Chapter Text
The rain in Hamburg, Germany was less a downpour and more a persistent, insistent drizzle. It was October 1999, and the winds carried a biting chill that Y/N, an exchange student from sunnier climes, was still trying to acclimate to. Her worn copy of “Einführung in die Raumfahrttechnik” (Introduction to Space Technology) might as well have been a cement brick in her backpack. She navigated the cobblestone streets, her breath pluming in the cold, heading towards the university library. The grey skies, the ancient brick buildings, the hushed reverence of the academic halls – it all felt like a world away from everything she’d ever known.
She’d chosen Hamburg for the challenge, for the reputation of its aerospace engineering program. But some days, like today, the challenge felt less exhilarating and more… relentless. The German language, with its formidable grammar and endless compound words, was a mountain she was perpetually climbing like Sisyphus. The physics of rockets felt like a second, equally steep one.
The library was her sanctuary and, yet, also her tormentor. She found her usual corner, tucked away by a tall, leaded-glass window that offered a view of oak trees, their leaves just beginning to turn orange and gold. Spreading out her textbooks, notebooks, and a thermos of hardly lukewarm coffee, she settled in for what she knew would be hours of intense, and often frustrating, studying.
It was in this quiet, studious bubble that she first noticed him. He wasn't overtly striking in the way some men were, but there was an intensity about him. He sat a few tables away, hunched over his own formidable stack of books – "Aerodynamics," "Aviation," "Aviation Engineering" – all in German... of course. His lighter hair and his well-defined jawline made him stand out, but only slightly. He wore a simple dark sweater, practical for the chill, and had a habit of running a hand through his hair when he was deep in thought, a gesture that for some reason, Y/N found endearing. She'd seen him around campus before; he always looked… focused. Utterly, completely focused, as if the world outside the pages ceased to exist.
Y/N was usually immune to such distractions during her study sessions, but found her gaze drifting towards him more often than she liked. She’d catch herself, reprimand herself, and force her eyes back to the quadratic equations that swam before her. But then, a soft sigh would escape his lips, or he’d tap his pen rhythmically against a page, and her attention would waver again. She wondered if he was struggling with the same concepts, if he, too, was an aerospace engineering student grappling with the intricacies of lift and drag in a foreign language. Her intuition said yes – those textbooks were unmistakable.
After nearly an hour, a sudden--though quiet-- crack echoed through the hushed library. Y/N jumped, her heart leaping into her throat. She looked up to see him holding a broken pen. It had snapped clean in half, the plastic splintered, leaving an ink stain on his index finger. He let out a frustrated growl, barely audible but full of a palpable annoyance.
Without thinking, she reached into her own pencil case and pulled out a spare pen – a simple, reliable black Bic. She rose from her seat, walked over to his table, and placed it gently next to his broken one.
He looked up, startled. His eyes, a startling shade of greenish-blue, widened slightly behind his glasses, then narrowed in surprise. He had strong, defined eyebrows, and for a moment, he looked almost wary.
"Here," she murmured, her German a little clumsy, "For your… frustrations."
He stared at the pen, then at her. A beat passed, then another. The corners of his lips quirked upward, a slow, hesitant, awkward smile that softened the intensity of his gaze. Despite the cloddishness of the smile, it was genuine.
"Danke," he said with a nod, his voice a low, melo baritone, with an accent she couldn't quite place – definitely not German, not quite English, something else, warm and resonant. "That was… thoughtful. My apologies for the noise. Geometry can be… infuriating." …he said, with a hint of Arab accent she hadn’t expected.
Y/N chuckled. "Tell me about it. It’s the bane of my existence this semester." She gestured vaguely to her own table. "Y/N. Exchange student.. from America."
He extended a hand, surprisingly warm and firm. "Ziad. From Beirut.. Lebanon."
"Lebanon?" she repeated, the name exotic on her tongue. "That's quite a long way from Hamburg."
He nods, agreeing, his smile broadening. "But the engineering program here is excellent. And the… quietness. It helps with focus." He picked up the Bic pen she’d offered. "This is perfect. Much appreciated."
"Anytime. Try not to snap this one too," she teased gently, feeling a lightness she hadn't anticipated.
He laughed, a rich, full sound that was quickly muffled as he remembered they were in a library. "I'll try to restrain my rage... thanks."
She returned to her seat, a faint, warm blush on her cheeks. The interaction had been brief, inconsequential really, but it had broken surely the monotony of her day, and somehow, the equations on her page seemed a little less daunting. She stole another glance at Ziad. He was already writing, the Bic pen moving smoothly across the page, his brow furrowed in concentration once more. But this time, she noticed, the corner of his mouth still held a hint of that earlier smile.
+
Over the next few weeks, these small interactions became a quiet ritual. They started seeing each other in the same corner of the library, often at the same time. A nod, a brief smile, sometimes a quick exchange of words about a particularly challenging problem set or the seemingly perpetual, typical grey Germany weather. Y/N learned that Ziad was, like her, deeply immersed in aerospace engineering. He seemed to possess a natural aptitude for it, a quick grasp of complex concepts, though he worked just as tirelessly and lacked sleep just as she did. He told her that when he was growing up, he wanted to be a pilot; his father said no, as he was afraid Ziad would crash, so Ziad settled with aviation engineering instead. There was a quiet ambition in him, a drive that she recognized in herself.
