23. Das Lied
23
Das Lied
The Song
Omar
W e have one last cappuccino and croissant at the border before crossing into Austria. Our adventure is nearly over, and we just have two nights in Salzburg before the drive back to England. I catch myself wondering if I should suggest giving us dating a real shot but I remember that relationships in the real world aren’t like the magic we’ve had on this trip. Why risk spoiling something so perfect? Besides, I’m heading to Jordan soon so what’s the point? The last few days have been an emotional rollercoaster, that's for sure.
We drive through the Alps towards Salzburg. I’ve been there a few times when I lived in Tyrol—day trips, ski runs, that sort of thing. As we get closer I catch my first glimpse of the fortress sitting proudly on the hill in the middle of the city. I follow the sat nav and take the Salzburg South exit. We roll up to the first traffic light, and when it turns green I press the accelerator... but nothing happens. The car stutters and then dies.
“Oh, fuck!”
“What’s happening?”
“I think the fault’s back.” The car sits lifeless. I try the ignition again but there’s still nothing. Drivers behind us start honking, angrily swerving around us and I put on the hazard lights to let them know we’re stuck.
“What are we going to do?” Bri asks, her voice laced with worry.
“You’re going to have to push,” I say, glancing over at her.
“Me?”
“Unless you want to drive the car. Someone’s got to steer. I’ll help get it rolling and we can push it over there.” I nod towards a small car park just off to our right.
She gives me a look that’s half-concerned, half-amused but climbs out of the car. We’ve faced all sorts of challenges on this trip so what’s one more?
“Right. Just say when.” I hop out and join her for the first push. There’s a little driveway leading down into a car park and if we can just get the car over that small bump the slope should do the rest, and we’ll be able to park it safely until we can get help.
“One… two… three… push!” Bri gives it everything she’s got and I hear her groan with the effort. I push too, and we just manage to get the car over the little hump at the entrance to the shallow ramp leading down into the car park. I feel the car start to roll, so I quickly jump back into the driver’s seat as it glides down into the car park. I steer to the left, letting it roll as far as it’ll go before it comes to a stop.
Bri walks over, pulling her beanie lower and zipping up her jacket against the cold. There’s a slight flush in her cheeks, a mix of the chilly air and the effort she just put in. I give her a grateful smile as she reaches the car, her breath puffing out in little clouds. “It’s fucking freezing,” she says, her nose already turning red from the cold wind.
“Okay, let me go and speak with the receptionist of that company,” I suggest. We're in the car park belonging to a company called J. Kraus just turn right twice, and we’ll be there. Bri’s buzzing with excitement about a special winter concert happening today so we head out into the crisp evening air, eager to soak it all in.
The city looks like a scene straight from a Christmas card. Twinkling lights strung everywhere cast a warm glow over the cobblestone streets. We turn the corner and find ourselves on the Residenzplatz, one of the main squares surrounding the big cathedral at the heart of the city. The Christmas market is in full swing and buzzing with life, drawing in thousands of tourists.
We stroll through the stalls, admiring the handmade crafts, sampling food, and enjoying a cup of mulled wine each. The sweet, spiced scent fills the air as we make our way towards a stage set up in the far corner where musicians are playing a mix of traditional and modern Christmas tunes. The atmosphere is electric and we’re drawn in closer, wanting to be right in the middle of it all.
As we near the stage the crowd thickens and there’s an announcement that makes Bri squeal with joy. Helene Fischer! Of all people, it’s the one singer whose song Bri hasn’t stopped humming ever since she heard it on our journey through France. She grabs my hand, pulling me eagerly into the crowd.
The first song is new to me, probably one of her latest, but it’s not long before the familiar beat of Bri’s favourite tune starts up. The arrangement is different, slower with an orchestra backing her up—but Bri recognises it instantly. Her eyes light up, and she looks at me with the infectious grin I can never resist.
Another woman joins Helene on stage, adding traditional yodelling to the song before it shifts to the beat we both know so well. I glance at Bri and in that moment, as the music swells around us, everything else fades away. I pull her close and we share a soft, lingering kiss, right there in the middle of the crowd under sparkling lights. It’s as if the whole world has been wrapped up in this one perfect moment.
We start swaying to the music and I whisper the words of the lyrics in her ear. This is our song. This song tells our story. This night is just for us.
My lips find hers and we sink into another passionate kiss. A kiss that’s almost inappropriate in public. The music creates a bubble around us blocking out everyone else. It’s just us. Just this one night. Our last night together. Breathless in the night.