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I have been in London for a couple of years. Wanting to escape my small town, I took all my savings and soon found myself working hard as a freelance stylist. I live in a small apartment block that is in the suburbs so it is out of the way, but it’s quiet and cheap.

On one particularly lazy Saturday, I go into the local café to get one of their special brownies and fresh coffee when I see a familiar face peering over a folded up newspaper. My heart almost drops as far as my jaw.

It is Dylan, an old childhood friend of mine. I turn away, not wanting him to see me. I quickly get my brownie, ignoring a murmuring of my name, and run out quickly. As soon as I reach my apartment, my head is flooded with images of him.

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