As I walked up to the counter, I felt the hair on my arms bristle as snapshots came into focus in my mind: Vinca’s bright laugh, the gap between her front teeth, her floaty dresses, her paradoxical beauty, the detached gaze she affected. At Dino’s place, she drank Cherry Cokes in summer and mugs of hot chocolate with marshmallows in winter.

“What can I get you?”

I couldn’t quite believe it; the café was still run by the same Polish-Italian couple, Dino (obviously) and Hannah Valentini. Dino had gained weight and gone bald, and Hannah’s blond hair had faded and her face was lined. But with age, they seemed somehow better suited to each other. This is the leveling effect of time: dazzling beauty fades while more banal features acquire a luster and a patina.

“Coffee, please. A double espresso.”

I let the words hang in the air for a moment, then stirred up the past, conjuring Vinca’s ghost: “Oh, and a Cherry Coke—ice and a straw.”

For a second I thought that one of the Valentinis might recognize me. Both my father and mother had been deans of the faculty at Saint-Exupéry from 1990 to 1998. He managed the lycée and she ran the preparatory classes for the Grandes Écoles, which meant they were entitled to campus housing, so I was often to be found holed up in Dino’s. For a couple of free rounds of Street Fighter, I’d help Dino clean up the stockroom or make the famous frozen custard recipe he’d gotten from his father. But when the elderly Italian took my money and handed me the drinks, there was no spark of recognition in his weary eyes.

The place was three-quarters empty, which, even for a Saturday morning, was surprising. Back in my day, there were a lot of boarders at Saint-Ex, some of whom stayed through the weekend. I made the most of the empty room and sat at the table Vinca and I had always preferred, the one at the end of the terrace, under the sweet-scented pines. Just as celestial bodies are drawn to each other, so Vinca had always taken the chair facing the sun. Now, tray in hand, I sat down in my usual spot, facing away from the trees. I took my cup of coffee and set the Cherry Coke in front of the empty chair.

The PA system was playing an old REM hit, “Losing My Religion.” Most people think it’s a song about faith; actually, it’s about the pain of unrequited love. The helplessness of a boy saying to the girl he loves, Hey, look, I’m here! Why can’t you see me? A neat summary of my own life story.