"Will you be okay?" Aksel peers at me from the driver's seat as I exit the car.

I huff. "I'll be fine. It's a job interview - it's not like I'm going hiking into the middle of nowhere."

He ignores my sass. "You know the way home, right? You can take the tram, or the bus..."

"Or walk?"

"Yeah, or walk," he agrees. "But if you need me to come get you..."

"It's, what, twenty minutes away on foot?" I roll my eyes. "I'll be fine." I think. I can vaguely remember the direction from which we came, anyway. I lean back in through the open door to kiss him lightly, before straightening. "Don't worry. I'll be fine. You have fun tonight."

"I won't stay too late," he promises.

I just laugh. "Stay as late as you want. Just don't drive if you drink, okay?"

Something gentle comes into his eyes. "Come here," he says quietly.

I lean back in through the door, and he unbuckles his seatbelt so he can reach over to cup my face. Then he pulls me towards him and kisses me good and proper.

"Good luck," he says, when he lets me go. Then he says, deadpan, "You may want to reapply your lipstick."

I stick my tongue out at him. "And you may want to wipe yours off." I laugh and back out of the car as he scrambles to look at his reflection in the rear view mirror.

With one last wave, I slam the car door shut. He glares balefully at me through the window as he wipes at his mouth with the back of his hand, before starting up the car again. Then he is gone.

My smile fades as I watch Aksel's car speed out of sight. I've been putting on a brave face since a few days ago, when I received a callback from one of the companies I've applied to, asking me to come down for an interview. I didn't want Aksel to worry. He doesn't know how scared I am.

I hate interviews. I've always been unbearably bad at them. And it doesn't help, knowing that this is my first Finnish job interview. According to Aksel, Finnish job interviews aren't that much different from those anywhere else. He's given me some tips on what to do, what to say – be confident and firm, but don't exaggerate, and try to show at least a rudimentary knowledge of Finnish if I get the chance to. But it doesn't help that I'm basically walking in with no idea what to expect.

And I desperately need this job. It's the only company I've emailed that has responded with something other than a polite rejection – my level of Finnish is not high enough for any of the others. It's difficult, especially in my field, to find a job in Finland if you don't speak Finnish. So I need to do well in this interview. I need this job.

I look up at the grey building. From my perspective, it looks like it's towering into the sky, looming over me like a giant dark cloud. I almost want to turn around and leave. If only Aksel were here...

But no. I've been overly reliant on him since I've come to Finland – it's inevitable, with him being the only person I really know here. I need to do something for myself, by myself, starting with this.

Straightening my spine, I turn and walk through the double doors.

***

Barely an hour later sees me trudging out from the building, my previous resolve completely melted away.

I'm not going to get the job, I know. It wasn't that the interview questions were particularly tough, or that I don't have the requirements for the job. It was, quite simply, my own fault. I let the stress of the situation get the better of me – there were moments of long silences that only served to build the anxiety in me and I ended up babbling just to fill the silence. I tried out Aksel's advice about using Finnish if I could, but that had backfired on me when the interviewer had replied with something that I hadn't been able to decipher.

In short, I've botched it.

Stupid, stupid, stupid. I could have done better than that.

Blinking hard to hold back the bitter tears of frustration, I start in the direction of the main train station. I may not have gotten the job, but life goes on. There are still things I have to deal with, things I need to figure out, one of them being the travel card that Lumi mentioned the last time.

It is close to six in the evening when I finally leave the main train station. Getting the travel card didn't take too long, but I ended up walking aimlessly around in a bid to explore the area. I wanted time to lose myself in the crowd, to not think about the botched interview. To not think about the long, dreary job hunt stretching out ahead of me.

The main train station is a beautiful building. But I've been so absorbed in my own misery, I've barely registered any of my surroundings. Walking around hasn't cleared my head at all, it has only given me more of a headache. I am not looking forward to going home, to having to tell Aksel that I failed.

The wind slaps me in the face as I leave the relative warmth of the station and head for the bus stop. The sky is already dark, the sun having set hours ago. The bus stop is not that far away, but by the time I find it, my face already feels frozen. I pull the hood of my coat over my head, hoping that it will help against the cold.

There is a board at the bus stop with a route map stuck on it. I trudge over to it, hoping it can help me find my way home. There are a lot of buses here, but I have no idea which one to take. I haven't been to the bus stop closest to our apartment. I have no idea which are the buses that will take me there.

