“It was just coffee—until it wasn’t.”
Patricia arrived at the small café on a street corner in the Mitte district ten minutes early. It was her favorite spot in Berlin, with exposed brick walls, a rich aroma of coffee, and an atmosphere just busy enough to cover any awkward silences, yet quiet enough to talk.
She chose a table by the window, then spent the next nine minutes at war with herself.
Calm down, Patricia. It's just coffee, her logical side said. You drink coffee every day.
But not with Sharon Corr's handsome, gloomy son! her panicked side retorted. What if I spill my coffee on my shirt? What if I run out of things to say? What if he realizes I'm actually boring?
Just as she was about to cancel everything and flee to the airport, a tall, slender figure walked into the café. Cathal. He was wearing a simple denim jacket and a black t-shirt, looking like a regular university student, not part of a rockstar entourage. He looked around, and his eyes met Patricia's. For a moment, she saw a flicker of panic in his eyes, too, which, oddly, made her feel a little calmer. Turns out, she wasn't the only nervous one.
"Hey," he said as he reached the table, his voice clearer than it was backstage.
"Hi," Patricia replied with a smile. "Glad you could find it."
"Your directions were good," he said, taking a seat. A thick awkwardness immediately enveloped their table. They ordered coffee, and an agonizing silence followed after the waitress left.
"So... Berlin," Cathal began, sounding like he was starting a business meeting.
"Yep... Berlin," Patricia replied, feeling foolish.
Great conversation, Patricia. Brilliant.
To break the silence, Patricia asked, "Besides the concert, have you had any time to see the city?"
Cathal shook his head. "Not really. It's usually just from the hotel to the venue, and then we move on. The view from the tour bus window isn't very exciting."
"That's a shame," Patricia said. "Berlin has a lot of beautiful old cinemas. They often play classic black-and-white films."