I knew from the beginning she was different. Quiet. Observant. Her eyes – greeny-hazel – suggested someone always thinking, always questioning. I saw the signs of a woman who studied too much. It’s not always good when a woman has too much education. It makes her unsettled. Discontented. Difficult to please.

I joined the tour after three days. My husband, Alex, asked me to join. He told me there were “last-minute cancellations.” But I don’t know. I think perhaps there were never any others. But Alex – he is not comfortable with small groups. He feels better when there are more people. There is “safety in numbers”, he tells me. One guest alone – it is difficult for him.

I could see she was tense from the beginning. Especially when Alex started again with his long historical monologues. I know it is a lot. I told him. The office told him also. People leave feedback. But he doesn’t change. He cannot change. One time I looked at her, to say with my eyes, “I understand. I am sorry. Please try to be kind.” I think she got the message.

Alex is a good man. Maybe too good. He takes everything very literally. He loves history, but with people… it is not so easy for him. At the office, they try to give him labels – Aspergers, spectrum, these words. But I don’t believe in those things. It is just one more way to say someone is not normal, to put them in a box. When did we stop accepting people who are a little different…?

I tried to make the tour softer for her. I chatted with her, changed the topic when Alex was becoming… too much. I shared with her my memories of childhood, when I was growing up under the dictator. I wanted to give something more emotional, more real. But Alex – he interrupted. Always, he interrupted. Back to the facts he loves – the list of rulers, the restoration dates, the exact length of the fortress walls. These things make him feel safe. I felt ashamed for him at times. I think maybe she felt that too.

She was running a lot. Very early in the morning, before breakfast, through the small towns still sleeping. She said it was peaceful. But I think also maybe she wanted space. To be far from us.

She was never rude. Not once. I respect this very much. Most people would get angry. Only one time did I see her come close – when we arrived at Curtea de Argeș and it was under scaffolding. I didn’t know. But Alex – yes. He knew. I don’t think he saw the jaw tighten, the face twist, the small signs of someone enraged. But I saw. And I understood.

At the end, she said thank you. Very polite. Very short. No big goodbye. But in her eyes I saw something. A hunted look. Like she was running again, but this time not with her legs.

I hope she liked Romania. I really do. But I think she was looking for something. Something she didn’t find. Freedom, maybe. Or connection. But not the kind my husband knows how to give.

She will write about us, I think. Maybe she already has. I don’t want to look. I don’t think that it will be kind. But maybe I am wrong. Maybe she will remember something gentle. Because I know Alex is a good man. Not a perfect man. Not an easy one. But good. Always, he is good.