(6 years ago...)
"Her name is Angela Santos. She's an Oxford medical student planning to specialize in dermatology. She's arguably the most beautiful woman in her year; men literally queue up just to ask her out. But she's incredibly picky—her record for the longest relationship is only one month."
Sarah Hastings punctuated her sentence by draining her glass of champagne in one long gulp.
Before her companion could respond, she raised a warning finger. "But I'm certain the moment she sees you, she won't be able to look away. I've seen her exes, and frankly, their looks were mediocre at best. If you make it onto Angela's list, you'll easily be the best candidate for a permanent spot."
Hero Campbell, who had been trying to interject for the last several minutes, found himself momentarily speechless. Sarah—the girlfriend of his best friend—had spent the last week relentlessly trying to set him up with one of her inner circle. In response, Hero simply downed his bottle of beer in a single, resigned swig.
Joseph, who had disappeared into the fray earlier, suddenly materialized through the crowd. The New Year's Eve party, hosted by the College System at the Balliol College dorms, was reaching its peak.
Clutching a fresh beer from the fridge, Joseph leaned in and shouted directly into Hero's ear.
"Have you found her yet?" Joseph yelled over the thumping bass of the music.
Hero shook his head. "Sarah says she's still in the loo. Are you sure a medical student like Angela wants anything to do with a Theatre student like me? Isn't that a bit of a step down in the social hierarchy?"
Joseph's laughter cut through the festive roar. "Word is, Angela is looking for a 'proper British gentleman' this time. And according to Sarah's expert scouting, you're the perfect fit."
Hero leaned his shoulder against the marble wall, idly swirling the beer in his hand. Under the glow of the crystal chandeliers, his light brown hair caught the light, reflecting golden hues that often made casting directors hesitant to ever change his styling.
He was a visual anomaly among the crowd of theatre students—too striking to be considered merely human.
However, Hero's primary allure didn't lie in his sharp jawline, but in the intensity of his gaze. His blue eyes were as clear as the ocean, yet they held a depth that was difficult to decipher. He was known for a piercing stare that could silence a room without a single word. To many women at Oxford, that look was an invitation; to Hero, it was a fortress built to hide his acute sense of boredom.
"I'm getting another drink!" Hero shouted back—an excuse that sounded more like a strategic retreat.
After Joseph gave a brief nod, Hero ducked away, weaving through the sea of bodies dancing to the rhythm that shook the dormitory floors.
Amusingly, Hero didn't head for the bar. Instead, he took a detour that led him behind the snack table.
As he scanned the spread, his eyes caught a girl who had just arrived in a hurry, dumping stacks of various chips onto the table. Behind her, a bald, dark-skinned boy with a flamboyant air was pouting, trying to snatch something from her.
Hero found himself chuckling. Their comedic bickering was strangely captivating.
"Michelle, for God's sake, if you take these chips without my permission, I swear I'm locking my dorm door tonight!"
Hero watched as the girl engaged in a high-stakes logistical operation, pouring large bags of chips into a glass bowl with the precision of a museum curator. Beside her, Michelle—the restless boy—tried his luck again. With a graceful yet deceptive hand movement, he tried to sneak a bag away.
The girl didn't even need to look to sense the threat.
Without shifting her focus from the bowl, she swung the hand holding a pair of scissors toward Michelle's reaching fingers.
"Michelle, get off or I'll cut your balls!"
The threat was sharp and unfiltered. Michelle recoiled as if he'd been electrocuted, his lip curling into a wounded pout.
"You snack dictator! No wonder men run for the hills before they even get close to you. You are truly fierce, especially to a holy soul like Michelle Gerard! Lord, have mercy on Your servant under the tyranny of this stingy woman. It's a good thing I love her, otherwise, I'd shave off that beautiful hair of hers so we could look like identical twins from different mothers," Michelle grumbled dramatically.
The girl ignored him, continuing to pour the chips until the sound of rustling foil filled the air between them.
"The issue isn't that I'm stingy, Michelle. This is Joseph and Sarah's first big party. And you have a serious problem controlling your MSG addiction. If I give these to you now, this bowl will be nothing but crumbs and regret in five minutes. I am not spending New Year's Eve with a growling stomach just because you can't stop chewing—and I certainly don't want your head on the chopping block when Sarah realizes the snacks are gone before the party even starts!"
