Sunrise over the Thames

Of all the great capitals in the world, London is not for lovers. It doesn't have that Parisian charm, the never-sleeping qualities of New York, or the Lover's Bridge of Seoul. Even compared to the rest of United Kingdom, it doesn't have the old world charm of Edinburgh or the sweeping hills of fairytales found in the Midlands. And yet, my favourite love story begins in London, over the dingy Thames.

I'm afraid this story begins as un-romantically as the city it takes place in. It begins in a dingy basement bar of a dingy student accommodation, where a group of friends are playing pool till the small hours of the morning. Glasses of merlot clink against bottles of beer. By the time everyone wants to call it a night, the floor is sticky with an unknown substance. Not wanting to sleep yet, as young adults are apt to do, our protagonist asks if anyone would like to join her in her search for food. Unbeknownst to her, you have had a crush on her for weeks now and you readily volunteer.

Unlike New York, there's absolutely nothing to be found at this time of night. So you cross the River Thames and wander through the brisk autumn dark, the changing leaves just illuminated by the dim streetlights. The lights don't glow from the sides of skyscrapers, there's no siren song from Broadway. But it's quiet, and the silence is nice. You feel comfortable in the silence with our protagonist, and that's a good sign, right?

You eat your meal quickly—a burger for her, a hot dog for you—but neither of you wants to go back to your hall. It's only 2 am, the night is still young. Maybe London does have a siren song after all, if only you knew how to follow it.

You go visit the lions of Trafalgar Square. It's been a long walk, and you enjoy the company of the lions. If you knew this was the beginning of your love story, you may have taken her somewhere grander. But you don't, and you visit the lions every so often to remember the magic of tonight.

It's only 3 am now, and the night seems to stretch full of possibilities. When you wake up you'll have to go to class, but until dawn, the world is yours and for tonight, she is the world.

You don't want the night to end and so you ask her, "Hey, would you like to go to Hyde Park?" Against her better judgement, she says yes, yes she would love to. It might be the alcohol or maybe it's just that neither of you are very good at directions, but a 30 minute stroll stretches on for hours. Each minute that passes feels like another month you've known her until it feels like you've known her for a lifetime.

The false dawn breaks as the birds start chirping and you agree to head back, far later than you ever expected this night would last. And although it's a chilly autumn dawn, the echoes of laughter from the park still warm you from the inside.

You cross the bridge—not quite the Lover's bridge, but it'll do—and take my hand as the sun begins to peak over the River Thames. If this were a film, the camera would pan from our interlocked fingers into the orange hues lighting up the river. But this is not a film, and this isn't our happily ever after. This is just the beginning of a story that will never end.

Of all the great capitals in the world, London might just be the place for lovers.