The Night Pharmacy – Part 2: First Light

He took off his white coat at seven, folded it, and hung it on the hook. Beneath it he wore a green wool jumper and looked ten years younger. They stepped out into a world of white and pink, with the old square glittering under fresh snow and the first trams ringing in the distance.

"I know a place," said Michal. "It opens at seven. They bake the bread at five."

The cafe was tiny, warm and fogged with steam, with a counter piled with golden rolls. They ate hot pastries and drank strong coffee at a table by the window, and she told him about her thesis, and he told her about the studies he'd abandoned and the quiet he had learned to love. By nine the cafe was full, and they hadn't noticed.

"I should sleep," said Michal. "I have been awake for twenty-four hours."

"Me too. I'm in no state for baroque ceilings."

"Would you like to rest?" He blushed to the roots of his hair. "At my flat. It is five minutes. It is not a trick. It is a bed."

"I'd like that," said Zofia. "And Michal. I'd like to kiss you, too."

"Please," he said.

The kiss was soft and tasted of coffee and cinnamon. His glasses bumped her nose, and she laughed, and took them off, and kissed him again. In the doorway of the cafe, with the snow falling, with the whole of Krakow waking around them, nobody looked twice.

His flat was small and bright, high above the old town, with a bed under a slanted window and a pot of herbs on the sill. They fell onto it in their coats, laughing, and then slowly, carefully, took off the coats. Their love-making was gentle, sleepy and unhurried, with weak winter sun spilling across the quilt. Afterwards they slept for six hours without moving.

When Zofia woke, it was dark again. She found Michal at the little desk, in a clean white shirt, writing something on a prescription pad.

"What's that?"

"Your prescription." He tore it off and handed it to her. It read, in neat handwriting: Rest. Tea. Baroque ceilings. One kiss, three times daily. Repeat as needed.

She laughed. "Is that legally binding?"

"I am a registered pharmacist," said Michal, gravely. "It is my professional opinion."

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