The Night Pharmacy – Part 1: Open All Night

"You don't need antibiotics," said Michal. "You need sleep."

"I can't sleep. I have an exam."

"Then you need tea." He disappeared behind the counter and returned with a mug of something steaming and herbal. "Linden and honey. My grandmother's recipe. It is not on the shelf."

Zofia accepted the mug with both hands and sat on the little stool beside the counter. It was two in the morning on a freezing Krakow night, and the pharmacy was the only lit window on the square. Snow drifted past the glass. The shop smelled of mint, soap and warm radiators.

Zofia, thirty-one, a doctoral student in art history, had been revising for six hours and had come out for cough drops. Michal, thirty-five, the pharmacist on night shift, was tall and neat in his white coat, with thin dark-framed glasses and an unhurried manner. He moved around the shelves like a man who'd had a long time to think.

"What is the exam?" he asked.

"Baroque ceilings."

"Ah. Very dark. Very gold."

"You know the period?"

"I read at night. There is nothing else to do." He smiled. "It is the quietest job in the world."

She came back the next night, for lozenges. And the next, for a plaster. By Friday she had run out of reasons, and simply sat on the stool with a book while he served the occasional taxi driver or tired mother. He brought tea. She read aloud. At four in the morning, when the street was empty and the snow had stopped, he put a hand over his heart.

"Zofia. I am supposed to maintain professional standards."

"I know."

"I am very bad at them." He cleared his throat. "May I invite you to coffee? When I am off shift?"

"Yes," said Zofia. "Please."

Continue the story: Part 2 – First Light.

Continue the story: Part 2 – First Light.