The Girl in London
The train jerked forward, announcing its final stop at King’s Cross with a soft jolt that snapped Cerys back into the present. Her forehead had been resting against the cool window for the last ten minutes, her eyes glazed over, watching the industrial edges of London melt into the grey afternoon.
Her headphones played a melancholy indie track, but she barely registered it anymore.
The platform outside was bustling, sharp-heeled footsteps echoing, voices overlapping in a hundred accents. The moment she stepped off, the cold hit her—biting, damp, and somehow more personal than the coastal chill she’d grown up with. London cold didn’t just wrap around you. It crept inside.
She hauled her suitcase over the yellow line and stepped into the capital.
This was it.
No turning back.
She’d been to London once before, but she hardly remembered it. A school trip, maybe nine or ten years old. Her mum had clutched her hand like she might float off into the crowd at any moment, while her dad had pointed at Big Ben and made a joke she didn’t understand.
All she remembered now was the London Eye spinning slowly in the grey sky, and how her shoes had gotten soaked in a sudden rainstorm. They’d eaten chips in a paper bag and wandered around a museum she couldn’t pronounce. She’d felt small, wide-eyed, like a girl in someone else’s movie.
Now she was back.
No hand to hold.
No umbrella.
Just herself—and a suitcase far too heavy for its cheap wheels.
The tube journey was long—too long, if she was honest. With every new station, the tube got quieter, and her nerves grew louder. She checked the directions Anna had sent her for the fifth time.
East Finchley. Zone 4. Northern Line.
Far.
That’s what her mother had said on the phone.
“Zone 4 sounds like the edge of the bloody Earth, Cerys.”
But the rent was manageable (barely), the room was furnished (kind of), and she needed this.
London.
A new life.
Space to become someone else—or at least someone more.
The street was crooked, lined with squat brick terraces that had seen better decades. The front yard was more mud than grass. The front door was a peeling blue.
Charming.
In a depressing sort of way.
She stood on the doorstep, suitcase by her side, and stared up at the two-story house like it might swallow her whole.
Then the door flew open.
“Cerys!”
A redhead in an oversized hoodie flung herself at her like they were long-lost best friends.
“Leila,” Cerys guessed with a laugh, hugging back. “Hi.”
“You made it! You poor thing, you look like a drowned rat. Come in, come in, we’re all in the kitchen.”
It was everything she’d imagined and less. Narrow hallway. Old carpet. A light flickering above the stairs that no one seemed inclined to fix.
But the kitchen was alive. Warm. Smelling of toast, candle wax, and cheap rosé.
Two girls sat at a cluttered table.
“That’s Poppy,” Leila said, pointing to a dark-haired girl in dungarees scrolling her phone without looking up.
“And Anna,” she added, as the tall brunette looked up with a grin and raised her glass.
“Welcome to student poverty!” Anna chirped.
Poppy finally looked up. “Did you bring a kettle? Ours broke.”
“I—no?”
“Kidding.” Poppy smirked. “Sort of.”
Cerys laughed awkwardly and sank into the chair Leila kicked out for her. She noticed three mismatched mugs, a lava lamp, and a half-eaten crumpet on the table. Someone had scrawled HELP ME into a sticky wine ring on the wood.
“Ignore the mess,” Leila said. “We clean on Sundays.”
Anna raised a brow. “Do we?”
“Okay, we think about cleaning on Sundays.”
Cerys’s shoulders finally dropped. This felt like chaos. But good chaos.
She likes them!
Her room was at the top of the stairs. It was barely wide enough to swing a cat, but it had a window, a crooked bookshelf, and a bed that didn’t creak—too much.
She sat on the edge, unpacking slowly. A framed photo of her mother went on the nightstand. A sketchbook beside it. Her dad wasn’t in any of the pictures.
She didn’t bring one.
When she lay down, fully dressed, her phone buzzed.
A message from Leila.
“We’re drinking. Bring your awkward Welsh ass downstairs x”
She grinned and went.
“We need to get you laid,” Anna declared, already half a bottle in.
“What?” Cerys choked.
“You heard me.” Anna shrugged. “We’re in London. New city, new rules.”
Poppy nodded seriously. “Have you heard of ‘Tinder’?”
Cerys blinked. “Is that a guy?”
“It’s a lifestyle,” Leila said, giggling. “No. It’s a dating app. Half the people on it are weird. But the other half…”
She held up her phone. Swipe. Swipe. “Gold.”
Cerys hesitated. “I’m not really—”
“Oh come on.” Anna handed her another drink. “You’re a single student in London. It’s the law.”
"Ok ok. No pressure! I am new to every thing. One step a time!"
The first light of dawn seeped through the thin white curtains.
Cerys opened her eyes slowly, momentarily disoriented. The room was unfamiliar—walls a muted cream, a lone suitcase in the corner, and a faint hum of London traffic beyond the window.
“Right,” she thought, her heart giving a small, nervous flutter. “I’m here.”
For a moment, she lay still, listening. No seagulls. No distant waves. The kind of quiet that was never quite still—city quiet.
“Get up, Morgan. First day.”
She swung her legs off the bed and padded across the chilly wooden floor. A glance in the mirror told her she looked like she hadn’t slept at all—messy hair, puffy eyes.
“Brilliant. First impression: zombie.”
Downstairs, the house was quiet. A faint aroma of coffee drifted from the kitchen.
Anna was already there, sitting cross-legged on the counter, scrolling through her phone.
“Morning!” Poppy greeted her brightly, setting down her mug.
“You survived the first night.”
“Yeah... mostly,” Cerys replied, her voice softer than usual.
“Smile. You’ve practiced this.”
She managed a smile, though her stomach was tight. The thought of the university—a sprawling campus filled with strangers—made her feel small. Would they see through her practiced accent? Would they notice the girl who’d spent hours mimicking YouTube tutorials just to fit in?
“Stop it,” she scolded herself. “You’ve worked for this. You deserve to be here.”
Anna seemed to read her mind. “First days are weird,” she said, hopping down. “But you’ll be fine. And if it’s horrible, we’ll debrief over wine later.”
That made Cerys laugh—genuine this time.
An hour later, standing in front of the campus gates, Cerys paused.
The buildings were grand, older than she’d imagined. Groups of students milled about, effortlessly confident.
She tugged at the sleeve of her colorful cardigan. Suddenly it felt... too much.
“Everyone looks like a walking fashion magazine,” she thought, resisting the urge to retreat.
“Deep breath. Walk in.”
As she stepped forward, a single thought echoed through her mind:
“I can do this. I have to.”
