My Two Serendipities

Today is the day. I finally get to start fresh, get away, and finally do what I want to do. I’ve never done what I wanted before. I often find myself in deep thought, exactly like right now—just daydreaming about what my life would look like if I had a better version. Maybe another dimension or even a magical realm I could escape to; somewhere I could truly be myself.

My true self.

A noise suddenly brought me back to Earth. There it was again—that sound pulling me back to this place, to "reality." On the very day I’m moving out, someone decides to knock on the door as if they’re trying to come right through it.

I checked my Ring doorbell to see if I should answer. I don’t usually answer unexpected knocks; I prefer to just hide away. But to my surprise, it was my father.

Ugh, great. I had to deal with him one last time.

"Hold on!" I shouted.

I got up to let him in. It wasn’t like I hated him or anything; I just lost respect for him as I got older. Let’s just say my father’s choices weren't always the best.

"Hello, Dad. I wasn't expecting you. I'm moving out today," I said as he stepped inside.

"Yes, babe, I know. That’s why I came to see you, seeing as you didn't come to see me."

"I know, I’m sorry. I’ve just been busy. I would have called, I swear."

"Yeah? When? At Christmas?" he asked, a slight hint of sarcasm in his voice.

I responded quickly, a little annoyed by his tone. "No! I would have called you once I was settled. You know what I’m like."

I did love my father when I was younger; back then, he was my hero. I still love him, but it’s complicated. I worshipped him because he was a good dad, but I hated him because he caused around 49% of my trauma. The other 51% was my mother, but we won’t get into that.

"Elizabeth... Earth to Elizabeth!"

With an exaggerated tone, he called my name again. "Elizaaabettth! Where’d you just go?"

I heard him, but I didn't want to respond immediately. I looked at him, acting unbothered, and simply said, "No, I was just thinking."

I asked him if he wanted coffee, and he nodded. My father loves coffee, smoking, and social media. Maybe his kids, occasionally. Haha.

"Dad, not to be rude, but why did you come here? You haven't said much."

I had annoyed him. He looked at me with a stern face—one that intimidated me a little, but not one I was scared of. My father would never hurt me physically; just emotionally.

He snapped me out of my thoughts. "My daughter is leaving London for Oxford, and I am proud of her. I'm proud that you are setting off. I wanted to say goodbye because I love you. I wanted to make sure you have everything and are prepared."

"I don't think I'm ever prepared, Dad. I just wing life daily. I’ve gotten so good at it that no one even notices."

"Well, you know I'm always here if you need me," he said lovingly, in a way that made it impossible to imagine he could ever hurt a fly. "Well, Elizabeth, it's not much, but I want to help you get settled. If you need anything, just ask. You’ve got my number, haven't you?"

A smirk formed on his lips, knowing he was being an ass because I barely contact him. I just laughed it off and said, "Yes, Father."

Silence filled the room; you could actually hear a pin drop. My father reached into the pocket of his 501 Levi's and handed me a bundle of money.

"Dad, I don't want this."

He insisted. "No, you put it aside. You keep it, and if you need more, let me know. It's only £500, babe."

I felt odd, like I was too proud to take it. Even though it would help a lot, I didn't want it. I didn't want the discomfort that came with taking it, or even to be in this situation. It was something I couldn't explain; words weren't enough.

My father insisted, and I knew he wouldn't give up, so I handed him his coffee and finally accepted it.

"That's an expensive cup of coffee," he said. "What's it made of, gold?"

"At that price, it's only sterling," I replied.

He let out a little huff of laughter and said, "I ain't coming here again." He got comfortable and sipped his coffee. I don't know how he drinks it like that—red hot! A few moments went by while he talked gibberish; I just pretended to be listening.

"Well, now that my coffee is gone, let me go to the toilet, and then I'll help you get this in the car."

I instantly dropped my wandering thoughts. I liked that idea; it meant I didn't have to lift all the boxes on my own. "Yes, Dad, that would be nice, because I do have to get going soon. I need to hand the keys back to my landlord by three."

"Well, we’d better get a move on then. Did you know it was already twenty to two?" he asked cautiously—not trying to trigger me, I assumed.

"I'll get a start on it," I said. "I need to put the back seats down."

