Through time; The ripper

Feeling outside

*Lily*

The evening air feels cool and invigorating as I navigate my way back toward the underground station. My footsteps echo against the pavement, a lonely sound that sharpens my senses. The streets, once alive with chatter and laughter, now seem weighed down by an unsettling stillness. Every rustle of leaves in the wind, every distant sound of laughter, feels amplified in the darkening night. I shake my head, trying to dismiss the creeping fear. I remind myself that I’m not the only one who has to traverse these streets… London is bustling with life, even when it feels like the city is holding its breath.

The train ride is utterly uneventful… which is definitely preferable. I manage to read a full chapter of my book, the words a comforting distraction, before I reach the city center.

As I weave my way through clusters of tourists from the station to the café the others have picked, I feel a knot tightening in my stomach. I would have preferred a quieter spot, perhaps somewhere tucked away from the chaos that London can also be, but it’s three against one.

The café sits on a corner, its neon sign flickering like a heartbeat, struggling to stand out among the overwhelming array of lights. It’s a trendy place, or so the others say, buzzing with energy and laughter.

Pushing the heavy door open, I’m greeted by a wave of warmth, wrapping around me like a comforting embrace. The familiar scent of roasted coffee beans mingles with sweet pastries, and I take a moment to inhale deeply, letting the aroma soothe me, at least it smells good in here, like they actually make quality stuff.

My study group is huddled around a table near the back, their laughter spilling into the air like the froth from their cappuccinos. As I approach, they glance up, and a wave of chatter washes over me.

“Lily! You made it!” Anna calls out, her voice bright and buoyant. She has thick, wavy hair that bounces with her enthusiasm, a stark contrast to the weird anxiety swirling in my chest.

I smile, but my heart sinks a bit. The atmosphere is thick with gossip, and I know I’ll be out of my depth. “Sorry I’m late,” I reply, sliding into a seat beside her.

“Don’t worry about it. We were just discussing which of the med students is the hottest,” she grins, her eyes sparkling with mischief.

“Oh, come on! Not this again,” I groan, rolling my eyes. “Can’t we just focus on our assignment first?”

I don’t care about the med students; most are either immature or arrogant. And I want to finish the assignment so I can get home at a decent hour.

Megan, the quietest of our group, looks up from her phone. “It’s not just about gossip. We need to know who to avoid too,” she says, her tone serious. “Like who is making the rounds through all the female students.”

“Right, because avoiding those men is essential to help us pass our exams,” I mumble, and the table bursts into laughter.

As they continue their animated chatter about the attractive male med students, I can’t shake the feeling of being an outsider in my own study group. I’m the pragmatic one, always trying to steer us back to the books. Even if nursing wasn’t my first choice, I want to do well, to graduate. Some of the others seem more interested in snatching up a hot surgeon than in their studies.

I take a sip of my lukewarm tea, letting the warmth seep into my bones. But I can’t shake the persistent unease that has followed me since those grim headlines started appearing in the papers.

“Lily?” Anna’s voice breaks through my thoughts. “What about that guy, you know, the one with the glasses? He seems to like you, and he is kind of cute.”

I blink, trying to focus. “Uh, who?”

“Seriously? The one who sat next to you at the library last week… Simon, I think.”

I shrug. “We are just friends.” The truth is, Simon is a nice guy, but he’s also very much gay. That’s not my secret to tell.

They exchange knowing glances, and I can feel my cheeks heat up. “You need to lighten up, Lily,” Anna teases. “You’re young. You should be out there living your best life, not buried in textbooks or romance novels all the time.”

“Maybe she’s just waiting for a tall, dark and handsome brooding hero to sweep her off her feet,” Megan adds with a teasing smile. “Like in her books.”

I chuckle, but the idea of a brooding hero stirs something deeper within me. Maybe I’m longing for adventure, or maybe I just want to feel something real in a world that often feels too harsh or too superficial.

As the night wears on, the conversation shifts back to school, and we dive into our assignment. I find relief in the familiar rhythm of studying. I like having my things done and in order.

But as the clock ticks closer to eleven, unease creeps back in, wrapping around me like a shroud. The streets will be dark and likely deserted when I get off the underground, and the desire to get home feels heavier with each passing minute.

When we finally pack up and say our goodbyes, the worry clings to me. The café has quieted down, but the street outside still buzzes with the late dinner and theater crowd. I quicken my pace, weaving through people as I head back toward the underground.

The station looms ahead, its entrance reminding me of a yawning mouth ready to swallow me whole. I shake my head with a small giggle, trying to lighten the mood, but my often very imaginative fantasy seems to be getting the better of me.

Stepping inside, the fluorescent lights flicker overhead. My heart starts racing, and I can’t shake the feeling that something… or someone… is watching me. I glance over my shoulder but see nothing out of the ordinary. Just the tired faces of late-night commuters, lost in their own worlds.

As I wait for the train, I replay the evening in my mind. I should feel grateful to be here, in this vibrant city, with friends and a future ahead of me. But shadows of doubt linger. Have I chosen the right path for me? Or did I let myself get pushed and manipulated into this?

The train arrives, and I step aboard, grateful for the momentary distraction. I find a seat and plop down, trying to relax.

The compartment holds a few other passengers, but as we rattle through the dark tunnels, they leave one by one until I find myself alone.

Suddenly, a chill runs down my spine. A flicker of movement catches my eye, but just then the light flickers out for a moment. When it comes back I turn to see a man standing at the end of the carriage, his dark cape billowing around him.

His gaze is fixed on me, penetrating and unreadable. A jolt of panic rises within me, and I instinctively shrink into my seat, heart pounding like a drum. My mind races with thoughts that I can’t control. Is he just another commuter, or something more sinister? I can feel the weight of his stare, and every instinct tells me to run, to escape the suffocating tension that fills the air.

But the train rattles on, the rhythmic sound becoming a cruel reminder of my isolation. I shift nervously, my palms sweating against the cool metal of the seat. The shadows seem to close in, and the once familiar surroundings of the train become a confining cage.

As the train slows, I grip the edge of my seat, preparing to bolt the moment the doors slide open. I can’t let my fear dictate my actions, but the thrill of anxiety wraps around me like a vine, squeezing tighter with each passing moment. I need to get out in the air.