In 2016 I was an Australian student on exchange in Dublin, plotting to fall in love at Trinity College before Normal People made it cool. My housemates had swiped on Jack’s Tinder profile on my behalf, and we met in October for the first time under the Spire on O’Connell Street.
Jack couldn’t quite believe I had actually shown up; I was just glad he wasn’t the other lad standing there with the Peaky Blinders haircut and matching tracksuit. We went to a bookshop cafe, where Jack spilled his tea due to nerves and I waxed lyrical about the importance of compulsory voting due to mine. It was sweet, genuine, interesting conversation. When we parted ways, we both did the classic over-the-shoulder, cow-eyed glance back. Jack kept his cool; I panicked and walked straight into a line of kindergarteners on an excursion in the city.
