meet me under the willow tree

You're currently in the middle of the market trying to look for flowers, shaking. It's not unbearable but its absolutely different from home. The market's pretty busy. People crowd the stalls and several couples are walking around. Though cold, it was very cozy. The place looked wonderful, and you enjoyed walking around, admiring the flowers for sale. There were so many colors and so many different kinds of flowers. It was amazing to look at given that you've lived in the city all your life. You rarely see flowers on the daily. Mom would love it here, you thought. A certain stall catches your attention. They're selling beautiful dahlias that fade from orange to deep red. You think it's great considering how gray everything is. It would be a good pop of color in Mrs. Nelly's living room. You approach the vendor to ask how much.

"Excuse me, Sir. How much for these?"

"Those would be £65, dear."

"Great. I'll take it." You give the old man a smile as you hand him the payment.

"Not from here, sweetheart?" He inquires. You think if it's the accent or just cause you look underdressed.

"No." You giggle. "Is it the accent?"

"My love, you're shaking. The cold's got you shaking in your shoes." He laughs at how it's pretty obvious. You laugh as well. You did guess right in a way as you're only wearing a hoodie as if the weather is not freezing your socks off.

The vendor shakes his head fondly before handing over the bouquet.

"Get yourself something warm, sweetheart."

"That's the plan," you reply.

"Good. Would be a shame if London killed you on your first day."

Will was in London today. It was a few months break from all the filming and it would take a few months for his next film to start shooting. So he decided it would be great to come home and surprise the family. He misses being in London. Especially now where Christmas is coming. He's a local. He's been here his whole life. The cold was something he experienced since he was a kid. As he stepped out of his vehicle, the cold rushed towards him feeling like a breeze. It wasn't uncomfortable. It was home. Though he's been in different places in the world. He misses how London feels.

He decided to go to Columbia today. Just a quick run to get his mom a present. It was a surprise, after all, that he's home. He thought that surprise should definitely come with flowers. Columbia is great. It's busy and chaotic but has this certain beauty to it. It's a bonus how it's busy enough that no one would notice he's here. No crowds around him just people around him doing what they want to do. No attention. Just him doing mundane things like getting his mum flowers. The smell of hot chocolate and the mixture of colors was a sight to see. He never gets tired of how lovely this place is. He decides to look at a specific stall. Eyeing the yellow flowers being sold not really set on buying it just yet. He looks around absorbing the atmosphere and the weather when he spots a small woman carrying a bouquet of dahlias. She stood out immediately—not because she was loud or trying to attract attention, but because she looked wonderfully out of place. Like someone had dropped a tropical bird into the middle of a London winter and expected it to survive. She has a lovely smile as she talks with the vendor. Her eyes crinkled at the corners, almost forming tiny smiles of their own. Her cheeks are pink from the cold. She's a bit underdressed for the weather which confirms his suspicion when he catches her hands trembling around the bouquet. He hears you laughing with the store vendor. He overhears the store vendor suggesting to try the hot chocolate here to warm her up. He laughs at himself for noticing.

You finish your conversation with the vendor. You think to yourself: I should probably try the hot chocolate. The cold is really getting to me. It helps, though, that there were so many people around. The cold wasn't too bad in the crowd. You walk towards the stall where they're selling hot chocolate as the crowd presses when you suddenly hit someone with the flowers your carrying. It wasn't hard enough that you'd get thrown off but it was obvious. You turn to the man you hit, mortified.

"Oh my god. I'm so sorry"

"It's no problem, love"

"God. This is embarrassing. I'm really sorry. I was trying to get to the hot chocolate stall." trying to gather the flowers you'd nearly scattered everywhere.. He chuckles at you.

"It's okay, dear. I promise." He responds as he helps out straightening the poor dahlias that hit him. He takes a good look at your face. Looking genuinely embarrassed about the fact. You're exceptionally apologetic due to this is a different country and you're not really familiar with how people are here. For some reason, he finds it adorable.

"I was also planning on getting to the stall. Do you mind if I accompany you?" He asks. You finally look at him after fixing your bouquet. He's quite tall and absolutely gorgeous. The black beanie pushed his blond hair away from his face, accentuating the sharp line of his jaw. He had these beautiful blue eyes and what immediately caught your attention was how distinct his eyebrows were. You think he's probably an actor. He did look familiar.

"Y-yeah. I don't mind." You smile at him.

Small talk came easy. He asked where you're from and you reply. Then it clicks to him why you were shaking so much. You agree. It is pretty hot where live. You tell him stories about how hot it is that sometimes even the wind feels like fire. And how absurd it was that there were people who still drink hot coffee even with how hot the weather is. He shares his fair share of hot weather. He recalls how the hottest weather they got in London was 33 degrees.

