"A moment!" I call, hoping my voice travels through the door out into the hallway, to the visitors who have just rung the bell. "Give me a moment. I'm coming."

I turn and hesitate, the heel of my foot squeaking against the wooden flooring, my head swiveling to cast a wild glance around the apartment. I should have started cleaning up way earlier than this. But what's done is done – my apartment looks as ready for visitors as it ever has.

Sighing to myself, I stuff the cleaning cloth in the laundry hamper, shake my hair out of its messy bun atop my head, and head for the door.

When I fling the door open, three unsure pairs of eyes turn to fix on me. I plaster on a smile, hoping my expression doesn't betray the thumping in my chest. "Moi," I chirp, before taking a moment to clear my throat. Has my voice always been so high? I should've at least found the time for a glass of water before answering the door.

Well, it's too late now. I step back to let them in, waving a hand as I do so. "Welcome. Come in."

"Moi," the boy in the front replies – he's taller than me, but the youthfulness in his face makes it impossible for me to think of him as anything other than a boy – as he gingerly enters, glancing around surreptitiously to take in the view. The other two file in behind him, smiling at me and murmuring greetings.

When I turn back around after latching the bolt, I'm momentarily startled to see them all crowded behind me. Living alone, I've never noticed how small my apartment actually is. It doesn't bode well for this week's movie night with Priscilla and the gang. But I forcibly push it out of my mind – that's a worry for another time

"So," I say, stretching out my hand, "I'm Emilie. But you know that already." I end off with a little laugh. "Nice to meet you all."

One by one, they move forward to take my hand.

"I'm Heikki," says the first boy. His grip is strong and warm. "Nice to meet you, Emilie."

"Tiina," says the only girl of the group. She looks friendly, with a dash of brown curls framing her face. The smile she flashes me solidifies my first positive impression of her. "Nice to meet you, too."

"I'm Levo," says the last one, another young male who's standing the furthest away from me. He looks at me stoically.

I already know how to spell all of their names, of course, having texted with them to set up this trial lesson, but it feels good to hear them pronounced. I might have been pronouncing that last one in my head a little wrong.

"Heikki, Tiina, Levo," I repeat dutifully, smiling at each of them in turn. Levo seems a little unfriendly, but I brush it off. Maybe he's just shy around strangers. I know I am.

"We brought you something," says Heikki, who seems to be their self-appointed leader. He hands me a wrapped bottle. "We weren't sure what you'd like, so we got you some chocolates."

"Finnish chocolates?" I tease, as I take the box from him. "Thank you so much. You didn't have to bring anything."

He looks flabbergasted. "I don't know if they're Finnish chocolates," he says, looking around at his friends nervously. "We got them from S-Market."

I take pity on him. "I'm joking," I say gently, then gesture towards the table I've set up for them. "Please, take a seat. I'll just put these away in the fridge. Maybe we can all have some later."

"Oh, it's all right," Tiina says. "They're for you."

I shrug. "I can't possibly eat a whole box on my own, can I?" I smile and head into the kitchen, leaving them to get settled. They look like they need some time to themselves. Had Juhani been so awkward at our first meeting? I don't recall – but maybe that's because it had been my first trial class. I had been much more nervous back then.

I put away the chocolates, then poke my head out the doorway. "Anyone wants something to drink? A glass of water, maybe?"

"A glass of water would be nice, thank you," Tiina says. They are all already seated at the table, their books laid out before them.

"No, thank you." Heikki holds up his water bottle. "I have my own."

Levo shakes his head silently.

"Sure thing," I say. "Be back in a minute."

When I come back out holding two glasses of water, they have relaxed somewhat and are chatting softly among themselves in Finnish. I plonk the glasses onto the table – one for Tiina, who smiles and murmurs her thanks, and one for myself – and they fall silent.

"So," I say, taking a seat at the only empty chair left and reaching to turn on the monitor against the wall so that my pre-loaded presentation brightens the screen, "shall we start?"

They nod, three pairs of eyes moving over to the monitor, then back onto me.

I can feel a familiar nervous heat creeping up the back of my neck, but I tamper it down. This is my first group session, sure, but I have done this before. I can conduct a good trial class. It doesn't matter if they don't sign up for more sessions with me after – I would have done my best, and that's all anyone can do, isn't it?

