Izzy & Noah ✔️

Twenty-One: I Can't Be There, But You'd Understand

After changing out of my uniform, I slowly make my way home.

The streets of London stretch ahead, and as I walk, my thoughts wander. Life feels overwhelming, unpredictable. I'm scared, but there's a strange sense of comfort in the anonymity of this city. Here, hidden within my bubble, the world can't reach me.

As I near my block, the warm, inviting aroma of coffee, cinnamon, and freshly baked croissants drifts across the street, stopping me in my tracks.

The scent is irresistible.

Did I mention I'm a coffee addict? And, naturally, a lover of good food.

There's a cliché about nurses and their coffee addictions—it's true. Coffee is our lifeline, a quick sip here or there in between the chaos of the day. It's never about luxury; it's survival. But right now, I crave more than just caffeine—I need a moment for myself.

I follow the intoxicating scent to a small café tucked into the corner of the street. The windows glow softly, and as I step inside, the warmth immediately wraps around me like a blanket.

It's quiet, only a handful of people scattered at tables. The middle of the week means most are still working, but with Christmas just around the corner, a few have already escaped into holiday mode.

London—a beautiful tapestry of cultures and lives colliding. It's one of the reasons I've always been drawn to this city.

I choose a table by the window, letting the light spill over me as I settle into the cozy chair. When the waitress approaches, I order a cappuccino and a warm croissant.

As I wait, I take in the scene. The soft hum of conversation, the clinking of cups, the festive decorations strung across the walls—it all feels peaceful, almost like a small reprieve from the chaos of my mind.

Then I see him.

Noah.

He's on the other side of the café, dressed sharply, his jacket slung neatly over the back of his chair. He's with Katy and Tom, their laughter rising above the gentle murmur of the room.

My stomach twists.

For a moment, I consider leaving. Slipping out before he notices me. But something keeps me rooted in place. Maybe it's curiosity. Maybe it's the exhaustion of running from everything lately.

I stay.

As the waitress returns with my order, I focus on the steaming cup in front of me, the frothy milk swirling into delicate patterns. I take a sip, letting the warmth spread through me, grounding me in this moment.

I glance at Noah again. He hasn't seen me yet, too engrossed in whatever story Tom is telling. They look so at ease, so... normal.

And I feel like an outsider looking in.

I still don't have his number. I haven't asked him yet.

How irresponsible of me, I think sarcastically. But then again, we're just a boy and a girl, aren't we?

I chuckle quietly at myself, the sound hollow in the empty café.

As I sit by the window, I watch people pass by. Each of them seems wrapped up in their own little worlds. Some are frantically typing on laptops—writers, maybe? Could they be working on the next great novel?

At another table, a couple is nestled close, their heads almost touching. They're caught in their own universe, their smiles soft and unguarded. Love in its simplest, purest form.

I feel a pang of longing.

Wouldn't it be nice if Noah were here beside me? Just the two of us, doing nothing special—sipping coffee, sharing quiet moments.