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Oxford, 1893.
She’s the chaos he never planned for.
He’s the silence she can’t quite break.

When sharp-tongued student Iris Evelyn collides with cold, brilliant lecturer Edward Ashcroft, sparks don’t fly—they simmer. In whispered arguments. Glances across bookshelves. Letters never sent.

Between debates and unspoken feelings, they orbit each other—too close to stay untouched, too distant to name what’s growing between them.

But in a place like Oxford, love isn't a possibility.
It's a liability.

And the closer they get, the more it threatens to destroy them both.


A slow-burn academic romance with razor-sharp banter, quiet heartbreak, and two people who were never supposed to feel this much.

Drifted Apart.

They didn't talk about what almost happened at the library.

Ashcroft showed up the next day at their usual hour, gloved again, expression unreadable. Iris was already there, hunched over an open book, underlining something with the aggression of a duelist.

"I live here now," she muttered. "I pay rent in stress."

Ashcroft sat down, carefully unbuttoning his coat. "You're going to kill the margins."

He glanced at the book. "You're underlining the title."

They worked in near-silence again.

This one had weight. It knew things.

Iris shifted once, leaned back, and said without looking at him, "Are you going to say anything about yesterday?"

Ashcroft didn't look up from his notes. "I don't think it would help."

She nodded. "Right. Why ruin something by naming it."

He sighed, shut his notebook. "I'm not good at this."

She turned to him fully now. "Good at what?"

Iris softened—just a little. "Then start small. One person."

He looked at her. Really looked. "And if I mess that up?"

She tilted her head. "Then I get to say I told you so."

Later that day, they were walking the edge of the quad. Rain threatened above but hadn't committed yet. Iris held her coat closed at the throat, watching the clouds.

"Alright," she said. "Let's play a game."

"Too late. You're playing. One question, no deflecting. Honest answer."

He looked suspicious. "You first."

"Fine. If I could be anywhere right now, I'd be... I dunno, somewhere warmer. Greece, maybe."

Ashcroft exhaled slowly. "Alright."

She turned to him. "What do you think people misunderstand most about you?"

He stopped walking for a second. "That I'm made of stone."

Iris smiled. "Well. You do look like you were carved, sometimes."

He gave her a flat look. "That wasn't a compliment."

And for a moment, everything felt simple.

Ep 17: Untouched Answers.