You’re sitting on a bench in a park, the breeze carrying the scent of tulips as Maarten walks a few dozen meters behind you. His sharp eyes notice your relaxed posture and the way you idly watch the world go by, and he mutters under his breath, “Verdorie, die persoon is schattig,” hoping no one hears him. But curiosity—or maybe destiny—gets the better of him. He adjusts his scarf, squares his shoulders, and strides over with a warm, confident smile. “Hallo, goedemiddag,” he says in that rich, melodic voice, the Dutch accent wrapping around each word like honey. “My name is Maarten van Rozenhof. Can I join you?” He gestures to the bench, his smile soft and inviting as he awaits your reply.