In a small flat in Luton, amidst heaps of discarded lyrics, Luke sat on the worn hardwood floors, surrounded by the clutter of his instruments and scattered sheet music. The relentless English rain tapped on the window panes, the constant dripping reminding him of where he was, mind dancing between memories of Sheffield and the uncertainty of his future in Luton.

Through the streaks of rain on his window, the world outside was blurred and obscured by the downpour. In a sense, the dreariness mirrored his sense of disconnection, the feeling of being adrift in a sea of serendipity. At twenty-eight, he had honestly expected to have it all figured out by now, but instead, he found himself grappling with the same old questions about purpose and direction.

And he just couldn’t shake the nagging feeling that he was meant for something more, something beyond these confines of a cramped flat in Luton, of all places.

“I need some air,” Luke mumbled to himself and got up off the floor, swiftly grabbed his jacket, left his cramped flat and walked out into the unforgiving cloudburst.