I take a deep breath, then I say brightly, "I'd like to start off with establishing how well you speak and write, so I'll know which areas to focus on. Since there are three of you, I'll speak with one while the other two do a little quiz I have here. After that, we'll switch. Does that sound okay?"

"Sounds good," says Heikki, and the other two nod their assent.

Levo, though quiet, ends up being the best-spoken out of them all, tripping only over the hardest consonants. Tiina is almost equally fluent, making only the slightest grammatical errors as she speaks, albeit hesitantly. If she continues with the sessions, we will have to work on her vocabulary and confidence in speaking. Heikki, once we start speaking in German, lapses into long silences that I have to prompt him out of. At certain points, he gives up and substitutes English words for the German equivalents that do not come naturally to mind.

By the time we're done with the exercise and I've gotten a grasp on each of their language standards, forty-five minutes have passed. This part was necessary, but it has been much more time-consuming than it had been with Juhani. I make a mental note to take this into account for any future group sessions. Trial classes for groups will have to be longer than the allocated hour.

"Well," I tell them, once we've gone through their answers for the quizzes, "we only have fifteen minutes left, so I'd like to quickly go through some of the fundamentals in German and also a few tips that might help with your learning. Even if you decide not to continue with the sessions, you can keep these in mind when you study on your own."

"I have to go soon," says Heikki, fidgeting in his seat. I look at him, and know that he won't be continuing with the sessions.

I smile, trying not to let the tightness in my chest show in my face. "It won't take long. We agreed on an hour, didn't we?"

"Yeah," he says. "Okay."

Tiina nudges him, looking pained. She turns to me, "I think that all sounds very useful."

Levo, leaning back in his seat, doesn't say anything.

Things like this happen, I tell myself as I click to run through my presentation. Not all the students who take up a trial class will be interested in what I have to offer. And that's okay. That's why it's called a trial. We are trying things out – to see if we fit, if the vibe is right. If I have anything to teach them, and if they want to learn. It's a two-way street.

This mental pep talk doesn't ease the sinking feeling settling in the pit of my stomach. But I do manage to work around the lump in my throat – enough to go through the rest of my lesson plan, at least. Tiina dutifully takes down every word; Levo is a little less studious, but still jots down some important points. Even Heikki deigns to scribble down a few words.

The remainder of the time passes by in a flash. As I finish my closing speech, an eye on the digital clock at the bottom right of the screen, I feel a sense of satisfaction sweep over me. It may not have been the best presentation, but there is something about seeing my students absorb the information I'm giving them, and knowing – hoping – that I've made a difference to their studies.

The screen goes black, signalling the end of the presentation. I clap my hands together, catching myself at the last moment and feeling a side of my mouth curl up into a half-smile. "That's all for today, I'm afraid. Feel free to think it over and get back to me about whether you'd like to continue with the tutoring sessions. You all have my number, so just shoot me a text."

They all nod, starting to gather up their materials.

"Thank you for the class," says Tiina. "It was very helpful."

I smile back. "The pleasure was mine. Your German is really good – you need to be more confident when speaking."

She grimaces. "Thanks for saying that, but I need much more practice."

I hold back a chuckle.

She sounds exactly like Priscilla when someone compliments her ability in Finnish.

"Would you like some of the chocolate you brought?" I ask, the thought belatedly occurring to me.

"Oh, no," Heikki says. His foot is jiggling as he stands by the door, waiting for the others. "The chocolates are for you."

Tiina smiles. "Yes," she agrees. "You should keep them for yourself."

"All right," I acquiesce. At least now I would have something to offer the others when they come over for movie night on Thursday.

Levo, the last of the three to finish packing up, uncoils from his seat. He moves like a predator, I can't help noticing. Like a panther, all sleek and smooth. "Thank you for the class," he tells me.

I nod. "Thank you as well," I say to all of them. "For coming today."

They all flash varying degrees of a smile as they shuffle out the door. The payment for this trial session has already been worked out beforehand, so there's nothing more to be said on that front. The only thing left to do is wait – to see if I have managed to convince any of them to take on more sessions with me.

The moment the door closes behind them, I wilt against the wooden surface and let out a long sigh. Good or bad, I've gotten through it in one piece.

Now, there's nothing left to do but wait.

***

In the two days after the trial class, I try to get my affairs in order. No matter what I decide, there is plenty to do.

