“Hi, I’m Reena. Are you American?”

Sitting in the seat next to mine is a very happy—if her smile has anything to go by—very pretty young woman. But I didn’t even see her sit down. A second ago, there was no one next to my seat, and suddenly, like magic, she appeared.

Her grin doesn’t falter or show signs of strain as she stares at me. I stare back in wide-eyed surprise. She smiles in what appears to be genuine pleasure. It’s contagious.

So, I smile back.

“Wow, you’re so pretty. Where are you from?” she asks in a perfectly ambiguously foreign accent.

“I’m from Nevada.”

“Ah, yes, Nevada is in the western United States. It’s where Las Vegas is. Las Vegas is one of the most popular gambling destinations in the world. Although the famous Las Vegas Strip isn’t actually located in Las Vegas. It’s located in the neighboring town of Paradise.”

I blink at her in surprise.

“Wow, I didn’t think anyone actually knew that but we who live there,” I say in awe.

“Well, I’m a connoisseur of all things American,” she says proudly. “I am going to move there one day and when the opportunity arises, I want to be ready. London is my stepping stone, but America is my destination.” She flares her fingers out in excitement. “I was meant to live there. I can’t be who I was meant to be in Rome. I know that in America, my star power will be welcomed and rewarded. Isn’t that what we all want? To be seen for who we are? To live the life we were meant to live?”

She talks fast. But every word is perfectly enunciated. I wonder if that’s a skill you have to practice really hard at.

Otherwise, she’s perfect. And she loves facts. Like me.

I extend my hand. “I’m Apollo. It’s so nice—”

“Ooh, cool name. I saw you sitting here, and I thought to myself, she’s American.” She grabs my hand and shakes vigorously. “This is wonderful!”

“What is?” I ask, massaging the hand she nearly crushed.

“That I’ve finally found an American who smiled back at me.”

“Huh?”

“Well, I went to the Sorbonne for my first degree, and there are hardly any Americans there. And the ones who were there didn’t seem to be interested in being friends with me. I mean, I know I talk a lot, but I’m really very nice. It was such a disappointment. And as much as I love Paris, I think their accents are too mouthy. You know what I mean?”

After a few seconds, she gives me an expectant nod, and I realize she’s paused for my answer.

I shake my head no.

“You know,” she starts speaking with an exaggerated frown on her face. “They talk like zisss, and the especially rude ones always look like they need to defecate.” She winks conspiratorially.

I just nod and smile.

It works, and she starts talking again.

“Anyway, I love American and British accents. Die for them. So, I’m glad the first friend I’ve met is American. I’m from India. Delhi, specifically. South Asia generally. But I grew up in Rome. I went to the American school there for one year before we moved to Geneva. In Switzerland. My father works for the United Nations.” She pauses, and this time I nod before she has to prod me.

“Anyway, it’s beautiful, and I could have stayed there to do my Master’s. But UCL’s law course is really great.”

“Do you mean, the University College of London?” I ask confused.

“Yes, that’s where I’m studying,” she says brightly.

“But this is SOAS. You’re on the wrong campus. UCL is over on Gower Street.”

“Oh, I know. I came over here because I heard there were a lot of Americans here.” She looks down at the prospectus she’s holding. “You’re doing your Master of Islamic Art!” she says as if she’s informing me of something I didn’t know.

“Well, SOAS is the best place to study Islamic Art. The Brunei Gallery holds some of the world’s most amazing treasure. So, where are you from? Where are you living? Isn’t London to die for?” She swoons.

“Yes, I love it here,” I say.

“Where’d you say you were from?” she asks suddenly.

“Las Vegas. Or rather, Paradise,” I tease.

She blushes and gives me an apologetic smile. “Sorry, I forgot. When I’m nervous, I forget my name. My father didn’t want me to come here. I had to threaten to cut off all my hair and never marry before he agreed. It just showed how little he knows me. As if I would ever cut my hair. It’s one of my best features.” She strokes the long, thick ponytail that’s sitting on her shoulder and leans in to whisper.

“He’s sent his personal bodyguard Karim to shadow me. I can’t even live in the student housing because they wouldn’t agree to let Karim live in one of the rooms,” she complains.

“Why are we whispering? Is he here now?” I ask and look around the room to see if I see any shadowy bodyguard types.

“No. I don’t want anyone to know I have a bodyguard. They’ll think I’m rich and maybe plot to kidnap me.”

“Uh ... okay.” I can’t help but giggle. “I understand. I had a driver who was also sort of a babysitter.”

“You had a driver. Why? Who are your parents?” she asks, her eyes more assessing now.

“No one you would have heard of. My father owned hotels. And my mother didn’t like to drive. So, she hired someone to take me around.”

“Oh, okay. Well, my mama is here for a few weeks, but then she’ll go back home. And I’m so afraid Karim is going to scare off any potential boyfriends. But if I have a friend with me, maybe he won’t walk as close, and boys will approach us. Do you have a boyfriend already?”

“Yes,” I say and know that smile doesn’t reach my eyes.

“I can’t wait to hear that story. But not today. Today is about new beginnings and new friendships.”

“Wait, what story?”

“Why you said yes to having a boyfriend like you were saying yes to having diarrhea.”

“I did not,” I protest but I feel bad because I know she’s right.

I know it.

I wait a few seconds to make sure she’s done talking.

