The days after their meeting in the library settled into a steady rhythm for Alex. School life moved along predictably—lectures, assignments, the usual swirl of teenage drama—but now there was a quiet, persistent thread running beneath it all: his collaboration with Katarina Volkov. As they'd agreed, email was their go-to for anything related to the Germany project.
Alex, in typical fashion, had wrapped up his initial research within two days. He'd put together a tight, well-organized overview of West Germany's early industrial strategy and the key figures behind it, complete with hyperlinks and a few early ideas about how their pieces might fit together.
Katarina's reply came the next night. Her email was every bit as meticulous as her library notes—clear, efficient, and brimming with insight. She'd not only nailed her sections—the social fallout of the Wirtschaftswunder and the Marshall Plan's role—but had also surfaced some surprisingly obscure academic papers and declassified reports that Alex hadn't managed to find. Her take on them was incisive, her sourcing flawless. Tucked into the email was a folder of digitized historical photos, many of them quietly haunting. He guessed some might be from her grandfather's collection.
One photo in particular stood out: a black-and-white shot of children playing among the ruins of a bombed Berlin street. In the foreground, a single flower pushed through the rubble, fragile and stubborn. The image didn't just capture post-war devastation—it suggested something more, a kind of defiant hope.
At the end of her message, after politely acknowledging his research, she'd written, "I believe our next step should be to synthesize these initial findings and begin structuring the narrative flow of the presentation. Would you be available to meet this Saturday? The library might be crowded. Perhaps a quieter venue would be more conducive?"
Alex read that part again. A quieter venue. A practical suggestion, of course—weekend libraries were notoriously noisy. Still, part of him wondered if it hinted at something else. Maybe she was getting comfortable enough to meet somewhere outside of school.
He responded quickly: "Saturday works perfectly. I agree, the library can be a bit chaotic on weekends. There's a quiet café near the station, 'The Daily Grind,' that has good coffee and isn't usually too loud. Would that suit you?" He'd been a few times. It was mellow, more locals than students.
Her confirmation came within the hour: "The Daily Grind sounds acceptable. Shall we say 2 PM?"
And so, Saturday afternoon found Alex seated by the café window, the low hum of conversation and the scent of fresh coffee creating a calm cocoon around him. He was early—he always was—laptop open, their notes on screen, though his eyes kept drifting to the door.
Katarina arrived exactly at 2:00. She was dressed down compared to school—dark jeans, a cream knit sweater that made her silvery hair almost glow, and a loosely draped scarf. She carried a slim laptop bag and a canvas tote that looked like it could hold books. Casual, but still composed. Still her.
"Nakamura-kun," she said with a small nod, scanning the café before meeting his eyes.
"Volkov-san. Glad you found it." He gestured to the seat across from him.
As she settled in, setting her bags down, he heard a soft murmur, barely audible: "Кофе… надеюсь, здесь хороший кофе. Очень нужен." Coffee… I hope they have good coffee here. I really need it.
Alex smothered a grin. Even Katarina Volkov ran on caffeine. Noted.
A waitress arrived, and Alex ordered a black coffee. He glanced across. "Would you like anything, Volkov-san?"
"A latte, please," she said gently. Then, almost to herself, she added in a whisper, "И, может быть, что-нибудь сладкое. Мозгу нужна глюкоза." And maybe something sweet. The brain needs glucose.
When the waitress returned, Alex added on impulse, "And one of those almond croissants, please." He nodded at the pastry display. He didn't really want one, but he had a hunch it would be appreciated.
Katarina looked up, eyes flickering with surprise. "Oh, you didn't have to, Nakamura-kun."
"My treat," he replied lightly. "Fuel for the brain, right?"
There was the briefest pause—had she realized he'd picked up on her Russian? Maybe not. Her surprise felt more like someone unaccustomed to small gestures. Still, Alex made a mental note to tread carefully.
A faint pink bloomed on her cheeks. "Спасибо," she murmured, the Russian word hanging gently in the space between them.
