“But I’m not Ukrainian.”

“You don’t have to be. You just have to enjoy being Ukrainian.”

I laughed. “But I don’t know how to be Ukrainian.”

“Don’t worry, I’ll be your personal guide.”

Before I knew it, John had signed me up and paid my fee. Before I left the table, he put a membership card in my hand and asked if I would meet him at the Den later. This cute guy was grinning at me with a dimple in one cheek. I couldn’t say no.

As I walked away, my friend Gabby appeared with two shawarmas in her hands.

“I waited for fifteen minutes and figured I would get you one. Now I see what was holding you up!”

“Thanks, Gabby. I’m starving!” I declared, finishing off the perogies and grabbing the shawarma from her hand.

“Thanks for sharing,” Gabby said. “Uh-uh, you’re not getting off that easy! Who was that cute guy you were talking to?”

“His name’s John. He was just recruiting me to join the Ukrainian Students’ Society.”

“Is that all?”

“Well, I tried my first perogy ever.”

“Are you serious? You’ve never had a perogy before? Okay, wait, focus. What else?”

“I’m meeting him at the Den after his last class today.”

“Lily! That’s so exciting!”

My first date with John happened so quickly that I didn’t have time to prepare or overthink it. Gabby and I had lunch together, and then I went to class. Before I left, she gave me the rose-coloured cardigan she was wearing, adorned with pink pearl buttons, to cover my shirt stained with the garlic sauce that dripped from my shawarma.

“For your date,” she said. “Call me as soon as you get home.”

I laughed and hugged her before walking to the Den, where I waited for twenty minutes before John arrived. He apologized and informed me that I had learned my first lesson: Ukrainians are known for being late. Ukrainian time, he called it. I wasn’t impressed but forgave him after he told me he was delayed because he was helping a panicked first-year student find her class through the labyrinth of hallways connecting the buildings on campus. He joked he was glad he never took up pre-med like this tearful new student. We decided to order some nachos and beer.

After clinking our glasses together, John said, “So I haven’t seen you around. I’m guessing you’re not a poli sci student like me. What are you taking?”

“You are correct. I’m in management but …” I avoided John’s gaze and grabbed a chip from my plate.

“But?” John said, catching my gaze as I admired the long eyelashes framing his green eyes.

“I guess it wasn’t my first choice, to be honest—as a major.”

“If it’s not your first choice, then why are you doing it?” John asked as he filled our glasses from the pitcher of beer.

“My dad. He wants me to have a good job after university. It’s the practical choice.” I shrugged.