Reunion at the Festival

Translated from my original German short story "Wiedersehen auf dem Stadtfest". This is a brief, dreamlike narrative about unexpected encounters and fleeting connection. If that's not your world, feel free to pass by.

------

It's a warm summer afternoon. You're walking through the cobbled streets of the old town, surrounded by the joyful chaos of the annual city festival. Music drifts through the air, people laugh, and the space between food stalls and glowing lights is packed with moving bodies. You try to enjoy the atmosphere, but being alone makes it hard.

Then you spot her.

A face you know -- Linda. It seems impossible. She moved away long ago. But there's no mistaking that smile. The one that once enchanted you. The one you never quite forgot.

You haven't spoken in ages. What you had wasn't long, but it was special -- two kindred spirits brushing against each other in the vastness of the universe. You fell deeply for her, but she didn't return those feelings. Misunderstandings followed. Pain. Distance. Your friendship shattered into silence.

And yet... there she is. Alive and radiant. Hair in a ponytail. Casual T-shirt. Shorts. Not made up, not trying -- just effortlessly beautiful in a way only she could be.

She hasn't seen you. But you can't look away.

Your body answers the question before your mind does: you start walking toward her.

When your eyes meet, her expression is one of surprise -- mixed, unreadable. Her gaze holds a flicker of uncertainty, as if unsure what to feel. You greet each other politely. The tension is tangible. You speak. The words come slowly at first -- tentative, careful. You recall the beauty of what once was, but can't avoid what came after. There are wounds between you, and your voices carry traces of them. You try to explain: you had loved her, honestly. You had only ever wanted the best for her. The ending wasn't rejection, only misreading.

Around you, the crowd thickens. A popular attraction nearby draws more people in. You can't see it -- only hear laughter, music, excitement. Pressed together by the crowd, you fade from notice. No one pays you any attention.

Something begins to shift.
The emotional fog lifts.
The old spark, buried under hurt, flickers again.

You're pushed closer.
Instinctively, your hands find her waist.
She touches your shoulder for balance.
And neither of you lets go.

Your bodies brush. Then settle into one another. It's hesitant, unsure -- but tender. Her cheek touches yours. Your hands drift under her shirt. Her fingers graze your skin. She raises her arms and lets you remove her top. She's not wearing a bra. And for a suspended moment, the world seems to hold its breath.

Your lips touch her chest.

And then hers find yours.

A kiss.
Curious at first. Then real. Deep. Hungry.
Breathless.

One by one, your barriers fall. Clothes join the ground.
In the chaos of the crowd, somehow no one sees you. Or maybe they do -- but you no longer care.

You are drawn together, physically and emotionally, as if all that ever stood between you dissolves in that moment. Her heat, her breath, the way she fits against you -- it's overwhelming. She lifts her leg around your hips. You guide yourself to her, and your bodies become one.

The connection is slow, tender, deliberate.
Each movement speaks of something lost and rediscovered.
Each gaze says what words never could.

Time dissolves.
So tuneful is your rhythm that even the noise around you fades.
You are not two people anymore -- you are a single, quiet flame burning in the crowd's shadow.

Only gradually do you become aware of the outside world again.
You notice whispers, glances, cameras. But they don't break the moment. In fact, their presence only sharpens your desire. You pull her closer, move with her more urgently, feel the rising heat of completion.

Pressed against a wall, bodies trembling, eyes wide with wonder and disbelief, you reach the summit together -- exhaling, shaking, held in the gravity of shared release.

You hold each other. Breathing. Quiet.
The world is still spinning, but you're no longer part of it.

Eventually, you pull apart. Wordlessly. You gather your clothes, side by side, still naked among the onlookers. Some gasp. Others cheer. You ignore them. You are walking through them like two rebels in a dream.

You glance sideways at her.
The beautiful body beside you still glows with warmth.
Between her thighs, the evidence of your union slips down her leg.

At the bus stop, the moment ends.
You must part.

She turns to you one last time, the curve of her body against yours, almost drawing you back in. But the bus arrives. She steps away.

From behind the window, she looks at you. A gaze full of everything not said.

The doors close.

She's gone.

And only then... you remember you should probably get dressed.