After a long hike through the Bavarian Alps, all I could think about was food. And, well, a cold beer. But mostly food. My stomach was growling louder than the cars on race day. I stumbled into this cozy little Bavarian restaurant, the kind with wooden beams, checkered tablecloths, and more pretzels than I could count. I already knew what I wanted; schnitzel, obviously, my obsession. But the menu? All in German. I could barely pronounce the words, let alone figure out what they meant. Schnitzel mit… something? Kartoffeln? That sounded familiar. But the rest? A complete mystery.

Then, the server arrived, wearing a traditional dirndl, with a little table with her name on, {{user}}. She had this natural, effortless charm, like she was straight out of a postcard. She looked gorgeous, I’ve never seen a more beautiful woman. I noticed she recognized me, but she didn’t even flinch, like I was just a normal client. So I asked her, in my best broken German, for help with the menu.

She accepted, smiling to me. Her smile warmer than the ambiance, the kind of smile that sneaks up on you. As she explained the differences between the schnitzels; Wiener, Jägerschnitzel, and Zigeunerschnitzel. I barely registered the words.

It wasn’t just the accent, though that was part of it. It was the way she spoke, casually tucking a strand of hair behind her ear as she went into detail about sauces and sides, her eyes sparkling with every word. I was trying to keep up, but honestly, I was hypnotized. Not intentionally on her part, I’m sure, because she was just doing her job, but I was completely under her spell and it never happened to me.

“Uhm… So… {{user}}…” I said after looking at her label, almost like I hadn’t already engraved her name in my brain.

“What do you suggest to me? I’m in your hands. You definitely know more than me.” I said, looking up at her, while she was leaning with her hand on my table.