The drinks arrived, along with the croissant. She sipped her latte, eyes fluttering shut just for a second. "Да, это то, что нужно." Yes, this is what I needed. She broke off a piece of the croissant, the tension in her shoulders easing slightly.
They dove into the project. With their research done, the task now was weaving it all together. Their approaches were different—Katarina laser-focused on detail, Alex more strategic and big-picture—but the contrast worked. They balanced each other.
"I think we should start with the human side," she said, pointing to a section in their notes. "Facts matter, but so does emotion. The story of recovery is about people, not just policy. Your grandfather's photographs could help ground it."
Alex nodded. "I was thinking the same thing. If we open with a strong image or anecdote, it'll hook the audience better than statistics ever could."
Later, as they debated the Marshall Plan's implementation, Katarina scowled at her screen. "Какая запутанная аргументация. Автор явно любуется собственным слогом больше, чем стремится к ясности." What a mess of an argument. The author loves his own prose more than clarity.
Alex had read the same article. It was needlessly dense. He stifled a laugh. Her private commentary—sharp, honest—was quickly becoming one of his favorite things.
Their only friction came while discussing how to present critiques of the Wirtschaftswunder. Alex leaned toward a debate-style format, clearly presenting both sides. Katarina preferred something more woven in, subtle.
"A head-on debate feels… combative," she said, frowning. "Too blunt for a historical narrative."
"Слишком прямолинейно, это может показаться грубым. Нужно тоньше, элегантнее," she added quietly. Too straightforward, it could seem harsh. It needs to be subtler, more elegant.
Alex paused. "So you're thinking less courtroom drama, more thoughtful commentary?"
She looked at him, a flicker of surprise—and something else—crossing her face. "Exactly, Nakamura-kun. To show complexity, not conflict."
Another mind-read. He should really be more cautious.
"Okay," he said. "We'll present the critiques as evolving perspectives. It keeps the tone balanced."
Katarina nodded, clearly pleased. "Да, так гораздо лучше. Он действительно быстро соображает." Yes, that's much better. He really is quick-witted.
This time, the compliment landed. Even whispered in Russian, it warmed him.
They worked for another hour, refining the structure, assigning sections, tossing around design ideas. Alex found himself enjoying it—not just the project, but working with her. She challenged him, sharpened his thinking.
As they packed up, the late sun streamed through the window, dust swirling in golden light. Katarina carefully placed her laptop in its case, movements deliberate.
"We've made excellent progress today, Nakamura-kun," she said. Her tone was still formal, but warmer. "And… thank you. For the coffee. And the pastry." That slight blush again.
"My pleasure," he said. "Really productive session." Then, a little bolder: "Your insights were especially strong. And those photos—if you're willing to share a few, they'd really elevate the presentation."
She hesitated. Then: "Он… он был бы рад, если бы его работы увидели свет. Он всегда говорил, что фотографии – это застывшие мгновения истории, которые должны говорить с будущими поколениями." He would've been glad to know his photos were being seen. He used to say pictures are frozen moments in time meant to speak to the future.
It was the most personal thing she'd shared. A doorway, just slightly opened.
"He sounds like someone I'd have liked to meet," Alex said quietly.
She gave a small nod. "I'll pick a few tonight. You'll have them tomorrow."
"Thanks, Volkov-san. I really appreciate that."
They left the café together, stepping into the crisp afternoon. Silence settled between them—but it wasn't awkward. It felt easy, companionable.
At the station, where their paths split, she turned to him. "Until next time, Nakamura-kun."
"Looking forward to it, Volkov-san."
She paused, then gave him a small, real smile. Not just a polite one—something genuine. "Удачи с вашей частью работы." Good luck with your part of the work.
And then she was gone, swallowed into the stream of people. Alex stood for a moment, the scent of coffee and almonds still clinging to the air, her last words echoing in his mind.
He smiled. This project wasn't just an assignment anymore. It was a doorway—into stories, into histories, into her. And he found himself eager to see what came next.
[End Chapter 5]