As I was loading my tray with another round of coffee you appeared. I saw your classy appearance in the corner of my eye and you existed in my life. I suggested that you intervene in my tray-filling, and asked you what I could get you. You told me you were new in town and to the machine that pours a substance we think is coffee. You wanted a coffee, black. No sugar. Number one. I felt compelled to know more about you. So I started digging in my brain and found a question: “so, where are you from?”

And our conversation started. In hindsight it must have taken about two minutes. All I did was staring in your eyes and begging my brain for more questions. I wonder whether you have mistaken me for someone you would be working with. You told me where you were from, where you had been working. And you shook my hand softly and said: “I am Carmen.” I think I replied with: “My name is Michel.” But I might as well have said: “I am overwhelmed, in love, charmed. Nice to meet you.”

As the conversation went on I noticed that you felt a little nervous and anxious to leave. Maybe I held your hand too long?… even though I have no memories of doing so. After you left the coffee corner I turned to two colleagues and investigated if they had seen what had just happened. Nothing. They did either not pay attention, or saw not a thing worthwhile to mention. An earthquake had taken place, and I was the only one experiencing it?

I know I was not. You felt it too. Ever since our first encounter your look bends around me. I am sure you know that I am there, but somehow you wish not to establish a connection. I figured that you might be in a relationship, married, children… you hated the questions, especially the one about your nationality and origin. I am sorry. You seem to be a quiet person. Maybe you do not like to get involved in all the complexities. Maybe lighting struck… and knocked only me out.

Today we did not meet again. I passed on my bike approaching you from behind. I recognized your figure hundred meters down the road. I have never cared about female legs. Never understood a man’s fascination. I am catching up. Fifty meters. What am I going to do? Stop! And then what?! I knew I wouldn’t. Neither would I turn around, acknowledge your presence and make contact. I biked along, not turning my eyes. But wondering about yours.

Biked up the bridge and saw you struggling with the bag you carried. Head and back bowed. I wondered where you were going. About who would take care of you. I stood there. Watching you disappear from my life.