café at the town hall

The walk across John-F.-Kennedy-Platz felt like treading on glowing coals. With every step, the coarse denim, unbuffered by any protective layer of cloth beneath, scraped mercilessly against the polished surgical steel. The friction sent sharp, brief jolts lancing through my pelvis, and my lips still felt numb—coated with the taste Loona had left on my tongue like an invisible brand.

The café across from Rathaus Schöneberg was busy this Sunday afternoon. The muffled clatter of coffee cups, the hiss of the espresso machine, and the lazy Sunday murmur of families and couples met me as I pushed open the glass door.

Timo was already seated at a small wooden table by the window. Wearing a dark blue bomber jacket over a grey hoodie, he sat with his knees spread wide, grinning as he scrolled through his phone—the very picture of effortless, unburdened ease.

Catching sight of me, he sprang up with energy and thrust out a hand.

"John, my man! There you are." He gripped my hand firmly, pulled me into one of those typically boisterous bro-hugs, and clapped me roughly twice on the back.

Every blow resonated through my torso right down to the healing welts on my thighs. Forcing my facial muscles into an easy smile, I returned the handshake and swallowed dryly. My mouth felt parched.

"Hey, Timo. You look great," I managed. My voice sounded surprisingly steady, almost casual—the mask held.

"I feel like the king of the world, dude," he grinned, dropping back into his chair and waving down the server. "Sit down! I've already knocked back a double espresso, but I need another. You're having something, right?"

I eased myself slowly onto the wooden chair. The hard surface immediately jammed the edges of the micro-casing brutally against my pubic bone. A dull ache shot into my groin; resting both hands on the tabletop, I exhaled imperceptibly through my nose.

"A cappuccino, please," I told the waitress as she stepped up to take the order.

The moment the woman was out of earshot, Timo leaned across the table, his eyes bright. He could barely contain himself; energy practically poured out of him.

"Dude, I swear to you… Nadja. I don't even know where to start." He laughed, shaking his head, almost incredulous at his own luck. "First we grabbed drinks in Kreuzberg. Honestly, I thought she was this aloof, untouchable type—you know her a bit through your stepsister, right?"

My heart skipped a beat. The taste of Loona seemed to flare back across my tongue with sudden heat.

"Yeah… in passing," I answered, fingers curling tightly around the edges of the paper napkin. "Loona and she have known each other for a while."

"Anyway," Timo went on, his voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper that hit me right in the gut, "she takes me back to her place. And dude, the second that door clicked shut, the woman completely transformed. Absolutely uninhibited. She practically took the reins—in the best way imaginable."

He leaned back, laughing, shaking his head, rubbing a flat hand over the back of his neck.

"Just last night… we were lying in bed, and she brought out things in me I didn't even know I was into. I swear I kept her up half the night. The woman just can't get enough. I woke up this morning and my whole body aches from how hard she ran me."

I stared at him. My eyes locked onto his lips, his gaze, the triumphant sheen across his brow.

The images detonated in my mind. I could picture the exact room. The wide bed. Nadja's gaze—that ice-cold, condescending look she had leveled down at me while I knelt mute, steel clamped between my thighs, unworthy of even breathing the same air. And here sat Timo, my best friend, fancying himself Berlin's greatest conqueror, completely oblivious to the fact that he was nothing more than an instrument. A trained stud the women directed at will to grind me down.

Beneath the table, my lower abdomen tightened under a wave of perverse, suffocating degradation. My flesh strained in vain against the unyielding walls of the surgical steel. The pain was sharp, almost numbing, yet it pulled the ground right out from under me. I was the loser here—and at the same time, the only one who saw the entire board.

"Sounds… intense," I forced out. My hand reached for the coffee cup the waitress had just set down. The hot milk foam brushed my lips, and Loona's words echoed with brutal precision through my mind: *Remember where your mouth just was.*

"Intense doesn't even cover it, man!" Timo laughed, slapping his palm against the wood. "I really think this could turn into something longer. She said this morning she wants to see me again next weekend. Maybe she'll bring Loona along and the four of us can grab a drink? What do you think?"

A cold shiver crept down my spine. The noose was tightening, the web of control and humiliation drawing completely closed around my life.

"We… we could definitely do that," I said, forcing an encouraging nod. "Really happy for you, Timo. Truly."

He studied me for a second, his expression turning briefly attentive. "Hey, you alright? You look a little pale around the gills. Did you spend the whole weekend hunched over books again?"

"A bit," I lied, taking a sip to buy time. "Anatomy practical coming up. A lot of material."

"You always stress yourself out way too much over that stuff," he waved off good-naturedly, reaching for his cup. "You've gotta let loose once in a while, John. Go find yourself a woman who'll set your head straight. Trust me, it unlocks entirely new energy."

