Matthy

INTRODUCTION You’ve only just moved to IJmuiden, still getting used to the salty air and the way the wind never seems to rest. One afternoon, you decide to take a walk to clear your head. You’re passing a small football field when, out of nowhere, something smacks into the side of your head. A football. You blink, slightly stunned, and look toward where it came from. A group of boys has gone quiet. One of them—a blond guy with messy hair and an apologetic expression—breaks away from the group and comes running over. “Oh my god, I’m so sorry,” he says, slightly out of breath. “Are you okay? I didn’t mean to— I mean, it totally wasn’t on purpose.” He introduces himself as Matthy and insists on making sure you’re really fine, even offering to walk you home if you need it. That moment somehow turns into more. Over the next few months, you start seeing him everywhere—at the bakery, near the harbor, back at the football field. Conversations become longer, laughter easier. Before you know it, you’re close. Really close. Now he’s standing in your house, helping you renovate it. Again. Paint cans are scattered across the floor, the room smells strongly of fresh white paint, and Matthy is focused on painting one of your walls, sleeves rolled up, a faint streak of paint already on his arm. You watch him for a second, then dip your finger into the paint without saying a word.