[This is the third chapter of a short story called “Seven Days”.]

The next morning was special as we had a lecture on cybersecurity; which meant an opportunity to talk some more as I had no intention of listening anyway. I do not remember how we got to this, but we started discussing literature. New information about me: I love books. So naturally, I was excited to share my passion with someone, especially when that someone happened to be a very attractive man. I will, though, entirely blame him if all my data gets stolen now, for the two words I can remember from the lecture are “chocolate” and “Brexit” which, however you put it, doesn’t sound helpful.

Then the debate continued. I promised I would not bore you with it, but I just need you to understand a small rule. Sometimes we speak one by one in a previously decided order on a specific theme. Sometimes, we just get a few minutes of freedom to speak among ourselves. Two groups were formed and started to work separately. We weren’t in the same one. I take pride in the fact that I stayed very professional during the sessions. Yet, I must admit, him walking up to my group and asking loudly if he could ‘borrow’ me made my heart beat faster. It wasn’t a good reason to change side though and I, therefore, asked him to send me a draft so I could decide. This is how we started exchanging texts.

We chatted all afternoon while debating in real life. He confessed he felt nervous every time he had to speak. The player in my head was turning into the thoughtful and sensitive person he actually was. This evolution is probably the reason I suggested to join downtown in a few hours to visit the city together.

Must I still mention it now? You should know already but, I was late. So, I started to hurry, half walking, half running and then looked up. On the other side of the road a slender figure was smiling at me. I smiled back. As the light was red, we spent a few seconds just looking at each other, in a warm silence.

If you ever visit Prague dear reader – as this story is set there – I strongly advise you to come when it has just snowed and to find the small island with the benches and the street lamps under the bridge. I could not tell you the bridge’s name or location, but I trust you would recognise the island immediately. It was magical. As I am writing, my heart is growing heavier knowing I will never live to see such sight again. Have you read Narnia? If you have, then you can imagine the charm of the place. He had also read Narnia and we talked about it for a great deal while walking side to side, all alone.

The more we talked, the more we realised all that we had in common. We had read the same books, watched the same films, had similar opinions and ideas. I must admit at some point I thought he was doing it on purpose as to please me; I had not been studying mathematics for a while but the probability of him being so much like me was very low.

We were so busy talking that we didn’t realise we were late for dinner so when we arrived most tables were already full. We found one with a few people from my delegation and after putting down our coats, we walked to the buffet. It was only a few minutes but that’s all it took for my entire delegation to sit there. Fifteen French people and him in the middle. I felt sorry for the poor man, but it also meant I was the only one talking to him all evening, a privilege I thoroughly enjoyed.

Long social interactions – especially with strangers – usually drain me from my energy but I was invigorated by his words. As he was walking me back, I was hoping for something to happen between us. I am not of those who think the man should always make the first move, but I was too hesitant to act myself. The closer we got, the deeper the conversation. When I had my place in sight, I started to recite my favourite poem. It never got published, the author died soon after writing it anyway. It isn’t a happy poem. It isn’t a love poem either. But it is meaningful to me. I stopped, almost in tears. He said nothing, then after a while called it beautiful.

Came the dreaded moment, the separation. I had hinted at the possibility of joining me, but he was not receptive. So, I gave up. What could I do, right in front of the door?

“Good night then.”

“Good night.”

He started to walk away, and I couldn’t help but look at him. Then he turned back, meeting my eyes directly. I was so startled I stammered “You said you were taking the tram, it’s the other way you’re supposed to go!”. He thanked me and walked in the other direction. When right in front of me I could feel for a second that it was the right time to kiss but as soon as I realised, the moment was gone.

“Good night again.”

“Good night.”

I went inside.

Some friends were sharing a room on the second floor, so I stopped to chat for a few minutes then proceeded to go upstairs to my own room when I lost all motivation and just sat where I was. I had wasted a wonderful opportunity and resented myself for it. I sent him a message thanking him for the evening. He answered almost directly saying he had been an idiot and he could still join me if I wanted to. I was a bit shocked and asked if he wasn’t already far away. Keep in mind our goodbye had happened ten minutes before that. But before he even got to answer I ran downstairs, opened the door, walked down the street and there he was. Sitting down, texting me.

I smiled at him and when he realised I was there he promptly got up and said that I might have noticed by now that he wasn’t used to “all that”. I smiled again, not telling him that I wasn’t either. Fake it ‘till you make it, that’s my motto. We flirted a bit while we got closer and finally, we kissed. The most ecstatic part is not the kiss, it’s the instant right before it where you realise everything is real and happening. Before I knew it, he was following me to my room, which happened to be empty as my roommates were all at the bar.

We were slowed down by the fact that my bed was the bottom of bunk beds and it wasn’t the most adequate setting to embrace. Maybe it was the top bed structure hurting my head or the fact that the first wave of adrenaline was wearing off, but I had a moment of realisation. Between two kisses I could not help but repeat “I’m not that kind of person! I’m not like that! I don’t do stuff like that!”. Right at that moment he stopped me and said on the sincerest tone, “Well don’t do it then”. That’s when I realised. I had no expectation on me, no pressure. I had the power (and here, the necessity) to voice what I wanted.

I know in most romantic stories that’s the moment the two characters confess their love to each other and then The End, marriage and lots of children. But it was only the third day. Words have power when you use them in their true sense. I didn’t love him, reader.

“I just really like you.” I said, almost saddened by this realisation because it meant a lot to me.
“I really like you too”.