It was an unseasonably warm spring, do you remember? Seen in the context of the autumns and winter we’ve had since, I don’t think it’s unreasonable to say that we’re witnessing a shift in the climate in which every season presents itself more extremely. Hotter, wetter, drier, colder, darker. And that spring came upon us so suddenly after a relentlessly wet and stormy winter, giving us day after day of glorious sunshine and temperatures in the early twenties in mid-April. It breathed everything back to life, even me. It was like the whole city was buzzing with new love.

I did it again, two weeks after the first time. I waited for you at Kaffebrenneriet after our session, sipping a tall white Americano in the window seat. I’d gotten used to drinking my coffee just like yours by then. You didn’t come into the café, but after an hour or so, you emerged from your office and walked past on the other side of the street. That day, you wore dark-blue jeans and a white and navy striped sweater with gold buttons on the sleeves. You looked young and carefree, more like a student than a Doctor of Psychology. You were so impressive to me back then – it was like I needed to drink in every last part of you so I could retrieve them later in my mind, and emulate them. North Face orange parkas? I got one, too, but was careful to never wear it on a Friday. White and navy maritime sweater? Check. These things made me feel close to you, like if I wore them, something of you would rub off on me.

Back to that day. You headed up Bogstadveien, like the last time. I followed at a distance, keeping your glossy, high ponytail in sight. If you’d suddenly turned around and noticed me walking in the same direction some distance behind you, it wouldn’t be weird at all. I’d merely stopped at a café after our session and happened to also be walking up one of Oslo’s busiest shopping streets. You took a right at the corner of Rosenborggata, like last time. That really caught my attention. You stopped at number 11 and hesitated by the doorbells. You stood looking up at the building for a long moment, as if psyching yourself up for meeting whoever was inside. I remembered the last time, when you’d suddenly turned back around and walked away, and I had to press myself into that doorway and hope you didn’t see me.

You pressed the buzzer and disappeared inside. A couple of minutes later I went up to the door and read the names on the doorbells, but none of them gave me any clues.

Christiansen. Mikkelsrud. Tanum. Siemens. Olsen-Hoff. Rickards. Thiske. Ellingsen.