“It’s on us,” he said with a flick of his hand, walking over to the bar, where the waitress stood in front of a wall of foreign alcohols. She smiled at him with deference as he signed the bill and left her a tip.

Outside, in the cool air, we stood and smoked Maksio’s Marlboros, smoother than any cigarette I’d ever had. Hania looked around at us, in her catlike observing way, and asked whether we wanted to go to their country house that weekend.

“We’ll escape the city, make a little party out of it,” she said, her eyes narrowing with satisfaction, her fine mouth curling into a smile.

We all agreed, and kissed one another good night, and watched them speed off on their Vespa toward their part of town. Rafał waved down a taxi and was gone.

Then it was just you and me on the large empty avenue. We walked uptown. I reached out for your old self, waiting for our masks to wear off in the cold of the night.

“I’m so happy you came,” you said, looking at me in a loving, tipsy way, almost childish. “Wasn’t it great? What did I tell you, huh?”

I nodded. “It was great.”

We walked on, the pavements deserted. It was late. I listened out for the sound of our steps. They were almost in unison, and something serious, something important that I’d pushed down all night long, rose to the surface of my mind. I told you about my meeting with the professor, quietly, ashamed about my hopelessness. Not daring to ask anything of you, only recounting. You listened attentively.

We were on Poznańska Street, with its cobbled stones and tall prewar kamienicas and lines of prostitutes. Young ones and old ones, most in long coats with miniskirts or tight dresses showing underneath, their bodies violently stretching the fabric, threatening to break it. They called out to us while I talked, accents coarse and loud, and we walked on without looking.

“I’ll give you a special price, sweetie,” one of them cried with a clipped Silesian twang, “for such a beautiful face. And bring your friend too.”

The other women cackled like hyenas in the dark. I didn’t dare look at you. I couldn’t see anything funny in that moment. We reached the end of the street with the Palace of Culture towering before us, large, dark, and ominous, and beside it the train station, lit but seemingly empty.

You stopped and looked at me with a consolatory smile. “Don’t worry, this one is easy. You can ask Hania this weekend. At her house.”

A flash of opportunity raced through me. After that night, at the restaurant, anything seemed possible.

“Are you sure?”