This is not a conventional love story.

It's not really a story...

...to be honest it's not really about love.

Let me start again.

My name is Elizabeth. Call me Lizzy. Or Ellie. Or whatever. Just not Beth.

This story is real. This story is about me. And a boy. Isn't it always?

Except my boy...isn't a normal boy. He's not really my type. I don't think he's anyone's type. He's -

He's -

"For fuck sake," I groan, pressing the backspace bar violently. I put my head in my hands.

First day. The first fucking day. And they want me to write an introduction to a story. Like what the hell?

I didn't expect there to be much writing on my course. I thought it would just be reading. I've never written anything before and I think, judging by my awful introduction, I shouldn't write anything ever again. I close my eyes and think of home.

I think of my carpeted staircase in the hallway. I'm sitting on them. I'm waiting, nervous, tapping my fingers against the railings. I stare at the front door for what seems like hours. The doorbell rings and I shoot up, striding to the door and opening it. It's the postman.

"Good morning hen," says Pete, our Glaswegian postie. He moved here ten years ago with his family for a "quieter" life. You could say that alright. The only interesting people here are the tourists, and that's because they have lives outside of the village. Pete hands me a letter with a wink and I sign on the electronic reader.

"Good luck," he says. I thank him and close the door. I run to the living room and shout, "it's here, it's here!" My mother comes rushing downstairs in her dressing gown, my father following more slowly and sleepily behind.

"What does it say, Annella?" mum chitters excitedly.

"I haven't opened it yet!" I say impatiently. Mum pulls a pouty toddler look and I roll my eyes.

Hands shaking I open the letter and pull out the contents. The piece of paper is slightly stiff: it's good quality paper. There is a explanatory letter on top but I throw it to the side. Dad picks it up and reads it carefully, even though it has nothing interesting. My eyes are held tightly shut. I can't look. I won't look. The moment I open my eyes my previously hazy future suddenly becomes clear. My mum gently shakes my arm and I open my eyes.

I blink. I blink again. I put the paper closer to my face as my already pale skin turns paler.

"What is it?" Mum asks. "What's wrong?"

"I- it's not what I expected."

My father puts down the other piece of paper and carefully takes the one I'm holding out of my hands. He holds it out at arms length squinting at it. He doesn't have his reading glasses. A slow smile spreads across his face, and the same smile spreads across mine.

"You did it. Fucking hell you did it lass!" My dad cheers and grabs me in a hug, laughing, and I can't help but join in. My mum is getting agitated.

"What did you get?"

"All As."

"Aye right!"

"I'm not kidding, look!" I squeal, shoving the paper under her nose. She looks down quickly at it shaking her head.

"I knew you were a smart one. So does that mean...?"

"Yep," I cut in "I'm going to uni!"

I shake my head. I can't even think of home without thinking about that day. One of the best days of my life. After that things moved so fast they became a blur. My acceptance letter from Edinburgh. Packing. Driving to the city for supplies. More packing. Saying goodbye to my two school friends, goodbye to my family, goodbye to my village, to the loch, to the exhibition centre where I worked, and hello capital city!

Usually students of Edinburgh university stay in the halls - you basically get a room on a floor with loads of other rooms, a shared communal bathroom and a shared kitchen - but I didn't. I got a flat with 5 other flatmates, some of them I have yet to meet.

My flat is nice. My bedroom is big and there are two toilets and two shower rooms. The kitchen smells odd but it's pretty cool - it's got couches and stuff.

But the city! I fell in love when I came here on holiday when I was 11. I knew I'd have to live here later. And here I am.

I shut off my laptop and go to the kitchen. I make a sandwich, wrap it in foil, put on my coat and pick up my keys. And I make my way to Princes Street Gardens.

I'm lazily eating a sandwich when a strange sight befalls me. A boy, late teens like me, wearing a woollen trench coat and a black scarf walks passed the bench I am sat on. He abruptly turns left, off the path and walks towards a tree. There he stops, looks up, and shakes it violently. Leaves fall off and he catches several and goes to put them in his pocket. But he stops, clearly deep in thought. He looks around and makes eye contact with me, I blush slightly but sit up straighter, trying to look confident. He looks at my hands and walks towards me.

He is tall and skinny, with black curly hair. His face is very sharp looking, all edges and cheekbones, in an appealing way. His eyes remind me of my cat's, in their shape and also the stare. They are blue. Or are they green? I can't tell.

"Can I have your foil." It's a question but he doesn't say it questioningly. He has an English accent and a deep voice.

"What?" I ask, bemused.

He points to the foil I used for my sandwiches. "Can I have it?" this time it sounds like a question.

"Uhh...yeah I guess I'm done with it."

"You guess?" he says rudely, almost mockingly, "you're either done with it or not."

"Ok wow, take it," I say, a little shocked and shove it in his outstretched hand. Still standing in front of me, looming over me, he carefully wraps the leaves in the foil and puts it in his pocket. He then looks at me and I feel a little uncomfortable. He looks intently up and down my body deep in thought. He then turns and walks away.

"Well bye then," I say, laughing in a confused manner. He doesn't react at all. I shake my head, still laughing with uncertainty.

What a strange boy.