Hero, standing barely an arm's length away, couldn't help himself. A low, masculine chuckle escaped his lips. The voice he usually trained for the stage seemed to have a magnetic effect in the real world, too.
The girl turned into Hero's gaze.
For a second that felt like a slow-motion cinematic shot, Hero let his blue eyes—often described as icy—lock onto her warm brown ones. A flash of surprise crossed her face, contrasting with the scissors she still held firmly.
Hero cleared his throat, trying to neutralize the tension. "Sorry," he said, his voice steady. "I just happen to agree with your strategy. At an Oxford party like this, chips are definitely more valuable than champagne once midnight hits."
The girl didn't blush or falter. Instead, she looked up at him with a flat expression that suggested his famous blue eyes were no more interesting than the bag of Sour Cream and Onion in her hand.
"See? Thank you for standing up for what I believe in—protecting these chips at all costs," she replied coolly.
Meanwhile, Michelle looked as if he had just seen an angel descend from the Oxford sky. He was paralyzed, his eyes wide as he took in everything from Hero's perfectly disheveled golden-brown hair to those sharp blue eyes. He seemingly forgot how to breathe.
Hero noticed Michelle's reaction, but his focus remained on the girl. There was something about her nonchalance that was incredibly charming.
"Joseph mentioned Sarah spent weeks strategizing for tonight," Hero noted, a relaxed smile forming. "He said she wanted to introduce me to someone 'special' who 'lives in her own world.'" He glanced at her oversized sweater, then the scissors, and finally the spark in her eyes when she spoke of snacks. "Seeing how you guard these chips like the last treasure on Earth, I think I understand what he meant."
The girl raised an eyebrow. "Oh, so you've been briefed on the 'matchmaking project' orchestrated by Sarah and Joseph?"
"Hard to ignore it when Joseph acts like a PR agent promoting the event every five minutes," Hero replied. "He said I'd recognize her the moment we were in the same room. And honestly, among everyone trying to look perfect tonight, you're the only one who looks... real."
Hero's mind connected the dots. She was sharp, funny, unimpressed by him, and a close friend of Sarah's. It fit the description of the legendary Angela Santos perfectly.
"So," Hero leaned in slightly. "What's the next scene in the script, Angela? Should we find somewhere quieter so Joseph stops lurking, or are you going to continue threatening Michelle with those scissors?"
At the mention of the name "Angela," Michelle began to choke on his own saliva, coughing dramatically. The girl slowly set her scissors down on the table. She looked at Hero with an expression somewhere between amusement and pity.
"I hate to break it to you, buddy, but you've got the wrong orbit," she said, crossing her arms.
Hero's smile faltered. "Wrong orbit?"
"I'm not Angela Santos. I'm Faira," she said casually, popping a chip into her mouth. "Angela is the one in the red dress over there, holding a champagne flute like she's posing for Vogue. I'm just Sarah's best friend who has memorized every step of this matchmaking plot because Sarah hasn't stopped talking about the 'handsome blue-eyed actor' she wanted to set up tonight. The moment you said your name, I knew you were the 'target' of the operation."
Hero was stunned. He felt a bit foolish for assuming, but more surprisingly, a small pang of disappointment surfaced. He liked this "wrong" girl.
He was about to respond—perhaps with a clever defense—when a strong floral perfume invaded his senses.
"Hero! I finally found you," Sarah Hastings chirped, breaking the bubble. She appeared radiant, pulling a girl along who was the polar opposite of Faira. "Angela, this is Hero Campbell. And Hero, meet Angela Santos. The star of the night."
Hero went still. Angela was undeniably beautiful. Her red dress fit perfectly, her makeup was flawless, and her skin glowed. She was the definition of Oxford elegance.
But when Hero's eyes flickered toward Faira, he found her in her cream sweater, giving him a mock 'thumbs up' of encouragement while Michelle feigned fainting in the background.
"Hi, Hero. I've heard so much about you from Sarah," Angela said in a refined, soft voice.
Hero took a deep breath, forcing himself back into the "script." As a theatre student, he knew how to be a professional even when the scene felt wrong.
"Hello, Angela. It's a pleasure to finally meet you," he replied with his practiced, charming smile.
He allowed Angela to lead him toward a quieter corner by a large window overlooking the snowy courtyard. There, she began to speak with polished enthusiasm about her medical studies.
"I plan to specialize in dermatology. I've always been fascinated by skin health. I believe skin is the first canvas of a human being that must be preserved with the right science."
