Adnan turned toward the bridge while Dunja turned toward the passage beside the closed pastry shop. They both stopped and laughed. They were celebrating fifteen years together and had agreed to walk to the place where they first kissed. Dunja was certain about the passage. She remembered the cold wall against her back and his wet jacket. Adnan pointed at the bridge, almost offended by the precision with which she rejected his memory.
In his version it was a clear evening. She wore a blue scarf, the river smelled of summer, and he kissed her after she said something that made them laugh. Dunja had received that scarf two years later. She told him so. He replied that perhaps the scarf had not been blue, as though changing its color might rescue the entire event. They continued walking, each slightly ahead of the other.
At the pastry shop she showed him the spot. He had kissed her after her grocery bag split and oranges scattered through the rain. She was tired, angry at the ruined day, and convinced that he was following her out of pity. Adnan remembered the fruit. He remembered bringing an orange home in his pocket. But he did not remember the kiss. Dunja's expression changed. She asked how he could forget the thing that had enabled her to call him again the following day.
He said he had thought she kissed him merely to say thank you. That was why he had been terribly nervous on the bridge several days later. Dunja sat on the low wall. For fifteen years she had told her friends he had never feared rejection. Now he stood before her admitting that he had kept that orange on the kitchen table for days because he did not know what the event meant. She could not decide whether to laugh or feel sorry.
They went to the bridge as well. Adnan could not remember the joke that had made them laugh. Dunja said it probably had not been particularly good. This time he did not defend the memory. They stood against the railing, trying to separate what they had experienced from what they had subsequently retold so often. Some things fell apart as soon as they touched them. Others, like the wet jacket and the orange, remained unusually clear.
On the way back they bought two oranges. Dunja did not want a new perfect story for their next anniversary. She wanted Adnan to carry the bag because her hands were cold. Outside their building she kissed him, then asked whether he knew what it meant. He said he would check again tomorrow just in case. She laughed while finding her key. They did not have to declare this kiss their first or their best to take it home.