Liu Yang

It's funny how a city can feel like an old friend after just a few days. I found myself wandering the cobbled streets of Bath, not really knowing where I was going, but somehow always ending up somewhere interesting. The buildings are all this warm honey color, like they've been sitting in the sun for centuries. You can't help but feel a little quieter when you're there, as if the place itself is asking you to slow down.

I had a cup of tea in a little café that smelled like cinnamon and nostalgia. The owner, a woman with silver hair and a smile that didn’t need words, asked me where I was from. We talked about the weather, which was oddly mild for November, and then she told me about the Roman Baths. Not the ones under the city, but the ones she used to visit as a child. It wasn’t much of a story, but it felt like one of those moments that stick with you.

I walked by the pump room at dusk, and the lights came on like someone had turned on a soft glow in the sky. People were gathered around, some taking photos, others just standing in silence. There was something about it that felt sacred, even if I couldn’t quite explain why.

Bath doesn’t shout its beauty. It whispers it, and you have to be willing to listen. I think that’s what made it so easy to fall for.