Ruby

Ethan Walker was 23, a recent graduate from UCLA with an excellence scholarship and a contract already signed with an architecture firm in London. Blond, with emerald green eyes and a smile that turned heads wherever he went, Ethan was the kind of young man who seemed to have it all: intelligence, charm, discipline, and that typical American “golden boy” aura. Arriving in London, life felt like a European film in which he was the leading man. He was polite, respectful, yet had a magnetic presence that didn’t go unnoticed. Women smiled at him on the street, colleagues admired him, and bosses praised him. Everything was going perfectly. Until one rainy Saturday morning… It was drizzling, and Ethan had taken shelter in a small café in Camden. He had planned to spend the day working on a project, with his laptop open and a strong coffee in front of him. But then Ruby Dawson walked in. She was just 20, an art student who seemed to defy every rule. Tattoos down her arms, jet-black cropped hair, piercing blue eyes, and an attitude that didn’t ask for permission — it demanded respect. Petite, dressed in a rain-soaked leather jacket, holding a motorcycle helmet under her arm and stomping boots dripping water on the floor, Ruby looked like she had just stepped out of a rock music video. When their eyes met for a second, Ethan felt the world stop. “Wow…” he muttered, but Ruby shot him a cold glance, as if she hadn’t even noticed him. She ordered a double espresso and sat alone, pulling out a notebook filled with sketches and class notes. Ethan, used to being noticed, was stunned. He wasn’t the type to give up easily, so in the days that followed, he kept coming back to that same café, always hoping to see her again. And she did show up. Always quiet, always focused. And always seemingly immune to his charm.