(6 Years Ago...)
That afternoon, Faira was completely absorbed in a series of complicated equations in her Astrophysics: Galactic Dynamics and Cosmology class.
Her focus was locked onto the projected screen displaying a simulation of colliding galaxies—until the heavy lecture hall door burst open with a deliberately dramatic BANG.
Professor Higgins—the senior lecturer who was famously known for almost never smiling—was just about to deliver one of his sharp, sarcastic remarks.
But the words died in his throat.
Two students—God knew where they had come from—stormed into the room with the confidence of Broadway actors stepping onto a stage.
Tom, a tall man whose face was vaguely familiar from the Shakespearean theatre productions on campus, was wearing a long jet-black wig. His athletic frame was crammed into a white lab coat whose buttons looked seconds away from exploding under the strain of his broad shoulders.
Beside him stood Oliver—the eccentric theater genius—wearing a light brown wig that sat slightly crooked, clearly trying to imitate someone Faira knew very well.
"Apologies, Professor!" Oliver raised a hand with an exaggerated theatrical flourish before Higgins could protest, "We are currently on an emergency mission concerning a matter of the heart. Science may study the laws of nature—but the drama we bring today is the law of the heart, and it can no longer be postponed!"
At first, Faira laughed along with the rest of the class. Watching the ridiculous performance of the two young men in front of the podium felt like one of those eccentric Oxford pranks students occasionally pulled.
But slowly—
Faira's laughter froze.
Tom suddenly adjusted an imaginary pair of glasses with an overly feminine gesture—a perfect parody of someone who instantly gave Faira a terrible feeling in her gut.
"Oh, Hero!" Tom cried in a ridiculously high-pitched voice. "Is the orbital velocity of my heart aligned with Kepler's Third Law whenever I see you? Or am I simply suffering from delusion after calculating the mass of black holes across the Andromeda Galaxy for too long?"
Faira's eyes widened. Her mouth literally fell open as her hand shot up to cover it.
They were acting out—
Her.
And Hero.
Oliver—who Faira was certain was playing the role of "Hero"—took Tom's hand and gazed at him with absurd intensity.
"Faira, my beloved, love of my life," Oliver declared dramatically. "Know that my feelings for you are more massive than the supermassive black hole at the center of the Milky Way. You are the only singularity within the event horizon of my existence."
SMACK!
Professor Higgins slammed his marker against the whiteboard, producing a loud crack that finally broke the class's attention.
"What on earth is this nonsense?" Higgins growled darkly, "Have you two lost your way to the theater interpretation class? This is an Astrophysics lecture, not an audition for a mediocre West End production!"
Tom—still wearing the sausage-tight lab coat and crooked black wig—remained completely unfazed. He struck a dramatic opera-diva pose.
"Forgive us, honorable Professor! But according to the laws of thermodynamics, energy cannot be destroyed. And the romantic energy we carry today has reached a boiling point that must be saved!"
Oliver nudged Tom's ribs and shook his head before adding sheepishly,
"What he means is—we're performing for a girl our friend has a crush on, sir. His heart will continue suffering indefinitely if we don't help him turn this into something… theatrical."
Professor Higgins' expression darkened even further. "Listen here, you circus clowns," he snapped, his voice rising an octave. "If you do not remove your backsides from my classroom within the next three seconds, I will personally ensure that you spend the rest of the semester counting dust particles in the underground library."
"Apologies, Professor," Tom replied proudly,
"but the science you teach can wait. Our friend's romance is a matter of urgent importance!"
The entire class exploded into laughter. Some students in the front row even turned toward Faira, whistling teasingly.
Faira's face burned so intensely she felt like she might disappear into the nearest black hole just to escape the humiliation.
And the peak of that humiliating spectacle came when Oliver—still acting as "Hero"—dramatically dropped to one knee in front of Tom.
"Faira Adrianna," he proclaimed, "will you go on a date with me? Or must I wait an entire revolution of Pluto before receiving your answer?"
Faira's face was now as red as a cherry while thunderous applause filled the room.
But before Tom could deliver a ridiculous response, both actors suddenly stood upright, straightened their clothes, and parted the path between the lecture hall desks.
And then—
The door opened again.
The real Hero stepped inside.
