Goodbye Stockholm!

Have you ever loved someone in silence?

Maybe even without hope.

The kind of love that needs no confession, no words at all. Everything speaks for itself—in a glance, a smile, a passing motion. And no one notices this quiet, invisible romance except for the two of you. Or maybe only you. Maybe it’s just your mind playing tricks, projecting hope where there’s none.

Something like that happened to me.

I had already been working for four months at one of Stockholm’s top hotels. It was during one of those early morning shifts when we were setting up breakfast for the guests. That’s when I saw her for the first time.

A young, slender blonde.

No—that description doesn’t do her justice.

Imagine a scene from a commercial. A waitress walks toward the table across from you. Cue the music: The Platters – Only You. She collects dishes in slow motion. Her neat ponytail sways, catching the light. Her golden Scandinavian skin almost blinds me. Yet somehow I still manage to see her features—delicate, divine. A small nose, natural lips, and eyes untouched by bitterness.

And just like that, I was ready to spend the rest of my life by her side, protecting that gentle smile.

I didn’t care that the eggs were burning or that a line of hungry tourists was forming. At least not until someone called me out.

“Sir, can I get an omelet?”

Snapping back, I rushed to the stove. But my eyes kept searching for her. I was burning with the desire to know who she was. I just wanted to see her again.

Was I really falling for a Swedish girl at first sight?

I was thirty-one. Grown-ups don’t fall like that. At least, I used to think so. But the truth is, I’m still sixteen inside. The same romantic. Just with more responsibility now. And more caution.

The rush ended. We started cleaning the kitchen and getting ready for the next shift. She was nowhere in sight. And then, as I was walking up the stairs, I saw her heading down the corridor toward the exit.

To my delight, I had the same shift the next morning. I waited eagerly to see the descendant of the goddess Freyja.

In the middle of all the kitchen chaos, I saw her again. We crossed paths in the hallway. Just a brief, awkward “Hi.” We greeted each other and kept moving. Her shy innocence disarmed me. I kept wondering how old she was—until someone nearly ran me over in the corridor.

At peak hours, that hallway was a highway packed with waiters and chefs.

I started seeing her more often during my morning shifts. You might wonder—why didn’t I do anything?

The answer is disappointing. A quiet wall stood between us. I was an immigrant. What could I possibly offer this angel, raised in comfort and love? My legal status was uncertain. I didn’t speak Swedish, and my English wasn’t good enough.

With girls like her, you can see the future right away. You imagine her on a yacht, married to some tech millionaire. A beautiful home. A helicopter in the yard. A family straight out of a commercial.

And to be honest, I’d be genuinely happy if that’s the life she ends up living.

I’m not blaming anyone. I’ve just learned to face the truth. I’m not exactly attractive. I’m short—five foot six. She must’ve been around five nine. Probably funny to imagine I stood a chance.

I guessed she was between twenty and twenty-four. At least six years younger than me. That alone made everything impossible.

I kept thinking how much I wished she’d met me when I was nineteen or twenty. I was actually beautiful back then. As the Italians say, there’s a devilish beauty in youth. I had plenty of admirers. But that was another life, far away, long gone.

Still, we managed to exchange a few words, once. Near the end of a shift. She moved gracefully through the dining area, doing her job like a runway model. And then, somehow, we ended up talking.

I don’t remember the conversation. I only remember the mood. The lights in the hall were dim. I was alone in the open kitchen. She was the only one in the dining room.

It was one of those conversations about nothing. The kind you forget right away—but the feeling, the aftertaste, lingers for years. I felt like I was back in college. That time in your life when you laugh with friends at night, feeling like the whole world is ahead of you. The air smells like freedom. That forgotten feeling of falling for someone.

She had no idea what was going on inside me. She couldn’t know how hard I was falling, how everything inside me was turning upside down in a whirlwind of emotion.

But I remembered one thing—her name.

Matilda.

I fell in love with Matilda.

Sometimes I wouldn’t see her for weeks. Other times I had the morning shift, but she was nowhere to be found. Then one day, I finally saw her again. She was pushing through the crowd in the hallway.

“Hey.”

“Hi.”

Some meaningless phrases.

We ran into each other a few more times. Always the same greetings. I never expected more.

These feelings reminded me of a menu item we had—our jalapeño burger. The first bite is an explosion of flavor. Juicy. Spicy. And just when you’re about to take the second bite, the jalapeño heat hits you from the inside. It warms you up in the cold Scandinavian autumn. A bite of summer. A moment of spring.

That’s how my feelings for her worked. Slowly but surely, they lit me up from the inside, bringing warmth to the heaviest, darkest days. I couldn’t tell anyone. Couldn’t let them out. These feelings—and whatever potential there might’ve been—were doomed from the start.

I boarded a plane and left Sweden. A few days later, someone messaged me on Facebook:

“Hi!”

It was Matilda.

At least, I wish it was.

But that’s not how life works.

We’re from different worlds.

There’s a beautiful saying: If you want something—or someone—become someone worthy of it.

I think that’s fair.

All I can do now is keep her memory safe in my heart.

And one day, if I ever take a bite of a jalapeño burger again, I’ll think of my Matilda.

Maybe she’ll be on a white yacht.

Maybe sitting around a table with her kids and husband.

I don’t know where she is or what life has planned for her.

But she’ll always live inside me.

And these words will be a reminder of that.

Love comes in many forms—bright, beautiful, passionate... or silent.