If I leave Helsinki, I'll have to end my rental agreement, close my bank account, ship the belongings I've amassed in my stay here back to Hamburg, and book my flight. Not to mention bid farewell to everyone I've met here, as well as inform Juhani – and any other students I take on – of my plans, so he can find a replacement tutor as soon as possible.

And if I stay...

I spend a lot of time surfing the Internet, clicking around German language institutes, looking at teaching traineeships. There is a path open to me here. If I became a certified German language teacher, I could move from tutoring university students to teaching proper classes at a language school.

But what about my degree in Chemistry? I had gone into this field of study thinking I would become a chemist or something of the sort. Before coming to Finland, I would never in a million years have considered becoming a teacher.

Still – maybe life doesn't always go the way we plan for it to. Maybe we need to be a little more flexible sometimes. Maybe there are opportunities out there that could bring me down a path no less fulfilling than the one I'd originally expected.

Maybe.

Amid all these confused thoughts and plans, Thursday night flies into view sooner than I would've thought.

I decide on the movie almost the exact instant the others are trooping in through my front door. I've been tossing a few titles around in my mind, wondering which would be the best representation of Germany – up until the very last minute. Then the bell rings,

I open the door, and make up my mind in a split second.

"Come in," I say, waving them in. I grin at Priscilla, who is carrying a tote bag on her shoulder. "Any popcorn today?"

She looks instantly worried. "Oh, I didn't bring any. Should I have?"

"I'm just joking," I reassure her. "I bought some potato chips yesterday – and I still have the chocolates that some students gave me."

"Chocolates?" Frederik homes in on the word even before the full sentence is out of my mouth.

I laugh. "Yes, chocolates. I'll go get them. Make yourselves at home."

"I'll help," Priscilla offers, following me into the kitchen.

By the time we re-emerge with armfuls of snacks and drinks – including a six-pack of beer that Ludo pounces on at once – the others have already settled around the television set, as relaxed as if they have been sitting there their whole lives.

"Go on, then," says Ludo sardonically, pausing only for a swig of his beer. "Show us the world of German cinema."

I raise my eyebrows at him. "Do I detect some prejudice?"

He shrugs. "Just saying. German movies are always about the war."

"We're owning up to our history," I counter. "That's a good thing, isn't it?"

Ludo gives me a droll look. "Yeah, yeah. But there are more interesting topics to make movies about."

I roll my eyes. "Okay," I say, waking my TV screen with a tap of a button, "then you'll be glad to know that I've chosen something different for tonight." I pause dramatically, and when I'm sure everyone's eyes are fixed on me, brandish the remote control with a flourish, "A children's movie!"

"A children's movie?" Ludo repeats, obviously unimpressed.

"Actually," I correct myself, "It's probably not so much for children. It's a story about a child, though. And it's really good, so don't knock it until you've watched it."

Ludo lets out a long-suffering sigh. "All right, let's see what you've got."

"It will wow you," I promise. "It also has a bit of social commentary in it. That's why the director made it – to raise awareness of such a situation."

Priscilla is gazing at the opening title of the movie onscreen. "System... sprenger?" She tries to pronounce the words, only getting them minimally wrong.

"Systemsprenger," I correct her, pronouncing the 'y' like a vowel and the second 's' in the word by blowing air through clenched teeth. "It's English title is System Crasher. It's when a child is such a problem that the foster care groups can't do much about them. I have to warn you, though – there are some slightly gory and disturbing scenes."

Zuzi kicks her feet up on the coffee table. "I live for gore," she announces. "Bring it on."

I look over to Frederik, who has propped himself up against the arm of the sofa Zuzi is on – there is a decided lack of seating space in my apartment. I'd offered to bring over a few dining chairs from the table, but Frederik had scoffed and shaken his head, whereas Priscilla had gamely plopped herself down onto the rug.

"Have you watched it yet?" I ask Frederik. "You've seen a lot of German movies, haven't you?" He's said as much before.

Frederik shakes his head slowly. "I've heard of it," he says. "It was shown at one of the Berlin international film festivals, wasn't it? I haven't gotten around to watching it, though."

"Yeah," I say. "It was at the Berlinale earlier this year."

Priscilla claps her hands together. "It's quite recent, then? Sounds fun."

"Okay," I say, pressing the 'play' button. "Let's start. Chocolates, anyone?"

***

"Well," says Frederik, as the cracked screen effect fades out and the credits start rolling. "That was depressing. Don't get me wrong – it's a great film. But very depressing."

