Forelsket

Here and now

Type wakes up smiling at a new day: cold but beautiful. The beautiful one from the very thought that tonight, unless the elements or some other heavenly forces interfere, he will start a new milestone in his life and give an important piece of the past to the best man in the world.

For a whole year, Type has not been here. But did he live even a day without thinking about this place and who it connected him to... Type knows the default answer.

For a whole year, "how are you?", "don't forget to dress warmly?" - "we have plus twenty-five, Tharn, it's you who'd better dress warmly."

Sometimes the time difference slipped out of his head and Type, looking at the night sky, dialed Tharn, "You can see it too, can't you, that star winking at us?"-"Sorry, Type, but it's still daytime, I'll come out later and take a look, okay?"

A whole year of adventure, which at the beginning seemed only an unfulfilled dream: with the help of friends, relatives, just caring people on the net, to raise the sum necessary to buy a house. Perhaps now Type really understands the meaning of "Norway is very dear to its Norwegians."

A whole year's journey to himself. Tharn was right: there was no instant healing, because Type had stretched for almost ten years what was not worth it, given his past more than one night. But with each new morning, Type learned to find joy in trifles - an airy milk foam on a cappuccino, or raindrops stuck in a peony bud.

Tharn...

Today, Type, smiling at his idea, dials it first:

"Hiya! Are you busy?"

"Hi, Type. Oh, there's such news!"

"Mm... and what is it?"

"I told you the other day that some foreigner bought that house on the island. Actually, I was told that the travel agency no longer needs my services. And today they call and ask to take the groceries. It's weird.... They are not a delivery service, and this is not their tourist."

"Well, you never know, Tharn."

"Yeah. So I'm really busy right now, would you mind if we talk later? If you sleep, I won't bother you. We can do it tomorrow. Yes?"

"Of course, Tharn. Shall I call you then?"

"Sure!"

There's a knock on the door. The familiar three long strokes and one short one.

"T-type?.. But what about it?.. How are you here..."

"Mm... not even hugging to begin with?"

The smell of the sea and its gifts, a slightly prickly sweater from long wear and the hot breath of Tharn.

"Why don't you say something? Aren't you happy to see me at all?"

Tharn pats him on the back.

"Very happy.. But I don't understand... Are you the one who settled here? Did the new owner rent the house to you?"

"No," Type pulls away, briefly leaving Tharn, and then returns with documents, one of which he hands to the man. "I bought this house from the previous owners. This is a donation for him. The house is yours again, Tharn. And that's what we're going to do now: You come to your senses for now - I see you need it -and I'll go for a walk. I wanted to listen to the leaves rustling under my feet."

When Type returns, with cold ears and a perky blush on his sandy cheeks, he finds Tharn bent over his childhood treasures. And judging by the way his shoulders are shaking, he's crying quietly. Type kneels down in front of him and, hugging him by the neck, pulls him to himself: