The festival is as crowded as I imagined it to be. Even so, it's easier to move through the throng of people in a large group. I'm starting to see the value of Aksel attending with his group of friends.

"Did anyone bring a mat?" Zuzi asks, turning back to yell the question at us, so she can be heard over the loud noises pressing down on us from all sides.

"I did," Frederik says. I happen to look over at him as he points at the backpack he's hoisting over his shoulder.

"Good," Zuzi says. "Let's find an empty spot."

"What empty spot?" Ludo grumbles.

Priscilla laughs at his surliness. "Oh, don't be a grouch. Come on!" She grabs me by the elbow and pulls me along, ahead of the others. "Let's find somewhere to sit."

We end up at a nice shaded spot a little far away from the stage where the main event is happening. It is a little on the fringes of the clusters of other festival-goers, but the others are apparently satisfied with the position. We all agree that we have a clear view of the stage from here, which is good enough in this crowd.

Both Frederik and Ludo have brought along drinks, so they busy themselves unpacking. Pretty soon, there is a sizeable number of brown glass bottles in the middle of the mat. These guys sure do think a lot, I find myself thinking. And, for a moment, I'm reminded of my first friends in Edinburgh. They had drunk a lot too – so had I, along with them. It's a surefire way to make friends. When you don't drink with people, you tend to get left out.

Zuzi – I finally remember her name now – has flopped down onto her back and is lying half on the mat, half outside of it. She flips her sunglasses back down to cover her eyes; I can see the clouds reflected in them. "Oh," she sighs, a smile curling her lips. "This is nice."

"It's great weather," Frederik agrees.

"Still cold," Ludo observes.

"This is warm for Finns, though," I say, and they all laugh.

"Oh, I know!" Priscilla says, "They have a really odd sense of what's hot. Do you remember when Elina opened the windows because she thought it was too warm in the classroom?"

"It was freezing!" Zuzi laughs.

I don't remember this. It must be from a time after I started skipping.

"I thought it was warm," Frederik says.

Zuzi makes a rude noise that sounds like it could be perfectly coupled with an eye roll. "Oh, you're just like them. You're from a Nordic country, too."

"We're totally different," Frederik objects, but he goes back to his beer.

"Finnish people are nice and all," Zuzi goes on, "But they're so hard to befriend!" She rolls her eyes. "I've been here for three months, and I haven't made a single Finnish friend yet."

Well... I haven't made any friends, Finnish or otherwise.

"Yeah," Ludo agrees. "They keep to themselves a lot. Once, my neighbour came out while I was waiting for the elevator. When he saw me standing there, he turned and walked back into his apartment!"

Everyone laughs, even me. Aksel does it too sometimes – not overtly, but he stands by the front door, hand on the handle, listening for sounds outside. If he hears footsteps, he usually ends up fiddling with his socks or shoelaces for a long moment or goes back into the kitchen for another cup of coffee before he leaves.

This reminder of Aksel sobers me a little.

Somewhere in this same park, he is here without me. I glance quickly at the screen of my phone. When I see that there's a message from him, my heart leaps. I swipe it open only to read, Nothing much.

Two words. That's all. He doesn't even ask what I'm doing. Disappointed, I stuff my phone back into my pocket and turn back to the others.

Ludo is in the midst of offering a bottle of beer to Priscilla, who wrinkles her nose.

"No, thanks," she says, with a quick shake of her head. "I don't drink beer. It tastes horrible."

I stare at her.

Ludo groans. "Oh, yeah," he says. "I remember now. You're the boring one."

Priscilla sticks out her tongue at him. She doesn't look offended at all.

Ludo holds out the bottle to me instead. "You want a beer?"

My hand moves, out of sheer habit, to take the bottle from him. And then I clench my fist and let it drop onto the grass. "Sorry," I say, stretching my mouth into what I hope is an apologetic smile. "I'm one of the boring people too."

Priscilla lets out a whoop, and throws an arm around me. "Finally!" she exclaims. "A European who doesn't drink!"

I can only blink at her.

Ludo glances between us, then rolls his eyes. With a shrug, he pops the cap off the bottle and takes a swig for himself.

"You don't drink?" Zuzi asks me.

I purse my lips, uncomfortable with the way all of them are staring at me now, waiting for an answer. "Well... I do, actually. It's just that... I am... well, a little bit allergic to alcohol."