Hero nodded, playing along. "Dermatology. That's very specific. I imagine it requires a great deal of precision."
As Angela talked about her internship, Hero provided all the right cues. He laughed at the right moments and maintained eye contact. But half of his mind was still back at the snack table.
Every time a burst of laughter erupted from that direction, Hero's head turned instinctively. From afar, he could see Faira demonstrating something funny with an empty chip bag while Michelle doubled over. She looked so free—unburdened by career ambitions or the need to be perfect.
"Hero? Are you still here?" Angela asked gently.
Hero blinked, returning to the present. "Sorry, Angela. I just... got a bit distracted by the music. You were saying about your research?"
He continued the performance. But behind his blue eyes, a nagging thought remained: Why did a conversation about perfect skin feel so flat compared to a girl in a sweater who threatened people with scissors?
While Hero played his part, Faira was in her element. She was using two oranges to demonstrate planetary orbits for her thesis when her phone vibrated violently in her pocket.
One message. A brief notification that instantly extinguished her joy.
Without a word to Michelle, Faira hurried away. She ducked onto a quiet, freezing dormitory balcony. Her fingers shook as she reached for her phone, praying the news was what she had been desperately asking for in her silences.
She opened the message from her sister in Indonesia.
In that heartbeat, Faira's world collapsed.
The phone slipped from her hand, clattering onto the floor. Her body gave way, and she slumped onto the cold tiles. A sob broke through her lips. She pressed her palms against her mouth, trying to stifle the sound, but the suffocating grief was too much to contain.
The phone screen lit up again. An incoming call.
She snatched it up, her fingers trembling as she hit the green button.
"Fanya—"
"Kakak, I'm so sorry..." her fifteen-year-old sister's voice cracked, the sound piercing Faira's soul.
"Fanya, you have to be strong. Don't cry like this," Faira whispered, biting her lip until she tasted copper.
"But why Mama? Why our Mama?"
Faira wished she had the answer. She wished that if her prayers weren't to be answered, she at least knew why life was this cruel. Ever since their father had walked out on them in Jakarta, their lives had been a storm—and now, their only anchor was gone.
"I don't know. I don't know why God can't be fair to our family."
💫💫💫💫💫
Hero had just stepped out of the second-floor restroom—a strategic move to avoid the crowds downstairs. As he walked toward the balcony to clear his head, a sound stopped him in his tracks.
A sob. Small, broken, and so full of agony that it made his chest tighten.
He approached the slightly ajar balcony door. There, he saw her. Faira. The girl who had been so vibrant and loud just moments ago was now curled up on the cold floor, her shoulders shaking under the dim glow of the streetlights.
"Faira?" Hero called out softly, as if afraid the sound of his voice might shatter her.
Faira flinched. She frantically wiped her face, trying to gather the pieces of her dignity. She didn't look back as she answered, her voice thick and trembling.
"Hero, what are you doing here?" She tried for a smile, but it was a ghost of one. "Angela must be looking for you. I'm fine, really. Just needed some fresh air. I'll head back in a sec."
Hero didn't retreat. He took a step closer into the biting wind.
"Fresh air doesn't usually make someone tremble on the floor, Fay."
Faira let out a long, shaky breath, her head still bowed.
"Please, Hero. I appreciate the kindness, but I'm not exactly good company right now. I don't want to ruin your night with... all of this. Just go back inside. Please."
Hero didn't budge. Instead of leaving, he shrugged off his expensive wool coat and, without asking, draped it over Faira's shoulders. The lingering warmth of the fabric was a sharp, startling contrast to her ice-cold skin.
"I don't think my night is ruined just by sitting here," Hero said calmly. He lowered himself to the floor, sitting cross-legged beside her on the concrete, indifferent to his blue jeans getting dirty. "And I don't need 'good company.' I just need to make sure you aren't facing whatever just popped up on that phone alone."
Faira fell silent. She looked down at the coat on her shoulders, then glanced at Hero, who was watching the Oxford sky with a quiet, steady profile. Her soft resistance began to crumble, replaced by a wave of exhaustion.
Finally, she gave in. She allowed Hero's presence to fill the void beside her as the snow began to fall, flake by flake, touching the balcony floor.
"My mother's biopsy results just came back, Hero," Faira whispered, her voice fracturing in the wind. Taking a deep breath, she continued, "It's pancreatic cancer. Stage four."
