Paris, then Berlin

At thirty, travelling alone in Paris makes me feel braver than I usually do at home. One night, I notice Tristan in a small bar. He is thirty-three, and his beard and untidy hair immediately catch my attention. He notices my gaze, and we exchange a smile that feels surprisingly private.

We spend hours talking about music, travel and his busy life in Berlin. When his taxi to the airport arrives, Tristan walks outside with me. He moves closer, but stops and asks, “Can I kiss you?” My answer is quicker and more confident than I expected: “Yes, you can.”

The kiss lasts only a moment, yet it changes the whole night. Tristan has to leave for the airport and gets into the taxi reluctantly. He looks back until the car disappears around the corner. I remain on the Paris street, excited and disappointed, wondering whether such a brief meeting could become important.

For the next two weeks, we message each other every day, sometimes until very late. Eventually, I am the one who chooses to visit him for a weekend in Berlin. Tristan is waiting as my train enters the station. I step off the train carrying my travel bag, with my phone in my hand. His familiar smile eases my tension but also makes me excited.

That night, Tristan takes me to a crowded club, where he picks up a microphone and starts to sing. He sings loudly and badly, but he is not embarrassed. I laugh, enjoying his confidence and energy. Despite the crowd and the red light, he keeps looking directly at me throughout the song. For a moment, I hardly notice anyone else.

Later, we dance so close that I can feel his breath. Tristan moves one hand towards my back, but waits while he checks my expression. I nod and pull him closer, making my choice clear. He touches me only after I nod. We both want this kiss, but it feels different.

On the way through the city, we stop at the East Side Gallery. The painted concrete wall shines with colour while a few people pass in the distance. Tristan looks at me as if he is asking a question, and this time I kiss him first. Kissing in public feels daring. He kisses me back slowly, so I know he wants this too.

After the kiss, Tristan asks directly whether I want to come home with him. I take a moment to check what I truly feel before answering yes. We hurry through Berlin together, laughing and almost breathless. Outside his flat, he becomes calm again. He leaves the final step to me.