I got to my second favourite city in Europe at 5.30 in the afternoon. It was colder than I expected, but the sun was out, which is statistically not particularly common around here.

I was tired. But it was still just the beginning of my day. I had hours of work and travelling behind me, but I had even more hours of fun ahead of me.

But I was wrong. At least half wrong.

A car ride, a two-hour flight, a 40-minute metro ride and a two-hour train ride later, I got to the train station and resigned myself to the long walk to my Airbnb, which was around one mile away.

Not a long walk per se, but a long walk if you're travelling with a carry-on bag and a backpack.

The Airbnb was easy to find, the host broke it down to me like I was five years old, which I understand. People are horrible at this sort of stuff. Some people couldn't draw an zero or the letter 'O' if you gave them a piece of a paper, a pen and a cup.

But I can. So I found the apartment building right away, and then I found my apartment right way.

It had a bedroom, a kitchen and a dining room, and a bathroom. Everything I need, nothing I don't.

It also had a view. Each of the two rooms had massive (nearly) floor-to-ceiling twin windows.

Outside, I could see the industrial part of the city. About a century ago, I'd have been looking at brownstone factories and chimneys. Now, I'm looking at blue warehouses and business hotels.

I looked at my watch. It was six.

I had about an hour to unpack and shower and get ready and walk back to the centre before my date with PhD Candidate.

Not ideal.

So I did what people sometimes do in such situations: a last-minute change of plan.

I DMed PhD Candidate and asked if it was okay to meet at Pub Named After Bird instead of Pub Named After Boat.

My excuse: "we've never been there before."

The real reason: it's about 40 seconds from my apartment, rather than 40 minutes.

So I showered and tried out two different outfits and eventually settled for the 'blackest'.

Black sneakers, black t-shirt, black blazer, black hat - and white trousers.

The alternative would've been chestnut-coloured trousers, black shoes, black t-shirt and camo green shirt.

PhD Candidate and I arrived at the same time. Literally equidistant from opposite directions. I saw PhD Candidate because PhD Candidate saw me, about 200 yards from me, about 100 yards from Pub Named After Bird, approaching from the east. I was about 100 yards from the pub, approaching from the west.

PhD Candidate was taller than I remembered, and thinner, but I got the distinct impression it was because of stress not dieting. The hair was shorter but the same colour as before, the colour of hay, and the eyes were the same colour as mine, halfway between silver grey and green.

I was clearly overdressed. PhD Candidate was wearing jeans that were neither baggy nor slim, and an oversize sweater that looked like it came a thrift store but probably cost the same as my watch, which was about the only thing of value I had on my person apart from my phone.

PhD Candidate had eyes around her eyes that hadn't been there the last time we talked, just a few months prior. Stress is a killer.

We started talking about the past and the future and travel plans and ex partners and two things stood out to me.

First, PhD Candidate was determined to let me do the talking and just do the listening.

Second, I'm not much of a hand talker but it was still enough to distract PhD Candidate. Like something upsetting.

I had two beers. PhD Candidate had cider and then lime water.

I've never understood the purpose of cider. It's not as good as beer and it's not as good as juice.

Just over an hour later, PhD Candidate got up to use the bathroom and I got up to take a picture of the view. A nice canal near the docks.

Two minutes later, PhD Candidate left.

"I think I'm gonna get going. I'm not feeling well," PhD Candidate said after walking back from the restroom.

I wasn't expecting that. One of those situations where you're taken by surprise and can't react fast enough.

All I could ask was if everything was okay, which I was told it was. I didn't say anything more, mostly because I got the feeling nothing I could say would make it better, but something I could say could make it worse.

So I watched PhD Candidate walk away, went back to our table and finished my drink. Fast. I didn't want to stay. I didn't want to be sitting in a pub I was now associating with failure.

I didn't want to go back home either. So I just started walking, aimlessly, along the canal. I spent the first 20 minutes of my walk thinking back on what I had said and done. Analysing every detail and including every and any angle.

I concluded there was nothing I could've said or done differently. I concluded whatever happened wasn't directly tied to anything I'd said or done.

So I shrugged to myself and walked on.

We get what we get, and we don't get upset.

About five minutes later, it started to rain. The irony.

I felt like I was in a movie. A pensive person walking with no purpose along a canal under the rain, nowhere to go and all the time in the world to get there.

Then I stopped walking because I found a placed that looked interesting from the outside.

I walked in and had a look around. It was a dark place with ambitious neon signs and about 35 different taps. They had cocktails on tap. They had wine on tap. They had beer on tap.

I ignored the wines and the cocktails and asked to taste of local craft stout. It was okay, but too chocolate-y, and not cold enough. So I settled for a pint of the best-selling stout in the world and sat down and stared blankly at the chalkboard with today's specials on the wall.

I wasn't particularly hungry.

I opened my Insta, as people do. Aimlessly. I found a message from PhD Candidate.

"I'm very sorry about that, I think the booze didn't mix with some medication I took for my headache earlier today. I was feeling fine and then it hit me all of a sudden. I enjoyed chatting," the message read.

I didn't reply. There was nothing to say.

We get what we get and we don't get upset.

I sipped my beer, slowly.

I did nothing and said nothing and thought nothing for about an hour.

The place was empty, otherwise people would've thought I'd fallen asleep while holding my beer.

An hour later, I opened my Insta again. Once again aimlessly.

There was another message.

"Can we meet again tomorrow?" the message read.

We get what we get. Both bad and good.