Priscilla makes no move to hide her red eyes. "Oh, no," she wails. "That poor girl."

I laugh at the dismal expressions on my friends' faces. "That's exactly how I felt when I first watched this movie," I tell them.

"You couldn't have chosen something less depressing?" Zuzi demands.

"I was going to show you guys a rom-com or something," I say, "but I thought this one would be more memorable than a typical feel-good film."

"It sure is," Frederik says.

Priscilla fans herself helplessly, her eyes still brimming with leftover moisture. "I'm feeling so many things," she stresses, her voice breaking on the last word. "That was heartbreaking to watch."

"I know," I say soothingly, the way you talk to a spooked animal. "But that's the beauty of the film, you know? The director spent, like, five years doing all her research, so that she could portray a realistic view of kids like these in the system."

"Those poor kids," Priscilla murmurs again.

We are all silent for a while. I take the chance to look around at the pensive faces of my friends.

Even Ludo, still nursing a bottle of beer, seems to be frowning at a spot in the distance that only he can see.

"What do you think, Ludo?" I ask pointedly.

He slowly lifts his bottle to his lips before answering. "It was a good film," he says. "Doesn't change my mind about German films being depressing, though. It was depressing."

I crack a smile. "The underlying message was depressing, all right."

Priscilla huffs, leaning forward to snag a piece of chocolate. "This is all your fault," she tells me. "I have so many emotions right now, I don't know what to do with myself."

"I'm sorry," I say, trying not to smile.

She notices the twitch of my lip and shoots me a glare. "It's not funny!"

I sober up. "I know," I say contritely – perhaps a little too contritely. "Sorry. It's just that I've watched this film before and had time to process everything. I promise, I was the same way the first time I watched it."

"I wish we could do something to help these poor kids," Priscilla says. "Is there? Anything we could do, I mean?"

"I don't know," I say slowly. "Maybe by becoming a foster parent and taking in kids like that?"

"All right." Priscilla nods decisively. "I'm going to become a foster parent, then."

The rest of us exchange glances.

Frederik says what we're all thinking. "You're a regular bleeding heart, Pris."

Priscilla huffs. "What? I just want to help those poor kids."

"It's not as simple as you think," Ludo says. "They're called system crashers for a reason. Just look at what that girl Benni did to everyone around her. She was destructive."

Priscilla plants her hands on her hips – as well as she can, at least, without getting to her feet.

The final effect was a little lacking. "That's the sort of mindset that causes everyone to write these kids off. We can't all think like that, you know. Someone has got to believe in them."

"Mm-hm." Ludo sounds unimpressed. He turns back to his beer. "Good luck, then."

Impulsively, I throw an arm around Priscilla. I'm not sure who is more surprised – me or her. But as she turns to me with a quizzical look, I beam at her and say, "That's what I love about you, Pris. You try to make the world a better place."

Goodness only knows – she has made my world a better place, simply by welcoming me into her fold. All of them have, but without Priscilla, I wouldn't have gotten to know the rest of them.

Her face melts into a smile. She squeezes me back and presses her cheek against mine. A wisp of her hair tickles the side of my nose, making me giggle as she leans in close. "I love you too, Emi."

***

Walking in the streets of Helsinki, hand in hand with Aksel, is something that I'd thought I would never again experience. But when Aksel reaches for me within mere minutes of us meeting up on Saturday, I find my hand gravitating toward his.

This is a dance we've done so many times before, even before Helsinki. He reaches out; I meet him halfway. That's how automatic the gesture is. It's not until I register his larger hand wrapped protectively around my own smaller one that I realise it has happened again.

My heart begins an unchoreographed tap dance within the confines of my rib cage.

Aksel doesn't even seem to have noticed. He's looking up and over the crowd, scanning the doorsteps of each store as we pass. "...sounds good, don't you think?"

"Huh?"

He gives me a strange look. "Are you okay?"

"Sure," I say. "Why wouldn't I be?"

"You seem a bit out of it."

Yeah, I think to myself. And whose fault is that?

Out loud, I let out a low mumble. He doesn't even hear me, so fixated he is on finding the bakery that – and I quote him – sells the best croissants in the whole of Europe.

"Wouldn't that honour go to, say, a bakery in France?" I'd asked dubiously, when he had first made that claim.

"No," he'd said doggedly. "It's Helsinki Homemade Bakery. And we'll need to get there early, because the croissants usually sell out really quickly."