I stepped outside and tapped the key to unlock my black 2020 Vauxhall Crossland Turbo. I loved my car. She wasn't anything fancy, but I’d gotten her myself. I’d paid for the lessons and saved every penny for the deposit. She wasn't much, but she was mine, and I adored her. Betsy was her name.

"Daydreaming again, are we, Elizabeth? You didn't get very far."

"Interrupting my thoughts again, Father?"

He just laughed at my annoyance. "Come on, get a move on, or you’ll have to pay another month's rent," he joked.

As time went by, I felt conflicted about him being there and helping me. A part of me never wanted him to leave, and another part of me couldn't wait for him to go.

"There you go, dreamer. You’re all set. Just be careful while driving, because your back window is blocked off. Make sure you use those wing mirrors," he said, a slight tone of concern in his voice.

"Yes, Father. I do know how to drive."

"Elizabeth, I’ve seen your driving, and it ain't for the faint-hearted."

I just sighed with a slight giggle. This was coming from a man who didn't even have a driver's license but had driven around for forty-odd years.

I hugged him and thanked him for his help and the bundle of money. He always smelled of Lynx Africa and Armani Code, with a heavy hint of cigarette smoke. I hated those things; they made me feel sick.

"Jump in, Dad, and I'll give you a lift."

He wasn't going home; he was headed to the shopping centre to buy some trainers, so I offered to drop him off. The car journey was quiet until Bob Marley came on the radio. He turned it up, singing "No Woman, No Cry"—which I found slightly disturbing.

Just as the song was finishing, we arrived. He hugged me one last time and told me to enjoy myself, be safe, and message him when I got to Oxford. I told him I would, even though I had no intention of doing so.

"Bye, Dad. Love you."

As he walked away, I realized how lucky I am to have him, yet I still questioned my own choices. I dropped off the keys to the landlord just in time and punched the postcode into my maps so I could follow the route on my screen. It’s not a long drive—I’ve done it before, and it’s only around fifty minutes—so I’ll be there just in time for dinner.

Ten minutes into the drive, my phone went off. The name appeared: Margery, aka She-Devil. It sounds mean, but I’m convinced this woman hates me. I asked Siri to read the text to me.

"Have you left yet?"

Really? I thought to myself. You wasted a text just for that? I didn’t respond; I had nothing to say.

Twenty-five minutes in, and I was cursing myself. I needed the toilet. I should have gone before I left, but I didn't feel like I needed to then. Now, if I didn't find a stop soon, I wouldn't be held responsible for what happened next. A sign a few minutes back had read Services: 5 miles, so it had to be coming up soon.

Not long after, I saw the sign and moved into the lane for the services. I parked, jumped out, and practically ran to the building.

Doomed. There was a queue. That’s not good, I thought. I’m going to piss my pants in a minute. Get a move on!

Within minutes, I was finally in a cubicle. It had felt like forever, but the relief was incredible.

On my way back to the car, I decided to get a Starbucks. I don’t normally do it, but I suddenly fancied a caramel frappe. I ordered, gave my name, and paid.

As I stood to the side waiting for my order, I started daydreaming out the window. My heart nearly stopped—I was sure I could see someone standing by my car with the door wide open. How in the hell did this happen?

"Elizabeth... Elizabeth!"

The barista called my name. I heard it, but it didn't register. When she called a second time, I snapped out of it, grabbed the drink, thanked her, and ran as fast as I could.

As I got closer, I slowed down. Standing there was the most beautiful woman I had ever seen in my life. She was around 5'5", maybe 60kg, with long brown hair and green eyes. Her complexion had a hint of color—let’s say olive, or slightly tanned. I looked her up and down, admiring her; she was wearing a brown crop top and gym leggings. I was in total awe of her natural beauty.

Then, the shock of horror returned. I couldn't believe she was just standing there with my car door open. I didn't even know what to say.

I started walking toward her, my mind racing. Why is this beautiful woman in my car? She seemed to be in a world of her own, but I had to know what the hell she was doing.

Then it happened—like verbal diarrhea. I shouted, "Why the fuck are you standing there with my car door open?"

To my surprise, she ignored me and simply smiled. This only agitated me more.

"Hello? Do you hear me?"

Still nothing. Absolute silence. Then I realized she was on the phone, listening intently to whoever was on the other end. When she finally spoke, it wasn't English—that’s for sure.

