A silent question:Ready to go?
REMI
The journey home is quiet.
Sebastian and I don’t say much, but the silence between us feels easy. Unforced. At some point, he starts talking, light-hearted, animated, about everything he’s planning to do while he’s in London.
I don’t mention Ian. He seems relaxed now, and I’d rather let the evening settle in that feeling, focus on how well it went, on the joy he and Anne clearly felt at seeing each other again.
We’ve only just met, but there’s this strange sense, already, that he knows he can trust me. And when he’s ready to talk, I think he will. Until then, I’ll give him space. That feels like the right thing to do.
To be honest, I’m tired too.
It’s been an emotionally intense day, but nowhere near as difficult as I thought it might be.
Sure, I wish Maddie were here… but I also know she’s doing something important, something that matters to her. And my guest?
He’s definitely not the disaster I was bracing for. Actually…
I really like him.
He’s funny, thoughtful, sharp, but more than anything, there’s a warmth in him. A quiet kind of sensitivity that catches you off guard. That stays with you.
And it’s not just me. I saw how my friends responded to him, how genuinely kind they were, how glad they seemed to have him there. And I know them well enough to be sure: that wasn’t just good manners.
Still, when Ian showed up, I saw a different side of Sebastian, something softer, more fragile. Something I think he’s used to keeping well hidden.
We’re just a few minutes from our stop when he turns to me with a hopeful look and asks, “Do you like theatre?”
The question catches me completely off guard.
I blink at him for a second, then melt under one of his grins, with that damn dimple, and give the honest answer.
“Yeah, I actually do. Even if Maddie and I don’t go that often.”
He looks at me, mouth agape, borderline scandalised.
“Wait, why not? You two live in the middle of the West End anddon’ttake advantage of it?”
“Maddie’s got events to attend two or three nights a week.
It’s all part of the job. Her bosses expect her to show up at everything, so it’s not really optional… And Saturday nights, we’re usually out with our friends.
Doesn’t leave much time for anything else.”
He nods, thoughtful.
“That sounds exhausting…
I mean, I get being busy, I have midweek performances sometimes, solo or with the Philharmonic, but that’s part of the work.
Going to endless networking events? That would drain me.”
“Exactly,” I say, letting out a short laugh. “That’s why I don’t always go with her. Putting on a suit after a full day at uni? Sometimes it’s just too much.”
By now we’ve left the tube and we’re walking back to the flat, slow and unhurried. I circle back to his question, genuinely curious. “Why’d you ask about theatre? Is there something you want to see?”
He smiles again, this time a little shyly, then finally blurts it out: “If you’re free tomorrow night… would you come see a play with me? Theatre’s one of the things I missed most about England. Paris has great shows too, of course, but… it’s just not the same.”
