Helena:
So there I was—hair plastered to my face, shivering in my thin blouse—sprinting across the platform toward the other side to head back into London. Everyone else had already rushed ahead, probably darting for taxis or scrambling onto the next train.
I was slower. Always slower.
By the time I ducked beneath the narrow awning by the benches, it was just me. Just me, and the pounding rain.
But the quiet had shifted—too quiet. Something felt… strange.
I shifted on my feet, turning instinctively toward the tracks—and nearly stumbled when I saw him.
A man straight out of the past. Wearing what looked like… a costume?
It took me a moment to register the details. A cravat. An actual cravat—neatly tied at his neck, tucked into a fitted waistcoat beneath a long, tailored navy overcoat, finished off with high black riding boots. The whole look screamed 1800s gentry. He held a pair of gloves in one hand, a dark top hat tucked neatly under his arm. Then, with one smooth motion, he slicked his hair back from the rain—like he’d just stepped out of a carriage himself. Except the carriage wasn’t there to complete the picture.
Of course, he had to be a costumed tour guide. Or maybe an actor hired for some local heritage exhibit. Anything to explain this bizarre encounter in the middle of nowhere, England. Was there this much LARPing in this country?
I stood there watching him for a moment, feeling my curiosity peak. He was handsome. There was no doubt about that. His blondish-ginger hair caught the streetlight like sun-faded copper, making it impossible to look away. His features were sharp, distinguished—cheekbones and jaw carved like they belonged on marble—yet softened by a mouth that hinted at an easy smile.
I must have stared too long, because when he glanced my way, it felt like I’d been caught—and suddenly, I was painfully aware of the traitorous way my pulse skipped.
“You’ll catch your death like this,” he said.
Before I could register what was happening, his overcoat was already draped across my shoulders—heavy, warm, and utterly disarming. 9Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡhKPGAT4kJJ
Then, with the same effortless grace, he slipped his gloves back on and placed his hat atop his head, like it was all part of his act.
I opened my mouth to tell him he didn’t have to, that I was fine—only I wasn’t fine. Not at all. Because when I looked up, I forgot what words even were.
My heart kicked, hard.
“I—I don’t usually accept coats from strangers,” I stammered, trying to sound polite but hearing the wobble in my voice.
His mouth quirked slightly. “And yet, here you are. Would you prefer I take it back?”
“No!” The word flew out too quickly, too desperate. My cheeks burned. “I mean… no, thank you. It’s just—very kind of you.”
Why was I saying this? I couldn’t keep this man’s coat—it was probably a borrowed costume from some stage closet, tagged and catalogued for the next performance.
But I couldn’t stop shivering. And all I wanted—just for a moment—was to feel warm again. Especially after the disaster of losing my own jacket in the first place.
He tipped his hat with an old-fashioned grace, and that almost-smile lingered. “Kindness costs me little. But your comfort is reward enough.”
I swallowed hard, wishing I could think of something clever to say. Instead, I stood there like a drenched idiot, wrapped in his coat, my pulse racing for all the wrong reasons.
“Thank you,” I managed, hugging the lapels tighter. “I wasn’t exactly expecting this kind of… chivalry. Especially not at a random station like this.”
He tilted his head slightly, just enough for the glow of the streetlight to catch his eyes. That’s when I saw their color properly—crystal blue, so vivid they didn’t look real. Like glass lit from within. They had a way of smiling before his mouth ever did.
“One should not leave a lady to shiver alone,” he said gently. “That would be unconscionable.”
A laugh slipped out of me, too nervous, too sharp. “Yeah, well… people usually just keep to themselves.” I glanced around, gesturing vaguely toward the platform.
But something was off. Where was everyone? Where was I? I could’ve sworn there’d been a glowing London Underground sign across the way when I first arrived, but now there was nothing but dark stone walls and gas-lit lanterns flickering against the rain. Even the benches under the awning looked… older—damp and splintered, like they belonged to another time.
Strange.
“Pardon me, miss,” he said, his voice velvet-smooth and tinged with formality, “but you’ve found yourself at Wentfordshire Junction. By daylight, the courtyard is typically quite lively. But at this hour, it is rather uncommon to encounter a lady unaccompanied.”
“Wentford… what?” I frowned, brushing off his comment about me being a lady and all. I couldn’t even remember where I’d meant to get off. Everything since I’d landed at the airport had been a blur. Was this the station I was supposed to switch trains at? Suddenly, I wasn’t so sure.
“I just got here and—” I trailed off, not wanting to admit I’d actually gotten lost. Even though, let’s be honest, that was pretty hard to do these days with GPSs and Google Maps.
The sky had darkened, shadows bleeding over the tracks faster than they should’ve, as if dusk had rushed in without warning.
He watched me with quiet amusement, then asked, “And where might you be traveling at this hour?”
“Cambridge,” I said, still clutching his coat. “I’m supposed to be there by now… but my plans sort of got derailed.”
