I run my finger over the windowsill – it comes back mostly clean, which is a good sign – and look out through the glass pane. I see some trees in a park below, now starting to shed their new orange-and-red coats, and the apartment block from across the street.

It's a little reminiscent of the view from Aksel's apartment. If not for that reminder, this apartment would be perfect.

I turn back to the girl who is about to become my landlord. "I think it'll do," I say. "I saw on the website that the rent is..."

I trail off, letting her fill in my implied blank. She does, naming a figure that I've already calculated. With the loans I've gotten from Mama and Papa, coveting the rent wouldn't be much of a problem. And if the tutoring job comes through, I might be able to pay them back sooner than I expected.

I expected to be able to complete the transaction right away, but it turns out that things aren't that easy. The contract I have to sign is in Finnish. The landlord is sheepish as she tells me this.

"But you could get a lawyer to read it over for you," she adds quickly. "We can meet again this weekend to sign it."

A lawyer? I must have blanched at the implied cost, because she adds, "Or someone you trust who knows Finnish."

The first person who comes to mind isn't Priscilla, but she's a close second.

"Is it okay if I make a phone call?"

"Sure! Take your time."

I wander to a corner of the room, phone in hand.

"I'd love to help," Priscilla says, "but honestly, I don't think my Finnish is good enough to understand all the legal jargon."

"Shit," I mutter. The only other option is...

"What about Elina?" Priscilla suggests.

I hum as a response. "I don't know her well enough," I hedge, "to ask her for a favour like that."

"Think about it," urges Priscilla. "I'm sure she'll be glad to help."

As I walk back to speak with my future landlord, I let my mind shift back to the first name that had popped up in my mind the moment she said 'someone you trust who knows Finnish'.

"Maybe we can schedule an appointment for the weekend," I tell the girl. "In the meantime, I'll find someone."

She smiles at me. "No problem. What about this Saturday, at eleven in the morning?"

That night, lying in bed with only the glow of my phone screen to light my face, I text Aksel.

***

"Thanks for your help," I say. The door has just closed behind us. In my hand I grip the stack of signed documents that I have received from my new landlord.

Aksel slides his hands into his pockets. "You're welcome," he says. "It was no trouble."

It was probably a lot of trouble. He had had to read through the documents and then translate them to me in English. He hadn't done it half-heartedly – he had gone through every clause and line. Even without knowing Finnish, I'm sure I have a good understanding of every word in the contract now.

"I wanted to apologise, too," I shove the words out quickly, such that they stumble over each other. But like a stack of meticulously placed cars, they wobble and then hold.

"Apologise?"

"For that day," I clarify, darting a glance at him. "When you came to the uni."

He is still as a block. That's how I know he had been more deeply affected by the incident than I had thought.

"I shouldn't have been so hostile to you," I say. "I'm sorry." These last two words are eked out in a croak. I'm not used to apologising.

I'm staring at the floor when he says, "It's okay." Then I look up and see him watching me levelly.

His eyes are so blue.

I suddenly feel a deep wave of longing flood my eyes. Looking away, I blink hard.

"Yeah, so... I don't know. That's all I wanted to say, I guess. And thanks for coming today even though I shouted at you the last time we met." I grimace, remembering how I had reacted at the sight of him in what I had considered my safe space.

A corner of his mouth twists. "You can always come to me for help."

"I... Thanks," I repeat uselessly.

Now that the contract is dealt with, I want to escape his presence. But leaving too quickly might make it seem like I was just using him.

"Do you... want to go somewhere?"

The question takes me by surprise. I stare at him, but he drops his gaze. He pivots on one foot, almost turning away from me, before turning back.

"Maybe for coffee or something." He stops abruptly, then starts again. "Even if we're not together..." He stops again, even as I feel a sharp pain pierce my heart at the reminder. "I mean – we are still friends. We can hang out. And talk."

He fixes a fierce glower on me now, as if daring me to refute his statement.

My gaze is the one that skitters away this time. I don't want to be friends with him, I think, wrapping my arms around myself.

"Can't we be friends?" he asks softly.

"I don't know," I say honestly. The emotions are still all too raw – even for him, I can tell. I'm not sure why, but he also seems to be struggling with some form of strong emotion.

Even so, I do owe him for his help today.

"I guess... we can have a coffee now. If you want to?" I almost backtrack when I see the surprise on his face. Maybe he was just asking to be polite. Maybe he hadn't expected me to agree. "I mean – as thanks for your help today."

"I want to," he says softly.

I see the way he is looking at me, and have to swallow. It feels like my heart has gotten lodged in my throat.

Aksel has told me long ago what it means to ask someone you're interested in out for coffee.

