The soft hum of central heating filled the spacious West London home, where floor-to-ceiling windows drew long, angular patterns of morning light across pristine oak floors. The scent of eucalyptus drifted faintly from a nearby diffuser, mixing with the earthy warmth of fresh toast wafting up from downstairs. In the quiet of a second-floor bedroom— all clean Scandinavian lines, minimalist art, sheer-draped windows and bookshelves that whispered affluence, — Ethan sat at the edge of his king-sized bed, His feet rested lightly on the plush grey carpet, unmoving – as if even gravity was waiting for him to begin the day.
He was already dressed — dark navy trousers, a light blue shirt still unbuttoned at the collar, and his navy blazer folded neatly on the armrest of a nearby accent chair. His tie lay across his lap, untouched. He stared ahead at the pale wall, mind wandering, the weight of the morning not heavy, just... thoughtful.
Today isn't just another day. It is the start of something new — a new university. A new chapter. University of Cambradge.
Not the iconic, old-money institution he had gotten into with little effort. He could have gone to the Imperial University. He got accepted. He remembered the weight of that acceptance letter, how it carried centuries of tradition and pride. Chloe, his mother, had practically hosted a press conference the day it arrived.
But he turned it down.
She didn't speak to him for three days after that — not out of rage, but out of quiet disbelief. Chloe wasn't a screamer. She was the passive-aggressive silence and razor-sharp smile type. She was the kind of mother who could freeze the air in a room with her silence. But Ethan had made up his mind. He wanted something different. And had decided. He wanted something more balanced. More human.
University of Cambradge was still prestigious, but it wasn't swimming in the same entitled elitism. He didn't want a curated life. He wanted something closer to real. It was a place where you could disappear if you wanted to. And right now, that sounded like peace.
A buzz on his phone broke the silence. He glanced at the screen.
A message from Chloe:
☕❤️
No words. Just a coffee cup and a heart emoji. Her version of a good morning.
He locked the phone without responding. Typical. Always curated affection – never conversation.
Ethan stood and stretched, the early light catching on the subtle gold of his watch—a gift from Chloe for his 21st. He stepped to the mirror and regarded himself with a practiced calm.
There he was. Tall — 180 centimeters. Sharp jawline, soft brown skin. His features were an even blend of his heritage — British poise from Chloe, depth and warmth from his Nigerian father. He looked Calm. Controlled. The kind of young man who got noticed in a room without ever needing to speak.
He ran a hand over his curls, then grabbed his tie and began looping it with practiced ease. His fingers worked automatically, even as his mind drifted — not to his classes, not to textbooks or schedules. But to people. Just curious – what kind of people would be at Cambradge? What would this new school bring - he wasn't looking for trouble, or attention. Just... something real. Would they wonder about the last name that didn't match his accent? He smiled.
The sound from downstairs disrupted his thought. Muffled clatter of breakfast dishes and the rich, familiar sound of Sasha humming a gospel tune. Warm, steady. Comforting. She always hummed in the mornings – mostly old native hymns Ethan couldn't translate, but had grown up loving.
Sasha had been his nanny since he was two. She wasn't just a nanny. She was a constant. Sharp, educated, independent. A mother of 3 children but always on time. She had lived in London for over three decades and spoke with a precise blend of East African cadence and London crispness. She wasn't one for proverbs or dramatics – just small truths that always made sense in the end.
Ethan's mum, Chloe, had built a life around appearances and ambition. Successful, brilliant, and immaculately put-together — was barely present. A powerful PR consultant, always flying between cities. Constant meetings, back-to-back flights, charity boards. Always with perfect hair and a perfect alibi for why she missed the holidays. Her longest relationship so far had been with her current boyfriend of two years — a quiet, reserved man Ethan barely knew.
But Sasha was the one who remembered his dentist appointments. The one who knew how he liked his eggs. The one who gave him space to breathe without ever letting him drift too far. She knew Ethan better than anyone, sometimes better than he knew himself.
