So glad you made it

She takes the rubber duck out of the basket, places the plastic animal on the tray and walks to the back of the restaurant. Once she is seated, she slides the yellow-orange bird to the edge of her table. Like a piece of art. Like a playful statement. So that it is clearly visible to those who enter the food and drink establishment.

The restaurant started doing this a few months ago. For people who are alone but still want someone to talk to during lunch, coffee or dinner. A simple gesture. You place the colourful rubber duck on your table. A sign that you would like someone to keep you company during your short break. Or during a lengthy lunch.

She is too early. Way too early. But that gives her the opportunity to relax a bit. To calm down. She stirs the Chai Latte with a tiny wooden stick. She smells cinnamon, cloves, vanilla.

She sees the visitors. Businessmen, groups of young people, families with small children, couples in love. Everyone seems to be having fun. To chat, to snigger, to flirt. And that's how it should be. People need each other. Like flour needs yeast, like tea leaves need hot water. There should be movement, chemistry, attraction.

And she tried it herself. To make contact. To give a sign of life again after all those years. But it didn't click. It all seemed too forced, too imposed. Because that's how it goes with people. You can't force a relationship. No matter how much you want to. Mixing water and oil. That's how it appears to be with living souls.

That's why it's so special when it does work. The interaction, the contact, the touch, the connection. It seems so simple, so natural, There's no manual for it. No procedure or system. Yet it happens. Friendship. Falling in love. Connection. It finds its way despite all appearances, obstacles, aversion and trepidation.

Is that her desire? To be a person who is loved? A person who is recognized, known? So that she's not alone on her path, her journey? So that they can be together. With each other. Connected.

How many times has she given up? Has she thought that it is no longer useful. All those attempts, all those gestures. Where does it lead to? Frustration, rejection? It is like a lottery. Who determines the chances? How much influence do you have yourself?

She does not want to think about it. How many failures she has already experienced. And with every mistake, with every debacle, the gap only grows wider, deeper, darker. Where it first seemed like a crack, a fissure, it has now become a ravine, an abyss.

And why would she want to risk that? Her dependency, her pride, her passion? A relationship also requires vulnerability. What does she have to give up? What does she want to give up? And you do not know what you will get in return. Of course, she has her dreams, her visions. But no one can guarantee her what will come of it.

She realizes it herself. It is much more tempting to continue living in the here and now. To leave everything as it is. You know what you possess. Your peace, the perspective. Why expose yourself to pain, rejection? Why not settle for the status quo?

Until she read about this initiative. The rubber duck. It touched her how playful, how funny this gesture is. No tense fuss, no difficult start. You start with a smile. You start with a twinkle in your eyes. That's how you break the ice, that's how you come together.

Moreover, she loves this restaurant. The painted second-hand chairs, the crooked tables, the homemade lamps, the worn Persian rugs, the fine artificial flowers. It is unfinished, yet full of expectation. It is imperfect yet with a lot of fantasy.

Someone shuffles through the restaurant with a tray. He looks around to see if he can get a seat. The visitor doesn't look at the faces of the guests. His eyes slide to the different table tops.

Then his gaze falls around her table. On her duck. The man stands still. He starts walking towards her. Careful, uncertain, fragile. He places the tray next to hers and picks up a painted blue chair to sit down on it. All the while he looks at the rubber duck.

“I want you to know,” she says, “that I’m glad you’re here, Dad.”