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, and I arrive with my phone and travel bag. His familiar smile eases my tension while also leaving me breathless.

That night, Tristan takes me to a crowded club where he suddenly finds himself holding a microphone. He sings loudly and badly, without the slightest embarrassment, while I laugh at his fearless energy. Despite the crowd and the red light, he holds my gaze throughout the song. For a moment, everyone else seems to disappear.

Later, we dance so close that I can feel his breath. Tristan raises one hand towards my back, but waits while he checks my expression. I nod and pull him closer, making my choice clear. Only then does he touch me. The next kiss feels less like a repetition and more like a decision we have made together.

On the way through the city, we stop at the East Side Gallery. The painted concrete wall shines with colour while a few other adults pass in the distance. Tristan looks at me as if he is asking a question, and this time I kiss him first. Being in public makes the slow kiss feel bolder, but no less mutual.

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.