"Oh," Ludo says, "That sucks."

"So what happens when you drink?" Zuzi wants to know.

"I get a bad rash," I say. "It doesn't go away for a few days."

"Shit," Zuzi wrinkles her nose. "You'd better not drink, then."

Priscilla grins. "Don't worry," she tells me, "Us boring people have to stick together." Turning away briefly, she digs around in her bag and emerges with a brown bottle, which she holds up with a dramatic flourish, "I have something much better than alcohol here!"

I look at the label. There is English by the side of it. Probably imported. "Ginger ale?"

"Yep!" She holds the bottle out to me. "You want some? I can share."

"It's okay," I start to say, but she presses the bottle into my hand.

"Oh, don't be silly. You have to drink something. Don't worry, I have plenty." She flashes me another grin.

I stare at her for another moment before shrugging and taking the bottle from her. I smile back. "Okay. Thanks."

Once we've settled down into sipping our drinks, Priscilla throws her arm around me. "You know, you were always so quiet in class, I never knew what to say to you. That's why when I saw you at the cafe just now, I knew I had to come talk to you."

It takes me a moment before I find my tongue. "What? You wanted to talk to me?"

"Well, yeah," Priscilla shrugs. "You seemed cool."

"And standoffish," Zuzi adds, but she's smiling, so I don't take offence.

She's right, anyway.

"Well," I say, matching her candidness with my own, "I've always wanted to talk to you, too. But I never dared. You were always too busy talking to someone else."

"No!" Priscilla looks genuinely devastated. "You really should have."

Zuzi is laughing at us. "Oh, my God! You two are so cute."

My face is starting to feel hot, but Priscilla just laughs it off and leans her head against mine. "See? We're meant to become friends. Come on, take a picture of us."

Zuzi obliges by whipping out her phone. Priscilla scrambles forward to check out the photograph and I find myself smiling. Pricilla was right when she invited me to join them – this is fun.

"Send it to me!" Priscilla is badgering Zuzi now. She turns to me, "I'll send it to you too. Oh – wait. I don't have your number! Let's exchange numbers."

"Slow down one second, will you?" Ludo drawls. He and Frederik exchange a look as if to say, girls.

As retaliation, Zuzi sits up and snaps a photo of them.

"Hey!"

"Wait, let me see that..."

I take a swig of my ginger ale and laugh.

The rest of the day flies by far too quickly. We buy some of the vegetarian food available at the festival, sharing it between us while exchanging opinions on the performances and talks taking place on the stage. In between all the bickering and laughter, it's as if no time has passed at all. I don't say much at first, but the others, especially Priscilla, are good at pulling me into the conversation. By the time we leave the festival, I've told them about some of my troubles at adapting to life in Helsinki.

As it turns out, I'm not alone in feeling this way.

"I've been so homesick for the past month!" Priscilla tells us. "Everything is different from what I'm used to. But I always feel much better after I Skype my family and friends back home. It's hard to speak with them, though, because of the time difference."

That's right – I'd forgotten Priscilla is from New Zealand. It's an 11-hour time difference between Finland and New Zealand, and I don't envy her for it one bit. At least my friends and family are only one hour behind and a three-hour flight away. All of a sudden, I feel quite lucky.

"There's something called the Culture Shock Syndrome," Frederik informs us. "You should google it. It talks about how there are four stages when you move somewhere foreign. There are websites that even give tips on how to deal with it."

"How foreign can Finland be from Denmark?" Zuzi asks.

Frederik rolls his eyes. It appears to be his default reaction towards most of what Zuzi says to him. "You'd be surprised. We're both Nordic countries, but everything else is different, right down to the climate."

"You can't be serious." Zuzi is disbelieving.

Culture Shock Syndrome. I've never heard of it before. I file the term away for further research later.

I bid them goodbye outside of the Central Railway Station. They all live further away from the city centre, which means they are all taking the metro. As for me, I can take the tram or even just walk.

"See you in class next week," Priscilla says to me, then wrinkles up her nose. "Wait – will you be in class?"

I look at their expectant faces. "Yeah, I'll be coming back next week."

"Awesome," Priscilla grins. "See you in class, then!" She moves in to hug me, and the tightness of her grip surprises me a little.