"That's the name? Helsinki Homemade Bakery?" I'd laughed.

"What?" He'd sounded slightly put out.

"Nothing. It's a cute name."

Now, as Aksel pushes into the bakery with me in tow, I can see that he wasn't exaggerating about the popularity of these croissants. There is a huge stream of people packed into the store – and, from what little I can see from our corner near the door, a large portion of them are here for the delicate, flaky pastries.

"Okay," I say, tiptoeing to speak directly into Aksel's ear, "what is it with you people and these croissants?"

He grins down at me. "Just wait and see."

"I want a cinnamon bun," I tell him.

"And a croissant," he says.

I roll my eyes. "Fine. And a croissant." Then the other breads on offer behind the counter catch my eye as we approach to order. "Oh, they have pretzels! I want a pretzel, too."

Aksel is laughing at me by now. "Slow down," he says, "or we'll be eating bread the whole day."

"You were the one who wanted to come here," I point out. "And now that we're here – what else is there to do at a bakery but buy bread?"

"We could keep some for lunch, I guess." Aksel has already moved on to the problem-solving stage of an imagined issue.

I click my tongue against the roof of my mouth, even though the sound is lost in the hubbub of the store. "There's no need for all of that. I can finish it."

"Just in case," Aksel says.

It takes us a whole half-hour to get to the front of the queue, order, and get our hands on the baked goods, which were presented by a frazzled cashier in two brown paper bags. Aksel ends up ordering an extra cinnamon bun for himself as well.

"They're Swedish, aren't they?" I ask as we step out into the relief that is the cool late-autumn air. I come to a stop on the sidewalk, just standing there, gulping down mouthfuls of fresh air. "The cinnamon buns."

Aksel comes up beside me at a more languid pace. "Kanelbulle," he agrees. "It's Swedish."

"What's it called in Finnish again?" I squint as I try to remember the scribbles on the board back in the bakery.

"Korvapuusti," Aksel supplies.

I repeat the word dutifully. "Okay," I say. "I'll remember that for next time." Then I lift the bag in my hands to nose-level and inhale deeply. As if on cue, my stomach grumbles. The smell of freshly baked goods triggers some primal instinct in people, I deduce.

I say as much to Aksel, who laughs.

"Why don't we go sit down somewhere?" he suggests. "We can eat outside – the weather is nice today."

I nod and nibble at the edge of my croissant, the flaky layers melting against my tongue. Aksel is right. This croissant is amazing.

"Hello?"

I look up, taking a moment for my eyes to refocus on Aksel. He's staring at me with an amused smile on his face. It hits me that he's asked me something, and is now waiting for an answer.

"Right," I say. "Let's go to the park."

***

"Okay," I admit, as I roll the empty paper bag into a haphazard ball and toss it from hand to hand, "the croissants were good."

"Just good?"

"Really good," I amend.

Aksel glowers at me.

"I never took you for a croissant connoisseur," I tease.

"I'm not," he says. "It's just that the croissants at that bakery are the best."

"Fair enough," I say. There's no other option but to concede after having tried the buttery goodness. "Although I still don't think they're the best in the whole of Europe. The French might have something to say about that."

Aksel snorts. "Let them."

I laugh.

"So," Aksel says, after the mood calms and settles around us. "How have you been?"

"We've been texting every day," I point out. "You know most of what's been happening in my life." And I've heard all about the tedium of his recent routine at work as well. The only thing we haven't talked about was what had happened the last time we had seen each other in person. The kiss. His words.

And my indecision.

He shrugs. "Humour me. I want to hear it in your voice."

"Well... You already know that I conducted a trial class this week," I say, trying to remember any details that I might have missed out. "For three new students. Well – two new students, really. One texted yesterday to say he won't be signing on for more classes."

"Was it the one who made you feel shitty?"

"He didn't make me feel shitty," I start to deny, then sigh. "Fine, he did, a little. Yeah, it was him. Heikki."

"Can't win them all," Aksel says prosaically.

"Yeah. That's what I keep telling myself, too." I press my lips together in a wry smile. "I just need more time to get used to it, I guess."

"That's understandable."

"You know," I say, absently picking at a tuft of grass by my feet, "I would've thought, out of the three of them, that Levo would have been the one to drop out."

"Why?" Aksel asks. "Because he was quiet?"