No ridiculous wig.
No exaggerated dialogue.
Hero walked in wearing a black turtleneck that contrasted perfectly against his skin, carrying an aura that instantly silenced the laughter in the room.
He climbed the steps toward Faira's row one by one.
Faira sat frozen in her seat, her breath caught somewhere in her throat.
Then Hero stopped in front of her.
And knelt.
He wasn't holding a bouquet of iris flowers—Faira's favorite flower that she ironically hated when used as a romantic gesture.
Instead, Hero presented a bouquet of Beng-Beng chocolate wafers.
Faira stared at it in shock. It was a snack from her homeland—something nearly impossible to find in Oxford supermarkets.
She knew immediately that Hero must have spent hours traveling to the Indonesian grocery store in South London she once visited with Michelle. Because only Michelle knew Faira's favorite snacks.
Hero held the bouquet out and looked straight into Faira's eyes.
"I know you hate the cliché of flowers," he murmured—loud enough for people nearby to hear, but soft enough to make Faira's world stop spinning, "But you can't possibly hate these."
His gaze softened, "So… will you go on a date with me, Faira Adrianna?"
From the back of the room, Tom shouted,
"Just say yes, Faira! I'm sweating bullets trying to keep this lab coat from ripping in front of Professor Higgins!"
"And this wig is itchy as hell!" Oliver added while scratching his head.
"ENOUGH!" Professor Higgins roared.
He was now holding a meter-long wooden ruler like a gladiator's spear. "OUT! ALL OF YOU! GET OUT BEFORE I CALL THE DEAN!"
He stormed down from the podium, swinging the ruler with terrifying speed for a man his age.
"Campbell, run before that ruler flies into my backside!" Tom yelled while sprinting toward the door. His lab coat finally RIPPED loudly under the arm.
"Bloody hell, Hero! We must go!" Oliver shouted while clutching his wig.
Hero burst out laughing—a bright, genuine laugh.
He grabbed his backpack, winked once at Faira, and leaped over a desk to avoid Higgins' swinging ruler.
The entire class erupted into wild cheers.
Students stood up, whistling and clapping as if they were watching a football match.
Just before disappearing through the door—with Higgins still chasing behind him shouting, "Bloody actors! Go back to your Shakespearean nonsense!"
Hero turned his head one last time.
"FAIRA!" he shouted, his voice echoing through the hall. "I'll wait as long as it takes for you to accept my date! Your Hero will always be here—trust me!"
BAM!
The door slammed shut, leaving only Hero's fading laughter from the corridor. The classroom erupted into the loudest applause it had probably ever heard.
Faira buried her face into her folded arms on the desk, trying desperately to hide the small smile creeping onto her lips.
She was mortified.
Completely mortified.
She honestly felt like moving to another planet just to escape the embarrassment.
And yet, at the same time.
She couldn't stop the warmth blooming in her chest as she clutched the bouquet of Beng-Beng chocolates in her hands, her lips curling into a shy smile she couldn't suppress.
💫💫💫💫💫
A few minutes later, after class ended with lingering whispers and teasing comments from her classmates, Faira hurried out of the department building.
Her head remained lowered as she tried to avoid eye contact with anyone who might have just witnessed the "circus" in her class.
But the moment she passed the old stone gate—
Her steps stopped.
Leaning against one of the cold pillars stood Hero, catching his breath. His gray coat looked slightly disheveled, and his usually neat brown hair was now sticking up in every direction after the chase with Professor Higgins.
Tom and Oliver stood nearby, removing their wigs while still grumbling about the professor's "brutality."
Hero looked up. His eyes immediately locked onto Faira.
And he grinned—an utterly shameless grin that made Faira want to throw the Beng-Beng bouquet straight at his face.
Though another part of her heart admitted—
There was warmth blooming in her chest at the sight of him.
"You're insane!" were the first words that left Faira's mouth as she stopped in front of him.
Her voice was low—caught somewhere between anger and suppressed laughter.
Hero chuckled awkwardly, scratching the back of his neck.
"Well, at least I didn't get hit by that one-and-a-half-meter ruler," he said. "That old man has terrifying accuracy, Faira."