I stare at the bus routes, so long and so hard that my vision starts to blur and the words all start to run together before my eyes. All the street names, station names in Helsinki are so long. So... Finnish. I don't recognise any of them.

I don't remember the name of the street we live on.

I don't know how to get home.

I pull out my phone to call Aksel, but my thumb hovers over the screen for a long moment. He should be off work by now, but he's out with his coworkers tonight. And this is such a stupid problem. I've been living in Helsinki for three weeks now – I should at least know the name of the street I'm living on.

I am not stupid. I've always done well in school. I can grasp new concepts quickly. Back in Hamburg, I've applied for highly fought-over internships, and gotten in. I've never doubted myself before, when it comes to my ability in getting things done on my own.

But now, here in Finland, I am suddenly thrown off balance. My standard of Finnish is not high enough to qualify for most of the jobs I want. And the only chance I've gotten so far – I've messed up on the interview.

And now, I can't even remember the name of the street I live on.

But I know – vaguely – the direction in which it lies. I can remember some of the turns Aksel took this morning, when he dropped me off. The journey took about fourteen minutes by car. Even if I walk slowly, I ought to be home within half an hour.

With that thought in mind, I set off on foot. I take out my phone and fiddle with it, trying to open the Maps app before I remember that I don't have Internet access on my phone yet. I'm still using one of those temporary cards for travellers that you have to top up with credit in order to text or make calls. I need to get a real phone plan soon. A smartphone without Internet access is completely useless – I can't even text my friends from back home as I'm walking. Stuffing my phone back into my pocket, I sigh to myself. I'm going to have to go based on memory, on intuition, and hope I don't get too lost.

Aksel took a right turn onto this road earlier this morning, I think to myself. That means I have to turn left... After that, it was a right. Or was it another left?

As I turn the corner and find myself on yet another stretch of road that I don't recognise, I try not to panic. I've only lived in big cities all my life, but I am so bad at navigating city streets it's almost a joke. Still, the city of Helsinki is smaller than Hamburg. If I can find my way around in Hamburg, I can surely do it in Helsinki.

Except, back in Hamburg, I can remember the road names. They make sense to me. Over here, the names ran in the general ballpark of Hietaniemenkatu or Hietakannaksentie... Every street name looks like a variation of the one right next to it.

I hesitate at the next corner, staring at the street signs. They are no help at all. I don't even vaguely recognise any of the names anymore.

I feel like crying.

But tears aren't going to get me home. I've come so far now, I might as well press on. But the cold has crept into my coat, and is even now settling deep within my bones. I wrap my arms around myself, choose a direction at random, and walk on.

I walk for what feels like forever.

Every street begins to look alike after a while. At one point, even the buildings lining the street start to look so familiar that I begin to suspect I've been going in circles. When I walk past the same church for the third time, I stop and try to regain my bearings.

I have long since lost track of the direction I'm heading in. I only know that the main train station, the place I came from, lies in the direction behind me. Which means... what?

I have no idea anymore.

The streets aren't empty. There are people hurrying along, cars zooming past. It suddenly occurs to me that I could ask for directions. My mouth opens and my feet start to swerve towards the nearest passerby, but then I remember.

I can't ask for directions. I don't even know where it is I'm going.

The person I was about to walk up to stares oddly at me. I turn away resolutely. Finns like to stare at me – I've read somewhere that they always stare at foreigners. For them, it's not rude to stare. Knowing this still doesn't make it feel any better, though. I hate being stared at everywhere I go.

Picking up my pace to get away now, I shift my focus back onto my current task.

I've been keeping to the left all this time, but it hasn't gotten me anywhere. Maybe it's time to try turning right. I round the corner behind the church and hesitate. Another right, or straight ahead? But if I keep turning right, I'm only going to end up back where I started.

I decide to go straight.

I lose track of how much longer I walk or how many more turns I take. I'm starting to get tired. It is cold and the wind is strong. Every step feels like a fight. My steps are slowing and I am starting to consider sitting down somewhere just as I catch sight of an address printed on a sign of one of the buildings nearby.

I'm in a district called Töölö.

I know this name. Now that I've seen the name, it's starting to come to me. We live in this area. I recognise this name, at least, because it is short enough, and distinctive enough. According to this address, I am in the neighbourhood, at least.

At long last, I'm getting close.

