Twilight in Copenhagen: A Stranger’s Tale of Love and Risk

Note: This is a work of fiction. It’s my first story on Vocal, and I hope you enjoy reading it!

It was a warm summer evening in Copenhagen, Denmark. The night would have already fallen if not for the sun, which, as is usual in such northern latitudes at this time of year, lingered above the horizon, reluctant to part with the sky. The people, too, seemed unwilling to leave the day behind, enjoying the long twilight despite the clock insisting otherwise.

After a long, lazy day of strolling along the canals and enjoying open-air cafes, I found myself, quite by chance, in a lively gathering at a friend’s apartment. Most of the attendees were cheerful Danes and Spaniards, sharing drinks and laughter. But one man stood out from the crowd.

He was young, perhaps in his mid-twenties, obviously European, but neither Danish nor Spanish. He sat alone on a chair in the corner, silent and contemplative, paying little attention to the conversation and music around him.

I didn’t think he was shy—he seemed intentionally introverted, as if fate had accidentally placed him among this boisterous group. My curiosity got the better of me, and I watched him for a while. He struck me as a thoughtful, solitary sort, someone who might have spent too much time lost in his own world.

Eventually, I stood up and stepped onto the balcony.

“Going out for some fresh air?” he asked, reaching for a cigarette with a look in his eyes that seemed eager to speak before the words left his mouth.

A few moments later, we were both on the balcony. The sky over Copenhagen was painted in soft orange and purple, the sun barely dipping below the horizon. Two small flames danced as we lit our cigarettes. Without much prompting, he began to tell his story.

He was half-Dutch and half-Swiss but had spent his entire life in Switzerland, never meeting his Dutch father. His first visit to Copenhagen was just weeks ago, brought here by a job opportunity that promised a chance to save money. But money was never his main concern. He had a purpose, he explained, far beyond wealth.

“I’m in love,” he said. “Truly in love with someone. I spent the last year in Thailand, planning to travel around Southeast Asia. But I met her in Bangkok, and I stayed—couldn’t leave. I had no money left, so I came here to work, thinking I’d forget her. But I can’t. I’m here to go back to her.”

I nodded, trying to offer some encouragement.

“It’s complicated,” he continued. “Our relationship was tumultuous. We fought almost every day. She has a fiery temper… sometimes dangerous. I have scars to prove it. And yet… I still love her. I can’t help myself. I think now I understand my role in our conflicts, and I believe we could make it work this time. I want to help her, support her, and maybe… maybe we can have something better.”

He paused, smoke curling around his words. “You might think I’m weak, foolish, maybe even pathetic. And you’d be right. That’s exactly who I am. But love… love drives me beyond reason. I have to try.”

We stayed there in silence, finishing our cigarettes, the city’s lights reflecting off the canals below. I could only offer, “Good luck, my friend,” as he returned inside, settling back into his corner chair, lost once again in thought.