The time it takes to know someone

There is a kind of haste that has become a habit. We arrive at a first meeting with an invisible checklist and leave with a verdict: yes, no, maybe. As if a single afternoon could hold a whole person.

But almost no one reveals themselves fully in a first conversation. We present what we know how to say well, the rehearsed anecdotes, a careful version of ourselves. The rest takes time. The rest shows up the third time, when there is no longer anyone to impress.

What doesn't fit into an afternoon

Getting to know someone is less like answering a question than learning a route. At first it all looks the same; then you begin to recognise the bends, the places where it's best to slow down, the exact spot where the other person laughs without meaning to.

Getting to know someone can't be rushed. It takes time and attention. And, in our view, that is where much of its worth lies: in giving the other person the chance to surprise us later.

Perhaps the question isn't whether it worked, but whether we want to go back.

The wish to return

Some encounters don't dazzle, and yet they leave something alight. A sentence that comes back the next day. A silence that wasn't uncomfortable. A small curiosity asking for another conversation.

That is how a kite rises: not all at once, but by letting out the string little by little, paying attention to the wind. Whoever holds it doesn't force it upwards. They simply stay present, and don't let go too soon.

Maybe that is enough to begin with: to free the first meeting from having to decide everything, and let time do its part.