I say my goodbyes to the rest in a flurry of hugs, then watch as they trudge into the building. Frederik and Zuzi are already bickering about something, while Priscilla is walking beside them, listening and occasionally laughing at something one of them says. Ludo is hanging back, walking behind all of them, and he looks back at me and raises his hand in farewell, just as they are all passing through the glass door leading into the station.

I wave back.

The smile stays on my lips the whole way home.

***

I let myself into an apartment almost completely devoid of sound.

After closing the door behind me, I lean against the smooth wood for a moment. The lamp in the living room is on, and, even from the front door, I can see the scattered rays of light against the floorboards from beneath the bedroom door. Aksel must already be home.

Ipad into the master bedroom and find him in the enjoining bathroom. He's washing up and he hasn't noticed me yet. I spend a moment simply looking at him – it's been so long since I've really looked. He looks tired. His hair is also sticking up messily in all directions, as if he's been running his hands through it in frustration.

I hover by the doorway, hoping that he will ask me something. He must have noticed how late I am in getting home today – he knows I rarely stay out past midnight. Never, in fact, since I've moved to Helsinki. Maybe he will say something. Maybe he will ask where I've been.

His gaze flicks up when I appear behind him, meeting mine through the mirror for the briefest of moments. Then he looks away and continues moving his toothbrush around in his mouth.

He doesn't say a word.

I clear my throat. "So..."

I trail off, and the only sound in the apartment now is the hum of the radiator and the bristles of the toothbrush against his teeth.

I frown. I bite my lip. I look down at the floor, at my sock-clad feet, and try again. "Were you at the festival today?"

"Yeah." Aksel speaks through a mouthful of toothpaste, then leans down to spit into the sink. I'm watching him through the mirror, but he doesn't look at me.

"How was it?"

He rinses out his mouth, taking his time to reply. "The music was good, and the food... It was more of vegetarian food, but it was nice. You would've liked it."

"Oh." I hesitate, wondering if I should tell him that I was there too. He's right – I did like the food.

Through the reflection in the mirror, I see his expression darken. "Or maybe not. I don't know." He throws his toothbrush into the holder almost viciously.

"Aksel." I'm not sure what I'm hoping to achieve by saying his name, but he barely reacts.

"I'm going to bed. It's been a long day." He turns, and something makes me lower my gaze so that I don't have to look him in the eye as he pushes past me to head for the bed.

I'm still standing by the doorway as he climbs under the covers without another word.

And, all of a sudden, I want to tell him. I want to tell him about my day; I want to tell him how I enjoyed my time out with Priscilla and the others, that I am – maybe, just maybe – starting to make friends in Helsinki.

I want to tell him that we have probably been within a hundred metres of each other the whole time today, and that it was a hundred metres too many.

I want to tell him I've missed him.

I want to wrap my arms around him and slide my hands into his hair, to feel his breath tickle my cheek as he moves closer, to feel the warmth of his skin under my fingertips, to feel him. I want him to look at me – really look at me – the way he used to, like he couldn't get enough of the sight of me – not in this cold, foreign way that he looks at me now.

"I was there today." I hear my own voice come out meekly. Most of him is hidden under the covers, so I can't see his expression. He doesn't respond. I wonder if he heard me.

"At the festival," I clarify, in case he didn't understand the first time.

He sits up in bed, but he doesn't look happy. I had thought he would be glad that I had gone, after all. "Really?" he asks flatly. "Alone?"

"No. With some classmates from my Finnish class. I ran into one of them and they invited me along."

"So... You'd rather go with complete strangers than me and my friends."

My mouth is dry. This conversation isn't going the way I anticipated. I was supposed to be in his arms by now, not standing two metres away, picking out the bitterness in his voice.

"Shouldn't you be glad that I went at all? I had a good time–"

"Congratulations." His tone is cold, devoid of any positive emotion.

Angry tears are leaking out of my eyes. "I don't know why you have to be like this. I wanted to tell you that I had fun, and maybe I'm making some new friends. I wanted to share that with you."

"I'm happy for you. All right? But I'm tired now."

"Why are you being such an asshole?" I whisper.

"Don't you know?" His voice is sardonic. "All Finns are assholes."

He doesn't glance in my direction again, not even when he reaches over to the bedside table and snaps off the light. And I am left standing on my own, my eyes so wet that, even in the glare of the bathroom light behind me, the sight of Aksel huddled under the covers is only a messy, blurry shape I can't make out anymore.