At five o’clock I was getting ready. I didn’t want to overexaggerate my make-up: it would look weird to have a lot on. My lips were shiny thanks to the lip-gloss, and my eyes were shadowed with olive green. One last look in the mirror and I was off. What to expect? For once I was trying to go with the flow, let myself be more or less surprised.

Apparently he knew the two girls and the guy pretty well. Their inside jokes seemed far from funny. Marteen seemed occupied with them. A few metres behind the happy group, I’m thinking: “Why am I even here? They don’t seem interested in me at all!” Then some more puzzling, possibly worrying ideas. “Third wheel in a five-person group is fun! Should I hide behind a tree, see how long it will take for them to notice I ‘m missing!?”

Deep in my thoughts, he finally came to me, and we started to talk about everyday things. As he was quite good-looking, talkative and funny, I had difficulties concentrating on what he was saying. I couldn’t help thinking, “could this be happening to me? A guy who is handsome, charming, and has a good sense of humour, seems to be interested in me.” Conversation was going great. He seemed interested in me. I felt the same.

At one point the conversation turned to relationships. I generally find listening to all people’s relationship experiences very interesting. I thought, “now we’re talking” as he started to talk about what he wants in a relationship. I was loving it, already imagining us together, hand in hand into the sunset.

“Do you have a boyfriend?” he asked.
 
I was incredibly happy. Now he will know that I am officially available. For him, that is. Out of courtesy I asked him the same question. His answer: “I have been in a relationship for two years and I am still very much in love with him.”

“HIM?!?” What the hell just happened here? Did I hear correctly?” Fake smile on my face, I asked: “And what is his name?” “Nicolas” was his short reply. And we started to talk about his relationship with Nicolas.

And that was the end for my imaginary fairytale relationship. Weirdly enough I did not feel too depressed. Too many things were going on. Back at the apartment: different cultures were being brought together. The second of my three flat mates arrived, Viktoria from Russia. We understood each other pretty well if she talked Russian and I talked Slovenian. Our languages are both ‘Slavic,’ and it was fun to find more and more words we both understood.

What I remember now are a few swear words in Italian and Russian. Funny what a brain chooses to remember. Our conversation also led to our fourth flatmate, who was yet to arrive. With three girls in one room, you can only imagine what we came up with. Of the more irrational ideas, one was that the fourth flatmate would be a guy. I didn’t have a problem with that but the other two did. They both had boyfriends and said they wouldn’t feel comfortable. In the end we all agreed that they would never do that to us, ‘they’ meaning the people arranging who lives where.

Early next morning I heard the well-known sound of the front doorbell. “Must be the fourth musketeer!” I thought, and opened the door.