It's a low-pressure date of sorts, he'd said back then. It's what you do in Finland if you're interested in someone.

After coming to Finland, I've realised it isn't as clear-cut as he had put it. Friends can go out for coffee too. Acquaintances. Colleagues. It all depends on the intention, I suppose.

"As a thank you," I reiterate, maybe redundantly. "That's all."

He is pressing his lips together, in an action that looks like he's trying not to smile. Maybe he's thinking the same thing I am.

"Yes," he says. "I get it."

"So..." I clear my throat and start for the lift. Hissi, I remember. That's what it's called in Finnish. "Where do you want to go?"

***

It's funny – a few weeks ago, I hadn't even heard of the café I meet Elina at for our private Finnish sessions. Today, I hide a secret smile from Aksel as I step in and hold the door open behind me.

"I like to come here sometimes," he is explaining as he steps in. "It's a bit out of the way, but it's a nice place to talk."

"I've been here," I tell him, heading for the booth that Elina and I usually sit in. "I ran into Lumi here, once."

"Lumi?" He seems surprised, then nods after a moment, confirming something in his mind that I'm not privy to. "Oh, that makes sense. She lives around here."

"Oh." Does this mean I'm now living in Lumi's neighbourhood? The thought gives me a queasy feeling in the stomach.

Aksel doesn't say anything, just observes me. I wonder what he's reading from my expression and try to smooth it out.

"So..."

"So," he parrots, but, unlike me, he does continue with his sentence. "How have you been?"

I shrug. "Good, I guess?"

"How's the class going?"

"It's actually going quite well," I tell him, and even I can hear the surprise in my voice. I smile sheepishly. When I next speak, I'm trying to tone it down. "The teacher is helping me with revising everything I've missed, so I understand a bit more now."

I see the faint imprint of a smile. "That's good."

Suddenly uncomfortable, I look down at the tabletop. We should probably order something, but Aksel is making no move to get up.

"My offer always stands," he is saying, "to help you with your Finnish homework."

"Thanks," I smile at him. "It's just... a little weird, you know?"

The crease between his eyebrows tells me that he doesn't know. "What do you mean?"

"I mean..." I push my lips into a thoughtful moue. "That's kind of the reason why I never asked you for help back then. It just feels weird to me."

"Why would it be weird?"

I gesture fruitlessly, then slide my hands under my thighs to keep them from moving. "I don't know. It was... embarrassing. Maybe because it's your language and it comes so naturally to you. I felt like a fool making even the most basic grammatical mistakes when I messed up basic grammar in front of you."

I can see Aksel's eyes scanning my face as he digests what I've told him. "I didn't know you felt that way," he says.

I shrug, ducking my head. "Yeah, well. That's why I didn't like to ask you for help with my homework or speak Finnish with you."

"Making mistakes is a part of learning," Aksel says. "I wouldn't have made fun of you for that."

"Yes, but..." I growl in frustration. How can I explain it to him? I'm not like him. He's so confident in everything – even making mistakes in German probably never phased him, back when he was starting to learn.

Aksel is watching me with a small smile.

"What?" I ask, none too nicely.

He's still smiling, but he shakes his head. "Nothing." Then he straightens and cranes his head around to look towards the counter. "Shall we get some drinks?"

"Oh," I say. It has completely slipped my mind. "Yes, let's do that." I spring to my feet and wave him back when he also starts to get up, "No, just tell me what you want and I'll get it. It's my treat, remember?"

"I'll have a black coffee," he says. "They have great coffee here."

"All right," I say, with a sarcastic raise of my eyebrows at him. "Too bad I'll never find out how good."

I walk away to the sound of his laughter.

Surreptitiously, I raise my hand to my face. The cheek I tap a finger to feels hot. I hope I'm not blushing.

Then again, Aksel can read me so well. It doesn't matter how much I try to hide it – he probably already knows that being here with him, talking and enjoying it for the first time after so long, is sending my emotions all over the place.

As for me... I don't think I can tell what he's thinking right now.

He wants to talk, that is obvious. What I don't understand is – why? A few weeks ago, I texted him in desperation, wanting that very same thing, only to get rebuffed by his single-word response.

So why does he want to talk now?

These questions are still flying around in my mind as I plop the mug of steaming, bitter coffee in front of him. In my other hand, I have a much milder chamomile for myself. It's supposed to be relaxing, after all – and if I'm going to come out of this in one piece, I need to calm myself down.

"Thank you," he says, reaching for a sip from his mug.

"You're welcome."

We sit in silence for a moment, both of us with faces buried in our mugs. Then Aksel lowers his mug and says. "I wish we had talked earlier."

