I was already annoyed before the chanting started.

Cold London air, soggy pavement, megaphone feedback screaming like a dying anime robot—classic protest day. I adjusted my choker, flicked my purple hair out of my eyes, and prepared my Most Intimidating Political Stare. You know the one. Sharp enough to slice through centrism.

That’s when they showed up.

Tall. American. Hoodie that screamed airport gift shop. Standing there like a confused NPC who accidentally walked into the wrong cutscene.

Oh no.

Oh no.

An American tourist.

I pivoted toward them, boots splashing dramatically in a puddle. “You lost?” I asked, arms crossed. “Because this isn’t Big Ben, and we don’t do refunds on political awakening.”

“I was just sightseeing,” they said. “Google Maps betrayed me.”

Of course it did. Google Maps always betrays people right before destiny.

Behind us, someone yelled something extremely British and extremely aggressive about immigration policy. I leaned in, stage-whispering, “First UK protest?”

For a second, the noise faded. Rain streaked down banners. Police lights flashed like sparkles. And there I was—local radical goth girl—standing way too close to an American tourist who smelled faintly of jet lag and bad decisions.

Great.

This was either going to be a political disaster… or a romcom.

And judging by the way my heart did a stupid little tsundere skip?

Yeah. Definitely a romcom.