Three days. For three days, the empty ceramic plate sat on his small table, a silent monument to the woman across the hall. For three days, Karl performed the rituals of Matthias Vogel, but his focus was fractured. The city noises, the scents from the market, everything seemed to hold a double meaning, amplified by the persistent hum beneath his skin: the need to see her again.
On the fourth evening, the impulse crystallized into action. He'd purchased a bottle of wine—a local Riesling, not too expensive, not too ostentatious. Respectful. Neutral. He wasn't quite sure why he chose the Riesling. It was just…the right thing, he supposed.
He stood in front of his door, the quiet hallway stretching before him, a space that felt both familiar and impossibly vast. He ran a hand through his hair, a nervous gesture that Matthias Vogel would never have made. He forced himself to stop. He needed to be Matthias Vogel. The man who didn't demand attention, the man who didn't crave connection.
Taking a deep breath, he crossed the quiet hallway. The distance felt immense, a tangible barrier between the carefully constructed life of Matthias Vogel and the raw, desperate yearning of Karl. He raised his hand and knocked, the sound firm but polite.
He heard soft footsteps within. A lock disengaged. The door opened to reveal Elara, dressed in comfortable-looking trousers and a soft knit sweater, her reading glasses perched on the bridge of her nose. She held a medical journal in one hand. She looked pleasantly surprised, and perhaps, a fraction more aware than usual.
"Matthias," she said, her smile warm and genuine. "Hello."
He held out the bottle of wine. "I, uh... I wanted to thank you. For the cake. It was... it was the best I've ever had." The words were stilted, a clumsy attempt at small talk. He managed a strained smile.
Her face lit up with a pleasure that seemed to make the dim hallway brighter. "Oh, you didn't have to do that! That's so kind of you." She accepted the bottle, her fingers brushing against his. The contact was fleeting, yet undeniably electric. A current. "A Riesling! My favourite. Thank you." A slight pause, and then, "I was just about to have a cup of tea after slogging through this article. Would you... would you like to join me? I'm afraid all I can offer in return are store-bought biscuits; I'm not much of a baker beyond that one cake."
The invitation was so natural, so unforced. Every survival instinct in his body shrieked. No. Distance. Isolation is safety.
But the part of him that was still Karl, the part that remembered the cold warehouse floor and the sound of her voice drawing him back from the brink, said yes. A yes with an undercurrent of something more.
"I would like that," he said, the words feeling almost foreign on his tongue. "Thank you."
He stepped across the threshold, into her home. The simple act felt monumental, a step into the unknown.