Every year around October, I start thinking of you and our walks around Rotterdam. I still remember that first evening you invited me to join you — I considered saying no, but something inside me pushed me to say yes.
So there I was, dressed in four layers, still shivering.
That feels like yesterday. We stepped out of our house in Kralingen and made an unspoken pact to explore Rotterdam, street by street, evening by evening, marking new areas on our map. Maze-like streets paved with cobblestones tangled themselves between tall, Dutch houses with even taller windows. Lakes quietly tucked in between the homes, where swans floated peacefully, hidden parks and benches meandered behind the narrow facades.
The air that day was so cold I could see my breath. Yet your presence and our conversation kept me warm. Every step we took led us further down Kralingen’s mazes as yellow and orange leaves crunched under our boots.
That first evening, we talked of our home countries and the people we left behind: “How is Rotterdam?” “How long are you staying?” “Do you want to come back?” We were almost shy to admit the truth — that we were terribly homesick and scared of living in any other country on our own.
Our walks from October to March were incredibly solitary. I remember hearing only our own voices and laughter bouncing off the high walls of the homes we passed, rolling down the street ahead of us.
Once the sun went down and the temperatures dropped, the city didn’t dare step outside. Yet there we were — there was something about walking at night that made us speak in softer tones, almost like we were afraid to disturb the stillness around us.
In February, we stumbled upon what would become our spot for the first time. Nestled in between the sleeping buildings, we were greeted by the water’s gentle ripples and aging boats swaying silently, whispering tales of the sea to each other. As we looked at each other, we shared a quiet understanding between ourselves and this place, that we’d make it our own.
Sitting on the cobblestone with our feet dangling over the water, we talked about our childhood dreams and where we were in life now.
You told me you wanted to be a wildlife photographer, I told you I always dreamed of writing.
“What’s stopping you?” you asked.
That was a good point — nothing was.
Pointing at an apartment building on the other side of the canal, you asked me about who lives there. I didn’t know, but I had to entertain you, since you wouldn’t have it any other way.
That evening, Rotterdam held its breath for us.
Each window became a canvas, each passing shadow our unsuspecting protagonist. We imagined DJs in Berlin, history professors from Edinburgh, students cramming for exams and lovers separated by oceans.
Our stories kept us company through the cool evenings of early spring. We must have invented hundreds of them, one for each person that crossed our path, inviting them into our own. In the absence of the sun’s warm embrace, we found comfort in the stories we created for them.
In this way, we could escape the cold and reality’s weight, if only for a little while, sheltered in our quiet companionship.
Once April came around, we started noticing people gradually returning to the streets, their laughter intertwining with ours. The city was no longer lonely and the days grew longer and warmer. From our little corner of the world, we watched Rotterdam change with the seasons. And what a truly beautiful thing we had witnessed — the soul of a city changing right in front of our eyes.
People gathered every evening in Scheepmakershaven’s streets, heating up barbecues, laughing, jumping in the water. The whispering boats were now filled with families and friends, their voices carrying across the water, ringing out over the sound of music — the city was awakening from its slumber.
As the cold returns, I think of those nights more often. Kralingen may no longer be our maze to explore, but our stories live forever within the spiralling streets of the city.
We found light at night in each other, found warmth in the cool breeze in our own little corner of the world.
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