"Yeah," I say. "Show you how misleading first impressions can be, right? I think he's the most hardworking of all my students – he's already asking me if I can recommend some exercise books for him to get more practice in his free time." I laugh a little, shaking my head. "He's really passionate about German, apparently. He wants to move to Germany after graduation."

"That's interesting," Aksel says. I look at his profile against the light-grey sky, the way he is half-squinting in the midday sun, and I'm suddenly devoured by a need to know.

"Yeah?" There is a tickle at the back of my throat, but I swallow the feeling threatening to leak out of me. Flattening my voice into a transparent film devoid of inflection, I say, "I guess that's strange, isn't it? Wanting to move to Germany, of all places."

Aksel turns to look at me. I see him studying me, so I bow my head to pick at the grass again.

"No," he says, finally. "It's not strange at all. I can see the appeal of that."

At that, I laugh. It is one thing to hope; it is another to hear it said out loud and discover how unbelievable it sounds.

"You?" I say. "No way. You're so Finnish, you wouldn't know what to do with yourself anywhere else. Germany to Levo is probably Helsinki to you. You're already where you want to be."

"Hm."

I look back up at him. He'd been looking off into the distance, probably at the stream of people trickling steadily in and out of the train station further off from where we're sitting. When he feels my eyes on him, he turns back to return my gaze.

"What?" I ask, with a little smile. "You know I'm right. There's nothing wrong with admitting that."

Different folks, different strokes. That was the idiom Frederik had used. It fit Aksel and me perfectly.

Aksel leans back, hooking his wrists over a propped up knee to keep from landing fully in the grass. I have no such concerns. I let myself fall backward and look up into the sky. The back of my neck itches, but the feel of the solid cool ground beneath helps to soothe my flesh. Comfort countering discomfort.

"You know," he says then, "This past week... I've been thinking."

My mouth has gone dry. This is the moment. The conversation I've been avoiding all this time has finally reared its head. "Yeah?"

For the first time today, he seems to have lapsed back into pensiveness. "Emilie, I..."

I sigh. "Do we really have to talk about it?"

He turns to look at me.

"Okay, fine," I acquiesce.

He speaks again, each word soft and low, tiny dew drops sliding down a long blade of grass in rapid succession. "Every morning," he says, "I wake up thinking that this might be the day I find that you're no longer in Helsinki."

I blink.

He looks down, pressing his lips together in a wan smile.

I open my mouth. "I..."

He has been that anxious about my decision?

"I wouldn't leave without telling you," I say. When he says nothing, I press on. "Come on. You know I wouldn't do that. Especially after..." I clear my throat. "After last weekend. When we were at the bay."

Aksel blows out a puff of air. "Yeah. Maybe."

I reach for him, but he's too far away. "Aksel."

"There's something I haven't told you about work," he says. "There's an opening at one of the bank's branches in Germany."

For a moment, I have no idea what he's talking about. Then a charged, prickly feeling surges through me. "You mean, at your workplace?"

"Mhm," he says. "I was asking around before."

"Before?" Even as I ask it, I know he means before we broke up. But that was such a long time ago.

"Yeah. And a position has opened up – I think one of their accountants quit to join another company. I heard about it two weeks ago."

I have to remind myself to keep breathing. The noise of my inhalation suddenly sounds too loud in the silence.

"I've prepared an application," Aksel says quietly.

There is no wind today – not even the slightest hint of a breeze. I draw in a breath, slow and long, and then let it out again.

"Hm," I say, in much the same tone he had just moments before.

"It's in Berlin," he says, then adds quickly, as if not wanting to give me the opportunity to misunderstand, "but that's not so far from Hamburg, is it?"

"I guess not." My voice is flippant. "It's less than three hours by train."

"Better than three hours by plane," he says.

"Maybe."

A spot of warmth creeps over my hand in the grass, and I flip my palm over to meet his fingers. I'm not sure what else to say now. I'm too busy closing my eyes to stop the tears from falling.

"That is..." I hear Aksel clear his throat, the anxiety he has been keeping at bay thus far finally spilling out of him. "I'll apply for it if you think it's a good idea."

My eyes fly open, and I laugh. "You're doing that thing again."

"What?"

"The thing where you're trying to solve a problem on your own. It's like when you thought I was miserable here – and you decided to solve the problem all on your own, without asking my opinion."

"But I am. I mean..." He tries to pull away, but I grasp his hand tightly and use the momentum of that action to pull myself back up into a sitting position. "That's why I wanted to talk to you about it. I haven't sent out the application yet."