I try to stop myself, but ultimately fail in holding back my eyeroll. "Are you kidding? I wanted to talk, before..." My lips twitch and I abandon the train of thought. "But you didn't."

He runs a hand over his face, closing his eyes and then opening them again. "Yes," he says. "I didn't handle it well. I'm sorry."

I open my mouth, then close it after a minute.

"I was..." he pauses. "Angry."

I swallow, looking down at my mug. He doesn't say anything else.

"You said it was hard for you, too," I say now. "I want to know what you mean."

He's silent.

"Tell me," I say. Then I negate my firm statement by taking refuge in my mug again.

"It's hard to..." He seems to be struggling with his words, finding the most appropriate ones to explain. "It was always all about you."

I open my mouth, but he halts me with the universal hand gesture for 'stop'.

"I mean, I understand. It was hard for you. But," he inhales in frustration, eyes darting around beneath a frown as he tries to express his thoughts, "it was like I was only there to make your life here easier."

He runs his hand over his face again. "Fuck, that doesn't make sense."

"No," I say slowly, running through his words in my mind, "I think... maybe I know what you're saying."

"You do?" He grimaces and shrugs. "I don't even know what I'm saying."

I have to smile at that. He is so attractive when he speaks candidly. It was the way he was back in Edinburgh – I haven't seen him do it since I've come to Helsinki.

And maybe that is exactly what he means.

"Yeah," I tell my chamomile. "I'm sorry. I said a lot of things that... couldn't have been easy for you to hear." The last few words peter out.

I look up in time to see Aksel glance down. "Yeah," he says.

"I didn't mean them."

"I know."

I run my fingers along the ear of the porcelain mug.

Aksel says, without looking at me, "It hurt." He pauses, as if to see if I will respond. When I don't say anything, he elaborates, "To know you felt that way about Finnish. And Finland."

"I didn't..." I bite back the ready denial on my tongue. Instead, I nod. "I guess I did, in the moment. But I was frustrated and upset. It doesn't make it better, I know. But... I'm sorry."

He makes an abrupt gesture, slicing his hand downward through the air. "It's okay. I know."

"No," I say, "it's not okay."

He is staring at me now, surprise rimming the blue of his irises.

"If it was okay, it wouldn't have bothered you so much," I say.

He remains silent.

I sit, waiting.

He takes a deep breath, then looks away. I follow his gaze and see that he's staring somewhere into the distance, not on any particular spot, but scanning the café almost absently. When he finally speaks, what comes out of his mouth is, "I miss you, Emilie."

I let the silence drag on, taking my time to raise my mug to my lips. My hand is trembling just the slightest bit.

"What happened?" I ask finally, when I'm done prolonging the moment.

"What?"

"You didn't miss me when you were up north with your friends, when I texted you to try to talk it out. In fact, it sounded like you couldn't wait to get rid of me. So why do you miss me now?"

He exhales noisily through his nose. "That's not what it was."

What was it, then? But I don't say anything. Even so, he understands my unspoken question.

"It wasn't that I wanted you to leave. It was just..." He makes a futile hand gesture here, "You were unhappy. I was unhappy. It didn't seem to make sense anymore."

I swallow back the retort that springs onto my tongue. Instead, I swirl the remainder of my tea in my mug and think his words through. Eventually, when the fire inside of me has died down, I say, "I guess I understand that. But all I needed was time and support. I didn't need to leave."

"Maybe," here he's mumbling, "it was getting too hard for me to keep supporting you, without anyone to support me too."

I make a moue, raise my eyebrows at myself, and grimace.

He laughs. "You look like you're having a conversation with yourself."

"No, I was just... thinking about what you said. I'm sorry I was too focused on myself that I didn't think about you, too."

"It's okay. It was... I wanted to support you. But in the end it got too much."

I look at him. "Then why are you offering that support now? What's changed?"

He stares back, and I can see his dilated pupils. Is he drunk or something? But no – he's only had coffee.

For a moment, I think that he might say something. But then he looks away and shrugs.

"I don't know. I just want to help you."

I suck in my lips. I can feel my heart pounding so hard, it feels like it's shaking my entire body.

I hear Aksel laugh, a little awkward chuckle. "I don't know," he repeats, voice low. "I can't leave you alone."

I'm not sure if it's my hands around the mug that are warming me up, or the restrained warmth in his words. "Well," I say in response, mostly to my tea, "maybe it's time for a truce. It was a bad situation to be in, but that doesn't mean we can't still stay on good terms."

"Does that mean we can be friends now?"

I shrug, not looking at him. "Maybe. I guess. Yeah."

I look up slowly to see that he's smiling at me, a corner of his lips higher than the other in an uncertain curve.

"Yeah," he says, "I would like that."