But I still have no idea where, exactly, I am. And I have no idea which part of Töölö our apartment is in.

A part of me wants to give up and just lie down in the snow. But the other part of me – the larger part – clamours for me to go on. I am on the right track, my mind insists. I will get home.

I can do this.

Drawing in a deep breath – and regretting it almost immediately because it only freezes my lungs even more – I pick up one foot and plod it down in front of the other. Then I pick up the other foot take another step.

Don't think about the cold, I remind myself. Don't think. Just walk.

The streets are starting to look familiar. I remember our apartment building is near the corner of a street. The golf corner – that's right. The building is right beside a golf shop at the corner. And there is a golf shop straight up ahead. White on green – I can see the word 'GOLF' printed in large letters.

My heart leaps. Spurred on by the feeling that the end is in sight, I start walking faster. My feet ache, my bones ache, and I can no longer feel my fingers or my nose. But it doesn't matter. I focus on the darkened shop as I slowly move towards it.

After what feels like a long time, I stumble around the corner and my feet drift to a halt.

This is it.

I look up at the familiar building, feeling tears come to my eyes. My breath is white in the air, coming out in tired puffs.

I've made it back. And all on my own, too.

This is the first thing I've managed all on my own, since I've arrived in Finland. I can barely feel my lips anymore, but I know I'm smiling.

I start walking again – running, really. My legs feel so frozen that I stumble and almost fall into the snow. But I keep going. I'm almost there.

It's warm inside the building when I finally push through the wooden doors. I grip the railing as I stagger up the stairs, my strength suddenly sapped now that I know I've made it. It is a long time before I manage to get to the storey our unit is on.

My hands are shaking as I fish out my keys. I almost drop them, and stand there clutching them tightly. It takes me a while to start moving again.

I try to insert my key into the lock, missing the mark twice and making metal scrape against metal. Forcibly stilling my hand, I take a deep breath and then try again. Before I get it fully in, however, I hear bolts slamming back and then the door swings open. Aksel is standing in the doorway, and he pulls me into his arms before I can react. He squeezes me so tightly that I'm gasping for breath after a while. We stand there in the doorway for a long minute, his hands rubbing my arms through the thick fabric of my coat. Then he lets me go and pulls me into the apartment.

Once the door is shut, he rounds on me. And I see, for the first time, that he is furious.

"Where have you been?" He doesn't raise his voice. He just stands there, his back to the door, watching me with ice-blue eyes, speaking so softly that I have to strain to hear each individual word even in the silence. And this is worse than if he had shouted.

"Walking... Walking home," I stutter, tripping on my tongue in my bewilderment at his reaction. "I got lost... I forgot the street name... Wh– Did something happen?"

"Your phone?"

"I have my phone," I say, pulling it out of my pocket to show him. The screen remains blank, even after I push the home button twice. "Oh. I guess it ran out of–"

"Do you know what time it is?"

"Ehm..." Stupidly, I look back at my phone screen, before remembering that it won't light up. "No?" I squeak. The sky has been dark for a long time, but that's no indication of time in Helsinki, especially in the winter. The sun sets in the early afternoon. It was, in fact, already dark when I set out from the train station.

"It's almost midnight," Aksel tells me, searching my expression with probing eyes.

"Oh." Has it been that long? I spent over six hours getting home?

"I got lost," I try to explain, my voice shaking despite myself. Now that I'm starting to get warm again, I suddenly feel the emptiness in my stomach. I've missed dinner completely. "I forgot the street name, and I walked around for ages... I didn't know it was six hours, though."

"You were walking around, out in the dark, alone, for six hours?"

"I– Yeah. I didn't realise it was getting so late."

He is striding towards me now, and for a split second, my heart stutters at the look on his face. He looks so weary, but there is still a fresh dose of worry-induced anger lighting his eyes. He comes to a stop in front of me, lifting a hand to my cheek. I barely refrain from flinching, but he only touches me gently, lightly.

At the feel of his warm skin against my ice-cold one, I burst into tears.

I see the exact moment all the anger drains out of him. He moves forward and abruptly wraps his arms around me in another tight embrace.

"Sorry," he whispers, and I feel his lips moving against the top of my head. "Don't cry."

I raise trembling arms to hug him back. "I'm sorry," I whisper back, my voice coming out wavering and paper-thin.