“To Cambridge?”
“Yes… isn't this a stop on it's route?”
His brows lifted slightly. “'Tis so. But surely some worthy relation or companion accompanies you?”
A relation? A companion? What was I, twelve? Did he honestly think I needed a chaperone? In this day and age? The thought almost made me laugh out loud. He was really committing to the bit—whoever he was—deep into some kind of method acting, clearly. He sounded like he’d stepped straight out of the Romantic era. Which, for some reason, only made the heart flutters worse. That cadence in his voice? Absolutely not helping. At all.
But no. There was definitely no one with me. If anything, I was running as far away from everyone—my ex, and the wreckage of my old life—as fast as humanly possible.
“What? No—God, no. I’m starting classes there this fall. I’m a student.”
That earned me the softest laugh. He shook his head slightly, droplets scattering from the brim of his hat. “You must be quite mistaken, miss. No woman sets foot in Cambridge’s halls. That would be most improper.”
I blinked at him. “Excuse me?” Was he actually serious right now? Talking to me like women didn’t have rights? What was this—Regency cosplay gone rogue?
He only smiled again, like he’d said something completely ordinary.
Then, my laugh came out sharp, a little shaky. “Improper? What century are you living in?”
He arched a brow, lips twitching. “The same as you, I should hope. Why, what century do you believe yourself in?”
I didn’t believe myself to be in any century. This was the 21st century—and he could drop the act any time now.
But then my stomach flipped.
I glanced out past the awning—at the lanterns hissing in the rain, at the eerie absence of neon, taxis, or even a single glowing digital sign. It was all wrong. So wrong. My head had to be messing with me. With everything I’d been through today—the airport chaos, the lost luggage, the jetlag—it made sense that my brain would start short-circuiting.
But still… something about this felt really off.
“I…” What century was I in? Why did everything around me look so strangely old-fashioned? “…must’ve… missed a stop,” I muttered. The words sounding hollow even to me. Of course I hadn’t missed a stop—this whole detour had been nothing more than a plan to turn back toward London. And now I regretted it. Completely.
He studied me closely with curious eyes, as though trying to piece me together. “You are a peculiar young lady.”
“That’s one way to put it,” I said, hugging his coat tighter. “Look, I really need to get to London—I mean Cambridge. Is there another link coming through?”
I’d crossed the line hoping to catch the next train back to the city, but now I wasn’t even sure which direction anything was going—or where I was going. North, south, back, forward—it all blurred together. All I knew was that I needed a train, any train, and to get out of this rain.
He tipped his head toward the tracks, utterly unbothered by my slight panic.
“In time, yes. But forgive me—I cannot quite reconcile the picture. A lady traveling unaccompanied? And to study?” His eyes glimmered with quiet humor. “You speak as though the world has quite forgotten its order.”
My pulse thudded in my ears.
Was he serious? The whole thing had been mildly amusing at first, but now he was really stretching it.
I opened my mouth to say so—to call out how absurd and outdated he sounded, to remind him that women had every right to go where they pleased and study whatever they wanted. That he could drop the act now.
But then he stepped closer. Not by much—just enough to unnerve me. He was calm, completely composed, and somehow that unsettled me more than anything else.
The words caught in my throat. I wasn’t even sure why I couldn’t speak now. I wanted to roll my eyes, to shake it off—but something about him... his voice, his old-fashioned way of speaking, the faint scent of something warm and familiar... it threw me.
I swallowed hard. “I—uh—” Words. Where were they?
He was smiling at me like that, and my heart did that flip again—the kind that made it hard to tell if I was nervous or just completely out of my depth.
And then—as if the rain itself blinked—something shifted. The lantern light overhead flickered once—twice—and when I looked up, it wasn’t lantern light at all. Just a plain old streetlight, buzzing faintly in the storm. The awning above me—steel, not wood. Modern. Normal. The kind you’d find outside any dreary station stop.
My breath caught in my throat.
I whipped back around.
…
He was gone.
“What the—?” My voice cracked against the thunder. The platform stretched out empty in both directions, slick and gray, as though no one had ever stood there at all.
Across the street, the Underground station sign glowed faintly, just where I thought it should be. Bright. Imposing. Exactly as it had been minutes ago when I first arrived.
But there was no trace of him. No hat. No boots. No striking figure with crystal-blue eyes that smiled before his mouth did.
Nothing except… his coat.
I dragged it tighter around me, the fabric heavy against my skin. On instinct, I dipped my face into the collar, and the scent hit me—warm cedar, rain-soaked wool, and something else I couldn’t name. Something that was distinctly him.
What was I doing? Smelling a stranger’s coat. Was I losing my damn mind? I tried to shake it off. Shake him off. I squeezed my eyes shut, my heart thundering. But all I could think was: where did he go? Who was this man?
And what the hell had just happened?
ns216.73.216.211da2
and then Add to home screen.