I instantly felt bad, thinking maybe she didn't speak English at all. I waited for the conversation to end, which felt like it took forever. Just as I was about to speak, she put her hand up—as if to say, Nope, not right now. I’m busy.

In my whole life, I don’t think anyone has ever done that to me. I was in total shock. Again!

When her conversation finally finished, I asked her what she thought she was doing with my car door open. Expecting her to respond in broken English, I was taken aback when she spoke perfectly. She explained that when I’d run off, I had left the door ajar, and she didn't want anyone with bad intentions hanging around it.

I thanked her and apologized for my abrupt rudeness, admitting I thought she was trying to steal something.

"That's understandable," she said. "Don't apologize."

Then, she introduced herself. "Hey, I’m Evi. And you are...?"

"Elizabeth."

"Do you live around here?" she asked.

"Nope. Try half an hour in that direction and you’ll be on track." Curiosity got the better of me. "Why?"

"My car got a flat and I don't have a spare," she said, her voice laced with frustration. "I was on my way to Oxford University. I’m supposed to be registered in my dorm by now."

At first, I wondered—could she be a serial killer? Did she want to kill me? What if she was trying to kidnap me, steal my things, or worse—trick me into God knows what? It’s 2025, Elizabeth; anything could happen.

But as my dark thoughts tried to overpower me, so did her beauty. How could I let a damsel in distress just sit here? I’m not a monster! Another intrusive thought let loose in my mind: No, Elizabeth, you aren't a monster, but she might be.

I shook it off, interrupted by her asking if I was okay.

"Well," I said, "you’re in luck, because I’m actually going to Oxford myself. I’ll take you if you want."

She looked at me in an odd manner. "How do I know you won’t kidnap me?"

I rolled my eyes. A woman speaking my exact thoughts out loud. Having second thoughts, I snapped, "Okay, fine. I’m going. Excuse me, I need to get in my car."

As I was about to drive away, she called out, "Wait! Does that offer still stand?"

"Nope," I said, and started to pull off.

But then I saw her in the wing mirror, looking helpless. I sighed and circled back around. Thanks for the advice, Dad. 'Check the wing mirrors, Elizabeth.'

As I came back around, she was already at her car, gathering her things. I rolled down my window to tell her that nothing would fit except for her. She locked her car, pulled out a small suitcase, and said, "This will just have to sit on my lap."

The next twenty minutes were odd. The radio was on low, and she was on her phone. I couldn’t stop staring at her, until she told me to keep my eyes on the road, smirking the whole time. I wasn't impressed—she wasn’t even looking at me; she was texting. Then her phone rang. She apologized and answered.

There it was for the second time today: that language again. I’d never heard it before, but god, it sounded so fucking sexy.

I love languages. They get to me in a way that makes you want to scream with euphoria—in a way that makes you feel like your underwear could ignite a fire, even though you’re already soaking wet. A few minutes went by before she finally hung up.

"Evi... can I ask what language that is?"

"Well, Elizabeth, you already have."

This one has a sharp tongue, I thought.

"So... what language is it, then?"

"Dutch," she responded. "I’m speaking Dutch. I am Dutch."

"But you speak such good English—with a British accent, even. Then you speak Dutch, and I would never have known you were able to speak English like that."

Evi smiled, and a small laugh escaped her. "I moved here when I was nine. I guess my accent just changed."

"Yeah, I can tell."

There it was again—that sweet little laugh. I turned in her direction and she caught me looking. A smirk appeared on her lips; the little curve in the corner of her mouth made me feel all warm and fuzzy. How is she doing this to me? It must be witchcraft or wizardry, I thought.

"Do I have something on my face?" she asked.

"No. Why?"

"Then why do you keep looking at me?"

I responded quickly to change the subject. "I’m just making sure you don't grow six eyes and become a monster. I need to stay alert. I’ve never let a stranger in my car before."

"Elizabeth, I appreciate that I’m your first, but I am not going to kill you, nor will I become a monster," she giggled, before adding in a teasing, deceptive tone, "Or will I?"

"I warn you, I’m a black belt, and I will kick your ass," I said. I wasn't a black belt in anything. I didn't even know whose ass I’d actually be able to whoop.

As we got closer to Oxford, I told her we weren't far. I didn't need to be there until tomorrow, so I planned to just drop her off and head to my own place. She thanked me for the ride and asked how she could repay me.

