Strangers on the Thames
London in spring has a way of pretending it’s summer—sunlight skipping across the water, pub gardens overflowing with laughter, and the faint scent of cherry blossoms weaving through the city like a secret. Maya had just exited a particularly long-winded museum exhibit on Victorian plumbing—don’t ask, it was her brother’s idea—when she decided to reclaim the day with a walk along the Thames. She sipped her oat latte and browsed the street art by South Bank, when a man stumbled backward into her path, nearly knocking the cup clean from her hand. “Blimey! I’m so sorry,” he gasped, turning to face her with flushed cheeks and apologetic eyes. “It’s alright,” she said, steadying herself. “Caffeine casualties are the worst kind.” He chuckled, brushing off invisible dust from his coat. “I’m Theo. And I promise, in most daily encounters, I’m less of a disaster.” Maya wasn’t entirely sure why she kept talking to him—but there was something about the slight crinkle near his eyes and ...