I offered a faint smile.

Right then, my phone gave a silent buzz in my jacket pocket.

Drawing it out beneath the table, I shielded the display and glanced down. A text from Mira.

*Mira: "Hope you're holding your own at the café. Remember who you belong to. I booked a table for lunch tomorrow. Bring your notes—and don't be late to the Charité."*

The words settled like a soothing balm across my overstimulated nerves.

The corrosive shame that Timo's boasting had stirred up instantly lost its paralyzing venom. Timo sat before me believing he had conquered the world. But he was a blind man walking in circles.

I, on the other hand, had been sealed, dominated, and stripped down to the bone—yet tomorrow I would be sitting at the Charité. Not with Loona, not with Nadja, but with Mira. A woman who held my leash, challenged my intellect, and took me exactly as I was.

"Yeah," I said quietly, meeting Timo's gaze directly as I slipped the phone away. "You're probably right. Sometimes you just have to give in to it."

Timo studied me over the rim of his cup, his eyebrows arching slightly. My quick glance at the screen and the subtle smile hadn't slipped past him.

"Why the guilty grin?" he pressed in that teasing, probing tone. "Let me guess: wasn't the anatomy practical, was it?"

Tucking the phone deep into my pocket, I leaned back a fraction—as far as the rigid bite of the micro-casing against my pubic bone permitted—and looked straight at him. The mask of the inhibited loner I had worn before him for years developed a crack, but what showed through wasn't weakness.

"Actually… there is someone," I said calmly.

Timo's eyes went wide. His spoon clattered against the saucer. "What? You're messing with me. Since when? Who?"

"Mira," I answered, the name rolling off my tongue with astonishing, warm ease. "She's in my year, we're in the same study group. We went out together yesterday evening. At *Borchardt*."

For a moment, complete silence fell over our table. Timo stared at me as though I had just informed him in Latin that I was flying to Mars. Then a booming, incredulous laugh burst out of him, turning the heads of patrons at neighboring tables. He slammed an open palm down onto the tabletop.

"At *Borchardt*? You? Dude!" he sputtered, shaking his head in disbelief, regarding me with fresh respect. "No half measures, huh? Well, how'd it go? Spill!"

"Really well," I replied, and this time there was no need to fake the emotion. The memory of her face in the candlelight, her calm, demanding presence, and the moment she held me close on her sofa stood crystal clear in my mind. "We talked for hours. She's… extraordinary. Intelligent, direct, knows exactly what she wants. It just clicked."

"Damn, John, I'm insanely happy for you," Timo said sincerely, genuine camaraderie settling into his eyes. Reaching for his glass of water, he raised it briefly in a silent toast. "About time you came out of your shell. Do we get to meet her soon? Double date with me and Nadja?"

A subtle shiver ran down the nape of my neck—that familiar, dark tingling. The scene flashed through my mind: Nadja, fully aware of who and what I was; Timo, the oblivious blowhard; and Mira, sitting at the head of the table, commanding me with a single glance, orchestrating the entire dynamic with quiet, effortless composure.

"We'll see," I said with a measured, faint smile. "One thing at a time. We're seeing each other at the university tomorrow."

"Solid, man. Truly, absolutely solid." Timo checked his sports watch, drained his espresso in one last gulp, and grabbed his bomber jacket. "I've gotta run too, promised Nadja I'd help her with groceries. She wants me to cook—don't ask, I basically only know pasta with pesto, but for that woman, I'll figure out coq au vin."

Standing up, he tossed a ten-euro note onto the table and clapped me firmly on the shoulder once more.

"Charité tomorrow, dude. Keep me posted!"

"Will do. See you tomorrow, Timo."

I watched him push through the glass door and disappear toward the U-Bahn with a spring in his step. A free man who believed himself master of his universe—and yet had no idea he was merely an extra reading lines from a script written by others.

I sat for a few more minutes, finished my cappuccino, and settled the bill.

When I stepped back outside, dusk had bathed Schöneberg in a cold, violet light. The wind cut through my sweater, and the coarse denim of my jeans rubbed unyieldingly against the edges of the surgical steel. Yet my stride no longer felt heavy.

I took the U-Bahn to Steglitz. In my room, I pulled the old duffel bag out from under the bed. With methodical calm, I packed shirts, trousers, textbooks, and my clinical notes.

In the hallway, Loona leaned against the wall, arms crossed, silently watching me pull the zipper shut.

"Well?" she asked softly. "Did he buy it?"

"Completely," I answered, looking her dead in the eye. "He's already planning a double date with Nadja, Mira, and me."

A dark, undisguised amusement flared in Loona's eyes. She nodded slowly, almost approvingly.

"Perfect. You learn fast, John." Stepping aside, she cleared the way to the front door.