Groaning, I awoke to an empty bed, my hand searching just to be certain. The room bathed in sunlight that creept in through the layer of bright snow that was now starting to melt. For a moment, I lay there, the warmth of the sheets still holding the faint scent of Anna. It was oddly comforting and unfamiliar, a stark contrast to the usual cold hotel rooms or the sterile environments of backstage areas. An even larger contrast to the smell of my own bed.
Dragging myself out of bed, I padded quietly into the kitchen. The space was a cozy haven, filled with the quiet hum of the city that had been awake for some times, as it was almost twelve. A smile fell over me as I was met with the kitchen. She once more went out of her way to comfort me. On the table, a simple breakfast had been set out: a box of cereal, a bowl, a spoon, and a bottle of milk. Beside them, a bag from the bakery contained fresh croissants, their flaky, buttery aroma instantly uplifting. It made me think about the ones from in Ostend, the ones I to this day still crave every so often.
Next to the breakfast lay a note in Anna's handwriting. I picked it up, my heart skipping as I read her words:
"Good morning, Richard! I'm sorry for the lack of a fancy breakfast, but I hope you enjoy the cereal and croissants. There's orange juice in the fridge, and if you'd like coffee, feel free to make some. I'm off to work now, but feel free to stay as long as you like. Just close the door behind you if you head out before I return. - Johanna"
Her note was simple, yet it struck me deeply. It was a kindness I hadn't experienced before, especially not from a fan. Most encounters in my world were high-energy and surface-level, driven by adoration or demands. Anna had shown me a different side—thoughtful and genuinely caring. It was this stark contrast that left me feeling unsettled yet profoundly moved.
As I poured myself a bowl of cereal and took a bite of the croissant, I reflected on the odd sensation of comfort and unease that had settled over me. Her gesture wasn't grand, but it was thoughtful in a way that made me feel valued as a person rather than just a rockstar. It was a strange feeling, this mix of longing and confusion. I had always been the one giving, always on stage, but here I was, receiving something that felt real and sincere.
The orange juice was refreshing, and I felt a pang of regret that I didn't fully understand these new emotions I was experiencing. I had never allowed myself to connect with a fan on this level, and yet, Anna had managed to break through the barriers I'd built around myself. It wasn't just about the physical attraction; it was about the way she made me feel loved and seen.
I knew I was grappling with something unfamiliar. The way she made me feel—cherished rather than just admired—was both exhilarating and disorienting. It was a stark departure from the typical whirlwind of fame and fandom I was used to. As I finished my breakfast, the absence of her presence in the apartment felt like a tangible loss.
The kitchen was a revelation in itself. The plates were mismatched, each one a different pattern and color, like a personal collection she had built over time. It struck me how these little details spoke volumes about her—her individuality, her preferences. The mugs were another story; there were at least a dozen different ones, each with a unique design. It was as if every morning she had a new story to choose from, depending on her mood.
After breakfast, I put the dishes I'd used in the sink. I should wash them, I thought while staring at them, because she would. The thought of her offering to do the dishes in the lounge resurfaced, putting a smile on my face. It also made me think of her standing in this exact spot in her quiet routine of doing the dishes herself, it made me realize how much I missed her presence already. It was a small gesture, but it felt important—almost like a way to honor the kindness she'd shown me.
As I scrubbed the dishes, the warm water felt soothing against my hands. I glanced around at the little personal touches that decorated the kitchen—framed photos on the wall, a well-loved cookbook with its pages worn from use. It was a snapshot of her life, her world. It was grounding and oddly intimate, seeing her in these everyday moments.
I noticed a small, neatly organized spice rack, and a jar of tea with a handwritten label. It was these small, seemingly insignificant details that made her life feel so real and accessible. It made me realize that behind the fan and the excitement, she was a person with her own routines and quirks. The thought was comforting and unsettling all at once.
With the kitchen tidy, I got dressed, grabbed my things, and prepared to leave. I took one last look around the apartment, taking in the personal touches that now held a significance I hadn't anticipated. It felt like a brief glimpse into a different world, one where I wasn't just a rockstar but someone who was cared for in a way that was both new and profoundly meaningful.
As I went to close the door behind me, something popped into my head, causing me to curse, "Scheiße" I burst back into the apartment before it was too late. A note—I should leave something... and my number, I thought, realizing we still hadn't exchanged those.
I rummaged through the kitchen drawers, looking for paper and a pen. Finally, I found a notepad and a pen that was almost out of ink. Scribbling down a quick message, I hoped it would convey how much I appreciated her hospitality.
"Johanna,
Thank you for everything.
We forgot to exchange phone numbers, so here is mine—let's not lose touch.
Richard [phone number]"
I placed the note on the kitchen counter, weighed down by one of her quirky mugs. Taking a final glance around the cozy space, I smiled, feeling a strange mix of gratitude and longing. As I closed the door behind me, I felt a sense of anticipation, hoping our paths would cross again soon.
