It was the middle of a damp London evening, and the streets were slick with rain, reflecting the harsh glow of streetlights. Jack stood under the overhang of a crumbling corner shop, hoodie pulled low, looking out over the people filtering through the alleyways like ghosts. He was the kind of guy who walked through life with a heavy swagger, like the pavement knew to step aside for him. The soft rustle of crumpled notes in his pocket was music to his ears, the pulse of his world. He was a roadman, deep in the game, dealing on corners where even the roughest souls had learned to keep their heads down.

Gemma, on the other hand, was a quiet storm in the chaos of the city. She didn’t belong in the same circles, but the universe had its way of throwing people together. She wore simple clothes—long skirts, oversized cardigans, and boots with a quiet kind of grace. No loud words, no “mandem” talk. Her world was different—one of books, soft conversations, and weekends in cozy cafes that smelled of vanilla lattes and old paper. Her life had always been predictable, and she liked it that way.

But fate, as it always does, had other plans.

It was Gemma who walked past the corner shop one evening, carrying a bag of groceries, head down, trying to get home before the night drew in. She didn’t notice Jack at first, but he noticed her. It was the way she held herself—steady, calm, like she didn’t belong to the concrete jungle of London but had stepped into it from a different place entirely. And for the first time in a long while, Jack felt a tug inside, something unfamiliar. Maybe it was the way her red scarf stood out against the drab grey of the street, or the softness in her step, but he couldn’t shake the thought of her.

She kept her eyes on the pavement, her lips pressed together as if she were lost in her own world. Jack found himself stepping forward before he could think it through.

“Oi, you alright?”

Gemma’s eyes flicked up, startled. She blinked, unsure how to respond to the stranger who’d appeared from the shadows. She wasn’t used to the sudden approach of loud strangers, especially ones with a look like his—sharp, too confident, the kind who never seemed to fear anything.

“I’m fine, thanks,” she said, voice soft but steady, trying to side-step past him.

But Jack wasn’t having it. There was something about her quiet confidence that made him want to press on, to understand her. "You sure?" he asked, a cocky smirk playing at the edges of his mouth, though there was something behind it that wasn’t so usual.

She hesitated for a moment, then nodded, her hand gripping the strap of her bag tighter. “Yeah, I’m fine,” she repeated, her voice carrying a slight edge now, realizing she’d never be able to just walk away without saying something. “Thanks.”

Jack watched her walk off, something itching at the back of his mind. He didn’t know why, but he found himself turning around to follow her with his eyes, the noise of the city fading as he did. He couldn’t shake the feeling that their paths had crossed for a reason.

And so they began—a roadman and a quiet girl from two worlds that couldn’t have been more different. The city was theirs, but its corners were where their story would unfold. Soon enough, what started with stolen glances and hesitant words would turn into something unexpected. Something that would change them both forever.

And when Gemma found out she was pregnant a year later, everything Jack thought he knew about himself—about the game, about the streets, about who he was—was challenged.