Ahead of Kate and Tilly, three girls stumbled in heels, drunkenly arguing whether or not to call an Uber. They couldn’t be much older than the seniors Kate had just bid goodnight. What an arduous struggle it had been to pull her students’ attention from the Harry Potter film playing on TV. “Girls, are you listening? Did you just hear a word of what I said?” Lexi had waved her arm, her eyes focused on the TV. “Yeah, yeah, you’re going out. You have your phone.” How did it go so quickly from four girls piled in one bed, scoffing junk food and entranced by The Chamber of Secrets, to clubbing and Ubers?

When they arrived at the café at the corner of Spencer and Flinders, like a reflex, Kate brushed a hand against the low of Tilly’s back and ushered her inside.

“Go and save us those stools by the window,” Tilly said. “I’ll order.”

Kate rested an elbow on the wide ledge and looked out at the street, trying to shake the feeling that she was like a marionette in a puppet show, so exposed there at the open bay window with her back to the rest of the café.

Tilly danced her nails across Kate’s shoulder, smiling as she pulled out the stool beside her.

The historical free city-circle tram rounded the corner, stopping for passengers to disembark at the stop in the centre of the street. At the late hour, only a handful of passengers climbed on and off. Kate smiled as a woman seated at the window of the tram quickly inserted her earphones to drown out the tram’s loudspeaker as it spewed facts about the history of Melbourne’s South Bank. As the bell rang to announce its departure, the trolley sparked to life. The tram doors closed, leaving Kate and Tilly alone with the soft jazz music of the café. “I can probably recite that entire tour in my sleep,” Tilly murmured. “I took that tram every day for four years.”

“You did?”

Tilly nodded. “I had a part-time job at the cinema on Little Collins. I’d go from uni to Federation Square and back again.” Her lips curved into a small smile. “Gosh, that feels like another lifetime.”

Their order arrived. “You know,” Tilly said when their waitress disappeared, “I haven’t had this much fun in a very long time. I love the city.”

She watched as Tilly poured her tea. The soft hairs around Tilly’s ears, too short to reach her plait, had curled in the humidity. God, she was adorable. “You liked living here? After you came back from New Guinea?”

“Oh, I loved it. Just loved it. I loved being around people and having the ACU campus to go home to at night. It wasn’t like St. Joan’s, no, but sometimes that was a good thing. At St. Joan’s, I was Tilly the Nun. In the city, I could be myself. I could be different for other reasons—for my humanitarian work, for being a student. And there was something about being in the city, amongst a sea of people, that brought me closer to God.” As she stirred sugar into her tea, she sighed. “I’ve always felt distant from other people because I hold my faith so close.” She looked up, the lines in her forehead relaxing. “But you always respected who I was. You never made me feel naïve, or prudish, never treated me as though I was sheltered. And maybe I am all of those things—I’ll be the first to admit that. But you always made me feel like my faith wasn’t all there was to me.”