"Don't worry," I responded. "Pass it on to someone else who needs it." I was acting like I didn't need a little help myself every now and then.

"Pass me your phone."

"No way! Are you going to steal it? Run off?"

"Elizabeth, if I was going to do that, I would have done it when your car door was wide open," she responded with a hint of agitation, though she was still smirking. "Give me your phone. If you ever need anything, just ask."

I gave it to her without hesitation this time.

"Call me if you need anything," she said as she handed it back.

I told myself I wasn't going to use her number because I didn't want her to have mine. I was sure I’d see her around campus anyway; there was no real need to have her in my contacts.

I watched as that beautiful woman walked away. I checked her out from top to bottom, front to back—my god, she was perfect. Stop it, Elizabeth, I thought.

Suddenly, I heard the rain start. Within seconds, it was absolutely pissing it down. That wasn't in the forecast, I thought. As I went to pull away, the downpour got so heavy I couldn't see a thing, so I stayed parked and waited.

Ten minutes went by, and it was still pouring. Lovely British weather, I muttered. Then, I heard a knock on the window. It was that bloody beautiful woman again.

I rolled down the window. "Hello? Are you wet?" I asked, laughing.

She wasn't amused. "Yes," she said. "And not in the way I would like to be."

TMI, thank you, I thought, my heart skipping a beat.

"Thank God you're still here," she said. "I didn't get your number."

I nodded and unlocked the door. She climbed back in, dripping wet. I asked if everything was okay, and she explained that she also didn't start until tomorrow—she’d gotten her days mixed up.

"So, what’s going to happen?" I asked worriedly. No sane person wants to see someone in distress, and I caught myself thinking she could stay with me—but did I really want a stranger knowing where I lived? My thoughts betrayed me. I looked at her and blurted out, "Don’t worry, you can stay with me... if you want?"

No, no, no, no! Why the fuck did you do that? I screamed internally. Why invite the most beautiful woman you’ve ever seen to your house? Alexis is going to go rabid.

Evi snapped me out of my panic by staring at me. "Really? Can I? I live a good few hours away, and my car is dead. I don’t know how I’ll ever repay your kindness."

Silent as a mouse, I just shrugged. Fuck. We’re doing this then. I was taking a stranger home, and Alexis would probably murder me before the stranger even had a chance.

"Elizabeth?" I heard that sweet sound again, laced with a hint of curiosity. "Who exactly is Alexis, and why is she going to kill you?"

Ah, fuck. Did I speak out loud again?

"Elizabeth, are you okay?"

"Alexis is a friend," I stammered. "She’s going to be my roommate. She’s already been studying here at Oxford for a year, and we’re sharing a flat together."

Evi listened intently, looking a little confused. She went silent for a split second before probing further. "Yeah? So tell me, why is she going to kill you? Why are you so worried about her?"

"Alexis is my best friend, but she’s feisty. She has the sharpest tongue and no problem putting me in my place. She’s the only one I really listen to."

"So, what is she? Like a fuck-buddy?"

"Oh God, no! She would kill you just for saying that. Anyway, what makes you think I even like women?"

Evi lifted her right brow, adjusting herself in the passenger seat as her wet clothes clung to her. "I just know," she said confidently.

I sat there thinking, This bitch. I’d kept my secret my whole life, and this girl has been in my car for less than an hour and she’s already calling me out? Clever, but I wasn't falling into that trap.

"No, I’m not," I lied. "I’ve never even been with a woman."

"That doesn't mean you don't want to, Elizabeth."

Oh, I want to, I thought. Her words hit me like a blunt knife. There it was—that spike of anxiety that comes with not being out. The constant worry of disappointment or disapproval from my family.

I looked at her. "How did you get so bold? I’m into guys. I have a boyfriend."

That was a massive lie. I’d only ever had one to keep up appearances, and when he started getting serious, I broke it off with the classic, "It’s not you, it’s me."

"Mhm. You? You have a boyfriend?"

"Yes, I do. Anything else you wish to ask?"

"No. I must apologize to you; I was wrong for assuming."

Ah, fuck. Now the guilt was slipping in. I’m no good at lying, and she could probably tell.

"That’s okay," I said hesitantly, my conscience nagging at me. "The rain has slowed down now. Let’s get out of here and get to the flat before we get trapped again. I’m sure you want to get out of those clothes, too."

"You’d be correct," Evi said with a little smile.