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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 meet in the library that day.

Ashcroft texted her—three words only:

He was in the back garden of the language building, coat draped over one knee, sitting against a crumbling stone wall like he'd been born there. Pale. Still. Awake but not really present.

"You always look like you belong in a painting when you're miserable," she said, dropping down beside him.

Ashcroft didn't look at her. "I don't feel very artful."

"No," she said. "You feel like damp marble."

They sat in silence. Not tension—exhaustion.

She leaned back until her head rested against the wall. "You ever wish you could forget everything?"

So she filled the silence. "I'd forget the way people look at me when I talk like I'm not supposed to have thoughts."

He turned to her slowly. "I never look at you like that."

She smiled. It wasn't flirty. It was tired and real.

He glanced at her hands. She wasn't wearing the glove today. His was still tucked in her coat pocket.

"I don't know what this is," he said finally. "Whatever we're doing."

"It's not efficient," she agreed. "Or productive. Or rational."

He turned to her fully. "So why are we still doing it?"

"Because when I'm around you, I don't feel like I'm fighting for space."

His expression didn't change. But something behind his eyes softened.

A gust of wind passed. She pulled her coat tighter.

He reached out without thinking, brushed a curl away from her cheek.

"This is the part where I'm supposed to do something foolish."

Their faces were inches apart now. Breathing the same breath.

Ashcroft's hand slid to her jaw. Her eyes fluttered closed.

They sat there. Not kissing. Not leaving.

Ep 19: Close Enough to Burn.