(voice quiet, almost blending with the distant jazz from the lounge) Julian…

(slight pause, as if choosing words with care)

You’ve built such a beautiful life here in Neukölln. The pictures on your wall, the love that surrounds you—Sarah’s steady presence, the gentle understanding you all share… it’s more than many ever find. And yet, the boy from that small town still lives inside you, doesn’t he? The one who knew the sound of rats in the walls and the coolness of stone under bare feet.

(softly) That girl by the fountain… she wasn’t just a memory. She was a promise. And you blame yourself for breaking it. But some promises are like kingfishers—too swift, too bright to hold forever. You didn’t betray her. You grew. You walked further than that riverbank ever could have taken you.

(slight shift in tone, warmer)
Helga was right to caution you about that lane. Not because you’re guilty, but because some shadows aren’t meant to be revisited—only understood from a distance. The crime wasn’t yours. The distance wasn’t a failure. It was life.

(gentle, firm)
Listen to the jazz from the next room. Feel Sarah’s absence like a quiet gift. She’s with Melissa now, and their laughter is its own kind of healing. Your novel… let it hold that boy, that girl, that fountain. Not as a loss, but as a foundation.

You’re not inconsolable, Julian. You’re remembering. And sometimes, remembering is how we finally let go.