Seven years ago


I met you 7 years and 14 days ago. It was night, in Uppsala. We saw each other again two days later, I did not recognize you. The universe loved me, and you did remember me. “Hej hur mor du?“. Your first words. I will never forget them. I will never forget the sound of your voice. I will always keep in my mind the surprised look in your eyes.

I heard your name. I never remember names. Never — it is embarrassing. I love business cards. You did not have one, you just said your name. The universe loved me even more: there is no other person in all the country having your same name.

I searched for you in the university database. I found your email.
I wrote.

Hej hej N***!

Not so many N*** in Uppsala! Hence I guess that you are the pharmacist living in Flogsta, S*** 11-

Actually I did not recognized you when we met this night in the IKA Vest. I am always so bad in recognizing people and in remember names! Thus it happens often that people cheer me, and I look around wondering “who are they cheering!?” 🙂

How long have you lived here in Flogsta? I just moved this summer. It is quite a small room, but at least I have my own kitchen. Being Italian I can survive everywhere in the world if I can prepare (real) coffee in the morning and if I can cook my own pasta in the night! And here in Flogsta I can do both! 🙂

See you in the laundry!


You wrote me back.

Hej Riccardo!
ya its me, the pharmacist living in 11. How are you doing? i am glad that you wrote and i got surprised! I“v been here in Flogsta more than a year by now! it wasn“t that easy the first period moving here to Uppsala because i am from Stockholm, and i like Stockholm much more. But now i am used to it and i have new friends here and i started to accept that this would my home in the next coming years.
I saw you in the Ica-väst and remembered you and said hi and it was nice talking to you. have a nice evening…
See you in the laundry!


I waited for you in the rain

We exchanged three more messages, one per day. Then, I did not hear back from you for three incredibly long nights. “She gonna have a boyfriend” — I thought. I was sad. C’est la vie, she was too cute to be true. The fourth night, it was midnight, a new number calling my mobile. It was you. We talked. Till the morning. Your credit finished at some point. I had to call you back. I made fun of you. And you were laughing.
We set a date.

I waited for you under the rain. It was a Friday afternoon. In Uppsala, the rain of late October could be really wet. You did not show up. I got your text message one hour later. Sorry, I did not make it. I went home, I did dry myself.


Saturday night

Saturday night, the day after. You wrote me again. How are you doing? Fine, what about you? I am studying at a friend’s house. I am working in a Nation. When do you finish? At one. Let’s meet. Why not.

I rushed home. I took a shower, changed my shirt, brushed my teeth. We met at 1 am. Let’s have a coffee. Where? At my Department — we have free coffee there. It was the middle of the night, you did not care — I got it then that you were a special person. We drove there. The university was silent, dark and empty. We sat in the room with the best view over the city. We talked all the night.

Do you date someone? No, I don’t. What about you?

We hugged on the stairs, on our way back home.
Seven in the morning, a new day was already there.

Seven years ago.


These photos

The author of these beautiful images is Indian photographer Suresh Natarajan:

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