After leaving the Elephant House, I walk back up High Street. Sierra was right, it is lovely, especially in the mid morning sunlight. Shops are opening, people are bustling to their jobs, and I stand on the sidewalk, trying to take it all in. Coming down the street a bit farther, I spot a giant church with an almost hollow dome and lovely window work. I marvel at its beauty from the square in front of it, and, since I've got nothing else to do, walk inside the large wooden doors. I gasp as I see the tall, vaulted ceilings and the intricate stained glass. It seems as though everything inside was forged from a star, what with its gentle but outstanding beauty. I make a mental reminder to come back another time and write there. The vibe inside is perfect. I exit the church into the chilled air, and I'm walking down the street when I see him.
Thick, Weasley-worthy red hair blow gently in the wind, with white earbud wires peeking out from under it. His facial features are dainty and adorable, and his tartan scarf is wrapped cozily around his neck. I feel myself blushing as I keep walking in the opposite direction, tucking my hands in my pockets. He passes me after what felt like an eternity of staring at him. Did he notice me? I'll never know, I think disappointedly. I found a lovely little pub for lunch, and ordered a sandwich with some Victorian lemonade, which turned out to be a fizzy, fermented lemonade. I sat in the dingy room for about an hour, sketching out what I remembered of the lovely church. About half past 2, my phone pings. "Oh crap!" I hiss. I have a lecture with a formal reception at 4, and I'm halfway across town and still need to get ready. I hurriedly leave a tip and scramble away into the windy streets. At my brisk pace, the wind is whipping my face uncomfortably, and my nose is certainly pinking, making my freckles appear darker. And then everything just goes badly. I drop my notebook with my latest story and my sketch of the church, and as I bend to get it, it skitters away down the street. In the process of bending over, my scarf falls off, whipping in the wind like a ribbon. "Oh nononono-agh..." I sigh, chasing after it. I'm beginning to think that it's no use when a strong but slim pale hand offers my scarf to me. My head snaps up and I'm looking straight in the bright hazel eyes of Weasley boy.
******
A/N
Just saying, you don't have to read these every time.
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World Traveller
General FictionWhen Samantha Maxwell goes to Scotland to study abroad for her writing degree, she doesn't expect to find an adventure of a lifetime waiting for her in the chilly city of Edinburgh. Then again, she doesn't expect to find love, friendship, and her f...