He dips his head until I feel the weight of it on my shoulder. "I was so worried. I tried calling so many times. I thought something had happened to you."

"Sorry," I whisper again, unable to say anything else. I had my phone on silent mode, with no vibration – the way I usually had it, back in Hamburg. The difference is, I usually check my phone a lot. But I was so busy walking today that I forgot.

So busy trying to prove to myself that I still have what it takes, to be independent.

Aksel is still speaking into my shoulder. "Helsinki is safe enough, but sometimes, when people get drunk..."

"Sorry," I repeat, choking the words out as my throat closes up.

I hear his deep intake of breath, then a wry laugh. "Stop apologising."

I am full-on crying too hard to speak now. I feel the weight on my shoulder lift, and he lowers himself to my height to look me in the face. I try to turn away, ashamed of my tears. He cups my chin and gently turns me back to face him.

"What's wrong?" he asks, searching my expression for clues. He is already thinking the worst. "Did something happen?"

"No, I just– It's stupid, but I didn't know which bus to take... And I wanted to call you, but it was such a stupid thing. You were out with other people, I didn't want to bother you." I take a deep breath and try to halt my blabber. "I started walking and it was dark, and I was scared. I don't know why I'm crying, this is... I don't know, shock, or something. Nothing happened, I swear. I'm fine."

"You should have called me."

"I– You were out with–"

"It doesn't matter. I want you to call me whenever you need help."

I fist my hands by my side. After a moment, I admit in a shaky whisper, "I rely on you too much here. I wanted... I wanted to do something on my own."

He doesn't say anything for a long while. Then I hear him sigh. "I'll text you our address," he says quietly. I can feel his breath brushing my ear with every word. "If you forget the street name again, it'll be in your phone. You can find your own way home then. But call me, or send me a message, to tell me you're on your way home next time. Okay?"

I have to bite my lip to keep a sob from escaping. He is too good to me. What do I bring to the relationship? I am like a child he has to take care of.

"Emilie?"

"Okay," I whisper. I take a deep breath against his chest, breathing him in, and find the courage to tell him, "The interview today... I'm probably not going to get the job."

I feel his hand stroke the back of my head gently. "It's okay," he says. "There will be other jobs."

"Sorry." I'm still whispering.

"What for?"

"The rent..."

"Don't worry about it."

"Sorry I'm so useless," I mumble, half-hoping that he won't hear me.

"Don't say that about yourself." He pulls back to look me in the face. "You're not useless. You'll get a job, don't worry."

I look away from his earnest eyes. He believes in me, more than I believe in myself. "I messed up the interview. And then, at the bus stop, I couldn't read the Finnish names. I couldn't even find my own way home. I can't do anything right."

"You did," he says. "You got lost, but you found your way home in the end, didn't you?"

I bite my lip. "But..." It was pure luck I even managed to find the neighbourhood. And it had taken me six hours.

He cups my cheek, turning my face back so that I have to look at him. "You found your way home, Emilie."

I gather strength from the way he's looking at me, like he's proud of me. I recall the spurt of joy that had overcome me the moment I had looked up at our building and realised I had gotten it right.

I find myself smiling a little through my tears. "Yeah," I whisper. "I did."

"Do you want to take off your coat?" He's still speaking softly, like I'm a spooked animal he's trying to calm.

"Okay," I say quietly, lifting my hands to unbutton my coat. But my fingers are shaking too much. I'm going into shock, I think. It has been a long walk.

Aksel gently pulls my hands away, then unbuttons my coat himself. When he's done with that, he throws it over the back of the couch and takes me by the hand, silently leading me to the dining table. "Sit down," he says, pulling out a chair for me. "Are you hungry? I'll make you something to eat."

I clutch at the edge of the table, knowing I shouldn't rely on him so much, but I can only muster up a nod. As I watch him head into the kitchen, I can't help but wonder.

This man is amazing. He will make such a good husband. A good father.

What is he doing with me?

He deserves better. He deserves someone who doesn't have to spend six hours wandering around in the snow just to find her way home; someone who can remember the name of the street she lives on; someone who can learn his language properly, who doesn't mess up on the first job interview. Someone who can return at least half of what he gives – someone who is his equal in every way.

But as I watch him move behind the kitchen counter, focusing intently on the meal preparations despite the fact that he has to be up for work in a couple of hours, I also realise: even though he deserves someone better, he is mine.

And I have no intention of giving him up.