Come With Me

The first time I saw you, you were sitting in the middle of Alexanderplatz. Huddled together, unwashed, with greasy hair, you hid behind a cardboard sign scrawled with a message that pierced straight through me: I’m homesick. I sat on a staircase a few meters away. You were crying, and people walked past as if you didn’t exist - or worse, avoided you like you were the filth of society. Some downright despised you. Spring hadn’t fully arrived yet, and the evenings were growing colder. I couldn’t bear to look at your miserable face any longer. So, I got up and walked toward you. Come with me. I’ll buy you dinner, I said. At first, you resisted my help. You resisted me.

Eventually, your defenses finally crumbled. You stood, brushed a strand of hair from your face with long, delicate fingers, and followed me at a respectful distance. My name is Sina, you mumbled as you stuffed a massive bite of cheeseburger into your mouth. I couldn’t help but find it disgusting. Why do you look like that? I asked, waiting for an answer and wondering, more and more, why I had brought you here in the first place. My thoughts wandered to Berlin’s nightlife - the hedonistic pull of it. At that moment, I could’ve indulged myself, given in to my desires and impulses, slipped into nirvana, and ended the night with some blow on top of cheap hipster girls in my bed.

You must’ve caught my grin because you started talking again, spilling secrets to grab my attention. Paula and I ran away from home. She’s my best friend, you said, almost choking on your food before gulping down your Coke. I felt sick - sick from your appearance, your smacking lips, and that awful smell. I went to the toilet at the train station, you continued, and when I came back, she was gone. With my backpack, my phone, and my money. That stupid bitch. A tear slid down your freckled face. For a brief moment, pity flickered inside me, reminding me why I’d brought you here in the first place. Smiling, I ordered two more meals. We talked all evening.