"You embarrassed me in front of an entire class, Hero!" Faira swatted his arm with the chocolate bouquet, though the hit carried no real force, "And what was that with your friends? That wig—oh my God—it's an insult to my hair!"
"That was the best wig we could find at the discount shop near Oxford!" Tom protested from behind while trying to fix the torn button on his lab coat. "I nearly had an asthma attack running in that tight thing!"
Hero stepped closer.
Close enough that Faira had to tilt her head up to look at him.
"I'm deadly serious, Faira," he said quietly.
"I don't care if all of Oxford sees me chased by a terrifying professor like Higgins—so long as I get your answer."
Faira fell silent. She looked down at the Beng-Beng bouquet in her hands… then back at Hero.
"Why Beng-Beng?" she asked softly. "Why travel all the way to South London just for this?"
Hero's voice lowered. "Because I know you miss home."
For once, there was no teasing in his tone.
"And I want you to know that I'll travel as far as I have to—just to find something that makes you smile."
His eyes softened. "So… what's the verdict, Faira Adrianna?"
Faira bit her lower lip, trying to hide the smile threatening to appear. "Don't expect me to forgive you easily for the stunt you pulled in class."
"Of course," Hero replied immediately, his eyes lighting up. "That just means we'll have plenty of time to discuss it… perhaps over dinner tonight?"
Faira's gaze dropped again to the bouquet in her hands.
Then slowly lifted back to Hero's eyes. Hope sparkled there. And it shook her resolve.
But suddenly, a name crossed her mind like a warning alarm.
Angela.
"Hero, I…" Faira inhaled deeply. The smile that had almost formed faded into something more somber. "I can't have dinner with you. This isn't right for us."
Hero frowned.
"What's not right? I'm asking you to dinner, not to rob the Bank of England."
The joke should have made her laugh.
But hesitation returned to her face.
"My loyalty to my friendship," Faira whispered bitterly, "Angela likes you. You know it, and I know it. I won't hurt my best friend just because of one man. I won't sacrifice years of friendship with Angela for a date that… that's as crazy as this."
Hero went quiet.
He understood the weight she carried.
But his heart had already made its decision long before he stepped into that lecture hall.
"Faira, listen," Hero said, holding her shoulders gently yet firmly. "I'm going to do everything in my power to make you realize that all I want… is you. Only you."
His gaze burned with unwavering determination. "If I have to, I'll go to Angela right now, kneel in front of her, and ask her to let me be with you. My decision to fall in love with you instead of her isn't your fault. Don't punish yourself for feelings you can't control."
Faira shook her head quickly. "I still can't, Hero. Especially not dinner. It feels too intimate. Too much like… betrayal."
Hero's expression dimmed. Disappointment flickered clearly across his face.
But before he could give up, Faira continued in a voice barely above a whisper.
"But… if it's just lunch. One hour… maybe I can."
Hero's dimmed eyes suddenly lit up again like a flame drenched in gasoline.
"One hour? Really?"
"One hour. No more," Faira said firmly, "And it's not an official date."
"YES!"
Tom and Oliver shouted simultaneously from behind Hero. Apparently they had been eavesdropping behind a massive pillar the entire time. "One hour is more than enough for miracles!" Tom cheered.
"She said yes, Campbell! Stop making that tragic face!" Oliver added triumphantly.
Hero ignored them. He simply looked at Faira with a radiant smile that rivaled the brightness of the afternoon sun.
"An hour. I'll take that," he said softly, "And I promise you—I'll make that one hour the best lunch you've ever had in your life."
Faira shrugged, pretending indifference.
"We'll see about that."
She turned to leave. "Tomorrow. 12 sharp. If you're even one second late, the lunch is cancelled."
With that, Faira walked away from the old gate with carefully measured steps, trying to appear calm.
But the moment her back was turned to Hero and the two ridiculous actors, H
Her composure shattered.
Behind the bouquet of Beng-Beng shehugged tightly to her chest, a deep blush spread from her cheeks all the way to her ears.
A wide smile she could no longer suppress bloomed across her face—the same girl who always looked serious behind stacks of calculus books.
One hour.
Just one hour.
But for Faira, it felt like the beginning of a great revolution in her life.
One that might very well send her world spinning out of orbit because of a British man named Hero Campbell.