Paris, then Berlin

I am thirty and travelling alone in Paris. One night, I notice Tristan in a small bar. He is thirty-three, with a beard and untidy hair. When our eyes meet, he smiles, and I smile back.

We talk about music, travel and his life in Berlin. Outside the bar, his taxi is already waiting to take him to the airport. Before getting in, Tristan asks, “Can I kiss you?” “Yes,” I say, and move closer.

Our kiss is short, but it feels very warm. Then Tristan has to leave for the airport. He looks back through the taxi window before the car disappears. I stand in the Paris street, excited and disappointed.

For two weeks, we send messages every day. Finally, I decide to spend a weekend in Berlin. I arrive at the station with my phone and travel bag. Tristan is waiting, and his familiar smile makes me nervous again.

That night, we visit a loud club. Tristan picks up a microphone and sings with confidence. I laugh because he has so much energy. While he sings, he keeps looking at me under the red lights.

Later, we dance very close together. Tristan moves his hand towards my back, but waits for a sign. I nod, smile and pull him closer. Then we kiss again because we both want to.

Later, we stop at the East Side Gallery. Light and colour cover the painted concrete wall, while some people pass in the distance. Tristan asks, “Can I kiss you again?” “Yes,” I say with a smile. Then I kiss him slowly.

After the kiss, Tristan asks if I want to go home with him. I think for a moment about what I truly want. Then I say, “Yes.” We hurry through Berlin together, laughing and almost breathless. At his flat, he stops.