“You talk a lot. But, so do I. We can be nervous together. We’re in the same department. We’re both spreading our wings for the first time. We can support each other.”

“Exactly,” she says emphatically.

“We can talk more—”

The loud piercing sound of interference interrupts me, and we all wince and turn toward the stage as the orientation begins and listen to the head of our department give the orientation speech for the incoming class of new masters candidates.

“He’s cute.” Reena nudges me and nods to a man standing in the doorway.

“You think?” I pretend to take a closer look. “He is. I suppose. He’s nice, too. And smart.”

“You know him?”

“Yes,” I answer cryptically.

“Is he married?”

“No.” I giggle because she’s looking increasingly excited.

“How do you know? Look at him. Men who look like that are always married. Usually to a hag who’s the nicest person on the planet and he doesn’t care that she looks like Medusa.”

I snicker. She’s got such an imagination.

“Shhhhhh!” The woman in front of us turns around and glares at us.

“Sorry,” Reena says and mimics zipping her lip and turning back to face the stage.

I look back at the man she was talking about. It’s Lucas. My boyfriend of all of two weeks. He’s leaning on the doorframe, head bent to his phone.

He’s from New York. From a family of artists. His mother is a very successful photographer, and his father is a painter. Lucas is an Investment Banker. He looks the part. His dark hair is parted on the side and slicked down in a style that reminds me of Clark Kent. His tall, lanky frame is draped in a dark blue, three-piece pinstripe that he just ordered from his tailor on Saville Row. I still don’t know how I ended up with him.

From the night I met him at a bar near my halls of residence, he made it very clear he’s interested in me. I’d been in London for a few days. He was sexy.

I was flattered.

I went home with him.

He was nice, and I was lonely. After our first time together, he asked if he could take me out. I said yes. Even though kissing him hadn’t been particularly exciting. At least not compared to what I’d felt when I kissed Graham.

But he had other qualities. The most important one being that he actually wanted to be with me.

He can be very kind, too.

One night I was frantically trying to finish a paper, and my computer crashed. Lucas was the first person I called. I knew he’d answer and I knew he’d be there.

He came over, brought food and his laptop and helped me move my paper from my computer and onto his and stayed up with me all night until I was done.

When he kissed me that night, I reminded myself how unfair it was to compare Lucas to something he could never be.

He was kind and present when I desperately needed it. I wanted to be physically close to someone. I wanted to experience being part of a couple. He’s really nice to me, and I guess I’m attracted to him. I have no reason to end things with him, so we’ve stayed together.

On the days where I can’t push Graham away, I’m very aware that kissing Lucas feels like settling. I question my choices. I wonder if I overreacted. And, the only person I can think of to call when I feel that way is Graham.

I wouldn’t know what to say after all this time. After that disastrous morning at his place. I went back to Las Vegas and threw myself into getting the credits I needed to apply for this Master’s program.

I ignored his calls. It had been easy. I was angry and hurt. After a couple of weeks had gone by, the anger didn’t feel so raw and consuming. The hurt had lost some of its bite.

By the time I was done listening, I was hysterical.

“Apollo. I’m sorry for the things I said. I’m sorry for not being everything you need right now. But don’t let that mean you won’t let me be anything you won’t need. Because I need you. I know I don’t have that right. I know it’s not fair. But I’ll never stop needing you. I can’t. You’re a part of me. My own little angel, sent into my life to make it better. Please call me. Let’s talk. I’m just asking for time.”

His tone was so calm. As if what he was saying was reasonable and not utterly strange and intentionally vague.

But, I’m not stupid. There’s very little that gets past me. He gave me enough clues to understand what he’s saying.

He wants more time with her.

My heart broke all over again. I didn’t get out of bed the next day. When Tante Isabel and my cousin Josh came to visit Maman, they found me in bed, too.

When she walked into my bedroom, her face a mask of concern, I burst into tears and sobbed my heart out.

I told her everything. She knew Graham, of course. But she had only seen him once since that first summer, and I had never told her how I felt about him.

After she listened to me cry, she told me I couldn’t let a silly boy ruin this experience for me. She made me shower, get dressed and put on makeup and took me to dinner. She told me to take this two years of my program as a complete detox from my life. My mother only ranted about men and how all they do is cheat on you and then leave you when they’re done using you. I couldn’t even talk to her. And I was sick of waiting for her to feel better. I was sick of putting my life on hold for other people. I wanted to live, to go and do the things that I’d dreamed about. My heart was broken, but I wasn’t dead. She and Josh spent a week cheering me up, and by the time they left, I knew I’d be okay.

Tante Isabel had been my rock, and she encouraged me to walk away from the money and promised to help me. I was scared at first, but she kept her word. She helped me every step of the way. She even moved Maman to Arizona. I felt so guilty about leaving her. But Isabel said it was overdue.

When I got on the plane to London, it was with a determination to treat it like a fresh start.

I never called Graham back. When I got to London, I turned my American phone off, got a local one and gave the number to Tante Isabel, Maman, and my cousin Josh. They were all I had left.

Now, I have Lucas. Or at least, I think I do.

And my only experience with relationships with men is the one I had with Graham. So, I don’t know how long it’s supposed to take to start to feel like I’m falling. I’m not expecting to feel what I did for Graham. I would just like to feel more.

As if he can sense me thinking about him, Lucas’s head comes up. When our eyes meet, it’s nice.

Nice is enough.