One blustery afternoon, Y/N was struggling with a particularly convoluted derivation for compressible flow equations. Her textbook was no help, and her notes felt inadequate. She sighed, scrubbing a hand over her face.
"Stuck?" a voice asked softly from beside her.
She looked up to find Ziad standing by her table, holding two steaming mugs. He had shed his usual intense focus, his expression open and friendly.
"Completely," she admitted, gesturing to the 페이지 filled with scribbles and crossed-out calculations. "I think my brain has officially turned to mashed potatoes."
He set a mug down in front of her. It smelled of strong coffee and a hint of cinnamon. "I know the feeling. I just finished a similar battle, myself. Consider this a peace offering from the engineering trenches."
"Thank you," she said, gratefully cupping the warm mug. The heat seeped into her cold fingers. "You're a lifesaver."
He pulled up a chair and sat opposite her, his own mug in hand. "Show me. Maybe a fresh pair of eyes will help. Or at least commiserate."
Y/N, initially hesitant to expose her struggles, found herself explaining the problem. Ziad listened intently, his head tilted, his gaze unwavering. He didn't interrupt, just absorbed her explanation, occasionally nodding.
When she finished, he leaned closer, pointing to a line in her notebook. "Here. You've made a small error in the boundary conditions. If you adjust for the Mach number at this point, the rest should fall into place." He took her pen, and with a confident, fluid hand, he sketched out a correction in the margin of her notebook. His handwriting was a surprisingly elegant cursive, a stark contrast to her own hurried scrawl.
As he explained the correction, his voice was low and clear, his explanation precise. He seemed to genuinely enjoy the intellectual challenge, his eyes alight with understanding. Y/N watched, mesmerized not just by his insight, but by the subtle intensity of his presence. He smelled faintly of fresh air and a clean, almost woody scent.
"Ah," she breathed as the solution clicked into place. "Of course! I kept overcomplicating it."
He smiled. "It happens. Sometimes you just need to step back. Or have someone else point out the obvious."
They spent the next hour talking, not just about thermodynamics, but about their studies, their aspirations, their lives. Ziad told her about Beirut, about the vibrant quiet of his hometown, a stark contrast to Hamburg's loud, bustling charm. He spoke of his family with affection, of his desire to make a mark in the world, to build something lasting. He spoke of airplanes, not just as machines, but as poetry in motion, as symbols of human ingenuity and the boundless pursuit of discovery. His passion was infectious.
Y/N found herself opening up to him about her own dreams, her initial struggles with adapting to Germany, the anxieties and excitements of being so far from home. She found his presence grounding and his understanding comforting. There was an earnest eagerness to him, a sincerity that was disarming. He listened with the same kind of focus he applied to his textbooks, making her feel completely seen and heard like never before.
"So, what is it about flight that captivates you so much?" she asked, leaning back, feeling the tension in her shoulders ease.
He looked out the window, his gaze distant for a moment, tracing the flight of a lone bird against the grey sky. Then, he simply shrugs "It's the ultimate freedom, isn't it? To overcome gravity, to build something that achieves that… that's a privilege. It's about pushing boundaries, I guess. About leaving something behind that truly changes things." His eyes, when they met hers again, held a deep, almost wistful glint.
"I never thought of it that way," she admitted softly. "I always saw it as a challenging problem to solve, a logical puzzle. But you see the poetry in it."
He shrugged slightly, a modest smile playing on his lips. "Perhaps. Or perhaps, the poetry is what drives the problem-solving, hm?"
As the library began to empty for the evening, casting long, dramatic shadows across the shelves, they realized hours had passed. They had solved the compressible flow problem, but they had also forged a connection, a nascent understanding that felt more significant than any equation.
"I should go," Y/N said, gathering her books, a faint reluctance clinging to her. "Thank you for the coffee. And the clarity."
"My pleasure," Ziad replied, rising with her. "Perhaps… we could make this a regular occurrence? The coffee, I mean, not necessarily the despair." He offered a charming, self-deprecating smile.
Y/N's heart fluttered. "I wouldn't say no to that."
They walked out of the library together, the evening air crisp and cold, the streetlights casting a warm glow on the wet cobblestones. The drizzle had stopped, and a sliver of pale moonlight peeked through the clouds.
"Do you live far?" Ziad asked, pulling his hands into the pockets of his jacket.
"Not too far. Just off Lange Straße," she replied, naming a street near the old town center.
"Ah, then our paths diverge here," he said, gesturing to a fork in the road. "I am heading towards Schönwalde for my flat."
They paused, a comfortable silence settling between them. Y/N found herself wishing the walk were longer.
"Well," she said, shoving her hands into her own pockets, feeling a sudden shyness. "Goodnight, Ziad."
"Goodnight, Y/N," he responded, his voice soft. He lingered for a moment, his gaze holding hers, a warmth radiating from him that seemed to defy the cold air. Then, with a slight nod, he turned and walked away, disappearing where the glow of the streetlights ended.
Y/N walked home, a lightness in her step despite the weight of her backpack. The cold didn't seem quite so biting, the grey skies not quite so oppressive. The thought of Ziad, the quiet intensity of his gaze, the unexpected kindness of his gesture, the shared passion for flight, settled comfortably in her mind. A new thread had been woven into the fabric of her Greifswald life, an unexpected splash of color in the academic grey. She felt a growing curiosity, an undeniable pull towards this enigmatic young man from Beirut, a feeling that whispered of possibilities she hadn’t even dared to imagine before.