His father? Well… the last time he had seen him was when he was four. A Nigerian politician -married, powerful, complicated. He had come to London on a diplomatic trip, met Chloe, and left behind more than political handshakes. The man had visited a few times early on, then vanished from the picture after Ethan turned four. No explanations. Just absence, buffered by money.
Wire transfers and Christmas cards with no signatures. An allowance Ethan never asked for but always received. Chloe never complained — the money kept her comfortable. Independent. But it never softened the distance. His money was generous. His presence, non-existent. He was a ghost in his life. A sponsor, not a father.
No one knew about his father. Because Chloe had made it clear — crystal clear — from the time he could understand secrets: "Never speak of your father to anyone. Ever."
And Ethan never had. It wasn't just about shame. It was about containment. So no, family wasn't something Ethan boasted about. But somehow, through it all, Sasha kept him grounded.
He finished tying his tie and slipped into his blazer.
From downstairs came Sasha's voice:
"Ethan! Come for breakfast, or you'll be late!"
He smiled faintly. "Coming!"
KITCHEN — 7:38 AM
The kitchen was awash in natural light, the countertops gleaming. A pot of fresh mint tea sat steeping beside the toast, a plate of fried eggs, grilled tomatoes, and plantains—Sasha's subtle way of adding African touch to his English breakfast. Sasha moved around the kitchen in her usual rhythm, wearing an Ankara-print apron, her headwrap tied neatly. She looked up when he walked in. "Good morning, my dear. You look like you've stepped off a magazine cover." She said.
"Thanks, Sasha," Ethan replied, pressing a kiss to her cheek. "Smells amazing."
"Eat," she said, waving him to his seat. "Today is not a day for skipping meals."
He sat and began to eat, savouring the flavours and textures, not rushed, but not slow either. There was always an unspoken ease between him and Sasha—years of unforced affection, of quiet mornings like this.
"You slept?" she asked, pouring him tea.
"Some."
"Nervous?"
"A little."
She raised an eyebrow. "You? You're more prepared than most professors."
He smiled. "It's not the lectures I'm worried about. It's the people."
"Hmm," she said, handing him a fork. "Just be yourself, and don't forget your manners. That's all that matters."
After breakfast, he grabbed his backpack and headed for the front door, Sasha walking behind him.
"I'll be fine," he said, sensing her hovering.
"You say that every time," she replied. "Snacks. For the drive."
He grinned. "You spoil me."
"And you love it."
He opened the door and stopped. Right there on the driveway was a brand-new BMW 5 Series Sedan, jet black, polished like obsidian. A silk ribbon was looped around the wing mirror, and on the windshield was a small cream envelope.
He didn't even have to open it. But he did: "Congratulations on your new school.
Love, Mum."
He stood there for a second, the envelope fluttering slightly in the breeze.
Sasha stepped beside him, blinking at the car. "Wow. That's new."
Ethan tilted his head. "She must've had it delivered early this morning."
"You going to drive it?"
"No," he said flatly. "I already have a car."
And sure enough, his trusty BMW X3, slightly older but still spotless, sat off to the side. Practical. Comfortable. His.
He folded the note, slipped it into his jacket pocket, and headed for the X3.
Sasha didn't stop him. She just smiled faintly and said, "Drive safe, sweetheart."
"I will."
8:13 AM — ON THE ROAD
The city passed in soft blurs of colour and sound, like a painting still drying, as Ethan drove toward Cambradge.
A soft instrumental lo-fi playlist was playing in the background. He liked mornings like this. Quiet. Still forming. No pressure to perform yet.
The seat moulded to him like memory. The streets were familiar. The sky was that washed-out London grey, but there was something new under it today.
A change.
He he wasn't afraid of the unknown.
He'd lived most of his life navigating unknowns.
All he hoped for was one thing:
That this place — University of Cambradge — would allow him to be himself. Maybe just maybe.