Another night in North London, England. Jonathan Starling sat in his apartment, sighing deeply as he looked at family pictures. His tall and dark-skinned Jamaican-American father, Jonas Starling, looking rugged while fishing in his hometown of Kingston, Jamaica. His mother Deirdre Hamilton, looking deceptively frail. The short and pale-skinned, fiery red-haired Englishwoman was one of the toughest women on the planet. His parents on a boat, fishing. Good times. Unlike now. For the thousandth time Jonathan questioned his decision to come to the City of London, England. Sure, it was his mother's hometown and he held dual American/British citizenship but he certainly didn't think or feel that he belonged there. So why did he stay? He knew the answer the moment he asked himself the question. He stayed for her. Unfortunately, she was at work tonight but he couldn't stop thinking of her. He couldn't wait for her to come home. He still found it odd to think of someone else so much. Once upon a time, his world revolved only around him.
After graduating from Boston University with his bachelor's degree in business administration, Jonathan Starling felt like leaving the State of Massachusetts for a while. In his twenty two years, he'd only left the United States three times. Once, to visit his father's ancestral homeland of Jamaica. His father, Jonas Starling was born and raised in Kingston, Jamaica. He left the Caribbean isle for the United States at eighteen, and studied Criminal Law at Harvard University. He met Deirdre Hamilton, a beautiful British woman while visiting relatives in the island of Jamaica, and they got married. The pair returned to the City of Boston, Massachusetts, to live together and there they raised their son Jonathan. They wanted him to be a global citizen. Exposure to other cultures was a must. Young Jonathan Starling had been to Ottawa, Ontario, and also Kingston, Jamaica. This was his first trip to London, England.
At first, Jonathan Starling missed Boston sorely. The Capital of the State of Massachusetts was the only place he truly knew. Boston was the intellectual heart of America. The place where countless United States Presidents went to learn the art of governing a nation. Great Britain was an odd place. The British were a funny bunch in the eyes of the six-foot-six, perpetually grim young African-American. He enrolled at Brunel University, intent on getting a Master's degree in business. The City of London was home to some of the best schools in the world. Jonathan's mother Deirdre urged him to apply to Oxford University but after one visit, Jonathan knew it wasn't the right place for him. Oh, modern day Oxford University was a diverse school. Tons of African, Chinese and East Indian students walked the halls of the fabled old British school. The sons and daughters of immigrants from outside the European Union made themselves at home at various schools in London, England. However, an authentic African-American was a rare sight in the Capital of the British Commonwealth. At Brunel University, he felt at home. For many students in Metropolitan London, Brunel University in Uxbridge was considered a low-cost alternative to many of the big-shot institutions. As a result, Brunel University attracted a lot of slackers. And there were many minority students among them.
Jonathan Starling smiled to himself. So much had happened to him during his first year at Brunel University. For starters, he lost his virginity. As a towering young Black man who stuttered, Jonathan was painfully shy. He excelled at both sports and academia at Boston College High School and at Boston University. However, he always kept to himself. His friends and teammates knew him to be a man of few words. When Jonathan came to Brunel University, he focused on his studies. For the most part, he seldom left his apartment located near the campus. His interest in the beauties of London, England, waned within a week of his arrival. European and North American towns were all starting to look alike anyway. The British accents all around irked the young New Englander, but he took it all in stride. This was England, after all. He couldn't expect them to sound like Bostonians. To do so would be unrealistic.
Jonathan Starling kept to himself, until someone brought him out of his shell. A five-foot-six, pixie-like gal with lustrous Black hair, dark bronze skin and light brown eyes. Adiva Rahaf Mansur. Born and raised in the City of Chiyah, in the Capital Region of the Republic of Lebanon. Adiva was an undergraduate student in the Law Department of Brunel University. And also the Vice President of the Lebanese Christian Student Association at the school. The first time she laid eyes on the towering, handsome but ever-silent young African-American, Adiva's heart skipped a beat. The young giant impressed her with his sheer presence. Watching him stride silently through the crowded halls of Brunel University was like watching a Superman in motion. He didn't walk like a man. He moved like a lion. Everywhere he went, ladies flocked to him. As always, he was polite but distant to them. He seldom answered any questions they might have about him. Adiva asked around. She learned that he was American, originally from Boston, and that his mother came from England. Other than that, nobody knew Jack about Jonathan Starling.
Adiva was determined to get this rare fish for herself. So she began to stalk him, basically. One day, she approached him inside the Brunel University campus library. He was sitting at a computer, a picture of the Boston skyline serving as his screensaver. And he looked really hot in a bright red turtleneck shirt, Black silk pants and Black leather boots. His long Black leather jacket was draped over his chair. The young man sat there, typing away on Microsoft Word while listening to music on YouTube. Adiva came and sat next to him. And she looked at him pointedly until, a bit annoyed, he asked her what she wanted. Adiva's eyes flashed, and she told him to get over himself. She had seen Jonathan's type before. Tall, good-looking men who were used to getting female attention. The only way to deal with them was to bring them down a peg or two. Remind them that at the end of the day, women controlled the game no matter how good-looking they thought they were. And it worked perfectly.
Jonathan fumbled for words, apologizing and telling her that he didn't mean to offend her. Adiva smiled and told him she was just kidding. He scratched his head, grinned sheepishly then held out his hand. Adiva shook Jonathan's large hand. She looked into his eyes. There was an almost spooky softness in them. He might look titanic and overbearing but he had the eyes of a lamb. Eyes that drew her in. They began to talk, and she learned a bit more about him. Jonathan was bored and lonely in London, England. The only friends he had were in Boston, Massachusetts. His attempt of getting to know his mother's homeland while attending school wasn't working too well. Adiva knew a way to solve his problem. When he stared at her, dumbfounded, she offered to be his guide.