"33?!" You exclaim. "That's a pretty chilly day where I'm from." He laughs at how baffled you are.

"I'd be sweating bullets here in 33 degrees, no? Well, how hot does it get where you live?"

"38 degrees! Can you believe it? And people still wear their jackets because 'fashion'" You chuckle at the thought

"Thirty bloody eight?! Jesus."

"And that's not even the hottest."

Will stared at you.

"You people live like that voluntarily?"

"We don't have a choice."

"I'd simply pass away."

"Weak."

"Extremely."

The conversation was smooth as you both wait your turn to buy chocolate. Like it was something that came easy. Like it was something that was supposed to happen. It's hard to pay attention to the cold when a tall, ridiculously attractive Englishman is laughing at your jokes. The talk felt warm. It was fun talking to him. You we're genuinely enjoying his company. You couldn't imagine the first guy you meet here was this nice.

"Do you come here often?" You ask. Then you instantly cringe at the question. "Did not meant to make it sound like a cheesy pick up line. But I am genuinely curious" He laughs.

"Not really. Just when my schedule permits it. Let me get that for you." He asks to hold the bouquet as he sees you struggling to get the mug.

You both get a mug for yourselves. The chocolate did help in the cold you tell him. It was warm and not so sweet. Just the way you enjoy chocolate. You both move to a bench nearby still talking like you knew each other well before this trip. No, it felt like you'd known each other long before this lifetime.

"What do you think of London so far?" He asks.

"Well… It's cold as hell. I underestimated that." You laugh. He laughs at your response as well. "I'm kidding. It's beautiful here. Everyone's been so nice. Including you." You smile at him.

"Thank God, I thought you were thinking of me as a creep." He jokes. You laugh at the thought.

"No! You've been great! It's like London does this thing to people from warm places. I'm still not sure if it gets to you or just stays outside. I think I haven't decided yet." You smile looking at the crowd of people in front of you both. It was a great idea, you thought, that you decided to go through with this flower market thing. He looks at you for a second too long thinking you're absolutely stunning.

"I haven't really been to anywhere warm enough to know the difference." He replies.

"Air-conditioning?" You joke. He chuckles at the joke.

A breeze hit both of you as you check the time. You shiver at the contact. You're still not used to the cold air here, you think. Though you try to hide it to not concern Will. It doesn't really matter as he hurriedly unwrap his scarf and loop it over your shoulder. You open your mouth to protest but he was quick.

"You're freezing." He giggles.

"I'm fine."

"You're shaking."

"I'm not from here. Shaking is part of the experience."

He laughs and wraps the scarf around your neck anyway. You didn't have a choice now. Though you're not complaining. The scarf smelled like him. Clean laundry, cedarwood, and a trace of hot chocolate. The scarf helped with the cold. As well as the warm feeling in your stomach that was constant during the whole time you've been talking.

"Humor me."

You both keep talking. Walking around the market, without a care in the world. Like this was planned. And the scarf stays wrapped around your neck.

The crowd thins as the sun sets. You decide to unwrap the scarf from your neck to hand it back to Will.

"Thanks for the scarf." You hand him the scarf after folding it. He reaches a hand out for it. But stops for a bit.

"Would you want to maybe do this properly sometime?" He asks. He then proceeds to take the scarf back. "A meal, maybe?"

There was it again. The warmth you've been feeling for the past hour he's been with you. Just talking. You stare at him for a moment. Looking at how wonderful his eyes look as the sun sets. The smile that spreads across his face makes your stomach flip.

"Yeah. That would be nice." You smile. You take out your phone to get his number. You both exchange numbers. Neither of you asked for surnames. Somehow, that felt less important than making sure the other person answered when they called. It felt right. This whole day felt like it was something written a long time ago. Like puzzle pieces fitting perfectly. You both say your goodbyes. You leave. Walking towards the street back to your place. You're thankful that this was just a few minutes away. You smile to yourself about what happened the whole day, hopeful of something that could come out from the sequence of numbers saved in your phone.

He, however, stays there for a moment. The scarf is back around his neck, now carrying a faint trace of your perfume. His phone in his pocket. And the bouquet of dahlias on his right hand that you forgot to take back. It isn't until he's halfway across the market that he notices the bouquet still in his hand.

The dahlias.

Yours.

Bright orange and red against the fading London evening. He could run after you. He should, probably. Instead, he looks down at them and smiles.

Funny.