The world seemed to stop spinning for a moment. Hero remained silent, offering no cliché comforts that would only sound hollow. He simply sat there, a silent witness to a grief too large for words.
Finally, his voice thick with empathy, he spoke. "I'm so sorry, Faira."
Faira turned to him with a bittersweet smile. Her eyes were red and swollen from crying, yet in Hero's eyes, she looked breathtaking.
Exquisitely beautiful.
That night, without realizing it, they began to trade pieces of their lives.
They no longer spoke of Hero's grand acting roles or Michelle's antics with the snacks.
They spoke of fears, of a home far away in Jakarta, and the weight of being the sole pillar of support while living on a foreign continent.
The conversation ran deep, as if their souls had been searching for one another for a long time, finally touching in the warm silence of the night.
Hero felt an unfamiliar thrum in his chest—a profound empathy mixed with an ache of admiration every time the streetlights caught Faira's face. His heart beat to an erratic rhythm, a chemical reaction he had never found in any movie script.
Faira looked up, watching the scattered stars partially veiled by snow clouds. A faint, pained smile touched her lips.
"You know, Hero? The universe out there actually teaches us a lot about life," Faira said, her voice steadier now. "Like Earth's gravity. No matter how hard we try to run or how high we jump, gravity will always pull us back to the ground. Fate is like gravity. Sometimes the pull is heavy and painful, but it's what keeps us grounded. It reminds us that we still have a world to stand on, even when it tastes bitter."
Hero was mesmerized. He watched her eyes—glassy with unshed tears yet burning with an incredible resilience. Those weren't just astronomical theories; they were Faira's way of making peace with her own wreckage.
Silence reclaimed the balcony as her words about gravity evaporated into the cold air. Hero couldn't take his eyes off her. He had just watched someone break into a million pieces, only to use the philosophy of the cosmos to steady themselves.
"Why haven't you gone back in?" Faira asked softly, breaking the quiet. "Angela must be looking for you everywhere. It's rude to abandon the 'date' Sarah worked so hard to set up in the middle of a party.
Hero gave a faint, somewhat forced smile. "Angela has a long queue of people waiting to talk to her tonight. I think she'll be fine without me for a few minutes."
"Still, Hero," Faira insisted, adjusting the wool coat on her shoulders. "Don't waste your time here just to watch me cry. I don't want to feel guilty for taking up your night."
Hero exhaled, leaning his back against the rough balcony wall. "To be honest, I've been trying very hard not to pay attention to Angela. I feel like a liar staying in there."
Faira frowned, confused. "What do you mean?"
"My mind isn't in there, Faira. Because if I'm being honest, I'm interested in someone else. And standing near Angela just makes me feel guilty because I can't focus on her at all."
Faira went quiet for a moment. Midst the suffocating news about her mother, she tried to process Hero's honest confession.
"Then why don't you tell Sarah or Joseph? Before they get too carried away with the matchmaking?"
Hero paused, turning his head to lock eyes with her. "I only just realized it now, Faira."
Faira nodded vaguely, as if validating that the time it takes to realize one's feelings varies for everyone.
"Well, I think you should be open with her, Hero," Faira advised gently. "Angela is my friend; she's very open-minded. She'll appreciate your honesty far more than you pretending to be interested when your heart is somewhere else."
Hero responded with a low hum. "You think so?"
"Of course," Faira continued, her voice encouraging. "And about this girl... I think you should go after her until you win her over. Fight for the person who caught your eye. Life is too short to live with doubts, especially in a place as foreign as this."
Hero searched her face, looking for any sign that she might be throwing a joke by saying that.
But what he found was only sincerity. Faira was genuinely pushing him toward "the other girl," entirely unaware that she was the very subject of his affection.
"Alright. I'll keep that in mind. I'll fight for her, starting this very second," Hero said softly, keeping his secret guarded for now.
He didn't want to add to her burden with a confession of love in the wake of such tragic news.
Faira gave a small nod, feeling a slight sense of relief at having offered useful advice. She turned back to the snow, which was now falling more heavily, blanketing the ancient rooftops of Oxford.
Hero watched her profile in the dark. Behind the fragility caused by her mother's diagnosis, Faira possessed a strength unlike any woman he had ever met.
At that moment, on a freezing balcony in Oxford, Hero Campbell realized one absolute truth: he had fallen completely for Faira Adrianna—the girl who found the meaning of life between the stars and the reality of pain.