's screen, smiling at the text from papa. "It still feels... surreal, you know? Like we're not really here."

She chuckled, "C'est vrai. It's like we're living in someone else's life." Her voice carried a warmth that made me smile despite myself.

We stood at the bus stop, watching as the streets began to fill with the usual morning bustle. The bus arrived after a short wait, and we boarded, finding seats near the front. The radio played some new pop music that I was unfamiliar with. We sat in a comfortable silence. I glanced out the window as the cityscape passed by, the buildings and people blurring into the rhythm of the city.

"Have you mapped out your day yet?" Jenifer asked as she adjusted her cap, her gaze wandering toward the window.

"I've got the basics down," I said, sliding my phone back into my bag. "Classes all morning, and I might stop by the library afterward, see what it's like. I'll probably need to grab some reading materials before the weekend anyway. What about you?"

She leaned back in her seat, adjusting the cap on her head. "Lecture this morning," she said, her tone thoughtful. "Then I'm hoping to meet Professor Hargrove this afternoon. She's supposed to be amazing—one of the best in my field."

"That sounds exciting," I nodded. "The Fine Arts faculty at Ruskin has a good reputation, too. I'm curious to see what the studio spaces are like, how things are run here compared to France. It feels... heavier somehow, more serious."

Jenifer laughed, "It's Oxford. Everyone walks around looking like they have a world-changing thesis in their pocket. Give it a week, and we'll look the same."

The bus slowed as it approached the towering stone entrance of the university, the familiar spires rising like something out of a dream. We stood up, gathering our things.

The bus came to a stop near the university's grand entrance, and we stood, gathering our bags. As we stepped off, the towering buildings loomed over us, old and majestic, their stone walls steeped in centuries of history. It was impossible not to feel a sense of awe standing there, under the weight of it all.