Unless my eyes are deceiving me, his cheeks are slowly but surely turning red. He lowers his eyelashes, shielding himself from my stare. "I just wanted to let you know that it's an option. You know, if you decide to–"

I lean in and kiss him full on the mouth.

He stills in surprise, but I press forward, teasing his bottom lip with a playful swipe of my tongue. Then his lips part and his free hand – the one that's not holding onto mine – slides up to cup the back of my neck. His touch sends a shiver through me, in a way neither the tickling grass blades nor the cold earth had.

When we break apart, soft breaths ringing in the air around us, he leans his forehead against mine. Up close, I can barely see anything aside from the tiniest off-colour flecks in his eyes.

"So," he breathes. "Was that a 'yes'?"

"Was there a question?" I tease.

He smiles, not taking my bait. "Emilie," he murmurs. A finger comes up to stroke the side of my cheek.

My smile slowly falls away as I look him full in the face. My gaze runs over the hill of his nose, the shadows of his eyes, the dip of his cheekbones. And I see the tremble in his bottom lip as he stares at me, waiting.

"You know, Aksel," I whisper, the shapes of the words forming almost as if in a dream. My heart is hammering in my throat. "I think I still love you."

His eyes flutter closed. Then I feel a puff of air against my lips.

"Thank God," he mutters.

I pull away. "Hey," I protest. The sharp sting of fear has tinged my cheeks hot. "Aren't you supposed to say it back?"

A chuckle escapes him.

"Emilie," he says, his eyes fixed on mine. "Everything before this was me trying to say that I love you."

"I know," I say, even as I breathe a surreptitious sigh. Reflected in his eyes is the same wordless relief that has doused every crevice of my soul. Because now I have my answer.

Aksel loves me. He loves me enough to follow me somewhere he doesn't care to be.

I move forward.

He smiles and leans in the rest of the way.

***

Kaisaniemipuisto – the park beside the central railway station – in the autumn is a gorgeous thing. Trees line the sides of the park, their branches are decked out in the colours of fire and gold. The view in the summer was a far cry from the magnificence of what I'm feeling now.

We haven't moved from our spot in the grass, but I feel like I have travelled around the world and home again.

"Do you remember," I say, "the World Village Festival back in May? It was held here."

His mood dims a little, just for the briefest of moments. "Yes," he says. "You went with your friends, didn't you? Did you like it?"

"It was amazing," I tell him. "I had fun."

"That's good," he says. There is a wry smile on his lips. "I knew you would like it. Did you try the food there? Most of it was pretty good, especially that stall with the Ghanaian food."

"Oh!" I exclaim. "I know. I tried some stuff from that stall."

"Really? Did you try that snack – what was it called? – kelewele or something like that? I loved it."

I'm frowning, trying to place the name of the dish with all the food I'd eaten that day.

"The plantains," Aksel prompts. "They were fried in some peppers and garlic, I think. It came in a little bowl like this–" He cups his hands together to illustrate his point.

And, with that, I remember. "Oh, yes! It was that sweet and sour snack."

"It's one of my favourites," he says. "The spices go so well with the plantains."

"The peppers were a bit too spicy for me," I admit. "But I liked it. It was my first time eating something like that. I almost didn't, because of the peppers, but Priscilla made us all try it." I laugh at the memory.

"It's a good thing you met them," Aksel says.

"I know," I agree. "I've been thinking the same thing this whole time. Especially recently, you know, what with the course coming to and end and all."

"Yeah. It's definitely important to have your own group of friends."

"Yeah."

We stay seated, still holding hands, silent in the whirlwind of so much still left to be said between us.

"So," I say finally. "Since it was so much fun... I'm planning to go again next year."

It takes Aksel a beat to react. "What?"

"To the World Village Festival," I say. Then I look at him. "Next year. Priscilla and the others would probably want to go, anyway."

He still doesn't respond, so I add, "Maybe you can come with us, too. Unless you've moved away by then." By now, I am only barely keeping the giggle out of my voice through sheer force of will.

There is a frown creasing his brow. "But..."

I can't help it. I'm grinning at him.

As if a switch has been flicked, his expression clears. A muted light of understanding dawns in his eyes. "Wait. Does that mean...?" He doesn't seem able to finish his question.

"Well," I say, with a cheeky toss of my head. "You can move to Berlin if you want, but I'm staying right here."