Byron Bay; even in the rain it was beautiful. Uninhibited and filled with a kind of released energy. The tall grass and incomplete roads, rainbow graffiti and artwork brightening the buildings, dream catchers and flags, stray dogs and dreadlocked hair, the vibe was contagious.

We hadn’t prepared ourselves enough for the backpackers hostel - figuratively and literally. Accustomed to spending majority of our weekends away in Gold Coast apartments with room service and a view, when Natalie, Isabelle and I walked into our eight-person dorm we stood idly by the door. The ground was thick with dirt and the room was filled with bunk beds, overflowing bags and sleepy adolescents. The cotton curtains were torn, the besser block walls were stained and apart from the rusted bunk beds there was no sign of any other furniture– not even a table. The beds had a fitted sheet each, that was all. Mine was covered in sand. I gathered that only room service we would be offered here was that of a sexual nature.

I looked at the girls and we were all wearing the same expression; disgust and discomfit. We didn’t mean to turn up our noses like upmarket snobs, it was just a bit of a shock. The fact that we were supposed to bring our own cutlery? We were unaccustomed and nonplussed.

We fixed ourselves some dinner in the communal kitchen; soups, rice, sandwiches and such, fuel for the night. Natalie pulled open cupboard after cupboard until she held up a stove-top kettle circa 1965.

“Please tell me there’s another one,” Isabelle sighed.

Natalie studied the metal base. “How do I even use this?”

Behind us, an attractive brunette boy held up one which looked much more familiar. “Looking for this?” He said with an unrecognisable accent.

“Yes please!” I chirped, and as Natalie went over to take it Isabelle and I took our food to the table. A few bites in, and Natalie was still talking to the boys in the kitchen.

Finally she scuttled over to our table, her shy cheeks stained red, as the three kitchen boys sat down at the other end with enough spaghetti to feed an Italian family gathering. We all glanced down at them; two blonde, one brunette, all incredibly attractive, and we smiled knowingly at each other. Tonight was looking up.

When we finished, I took our plates to the sink to wash but was had difficulties finding the bin.

 “Lost?” A voice asked, and I looked up.

It was one of the boys from before with the spaghetti. He was a little taller than me, with blonde flicked hair and eyes that seemed to dance.

“Uh yeah, the bin?”

He pointed and smiled. It was friendly and open and made me unintentionally grin back. “So where are you from?”

“Oh, Brisbane,” I said as I scraped the plates. “I live only like an hour north from here. I’m doing a spontaneous night away with the girls, kinda thing.”

“Hi Felix,” A short busty brunette cooed walking beside us.

“Hey Jaz,” He called back, flashing his smile and lighting up her face.

“Well, enjoy your night,” I grinned and headed to our dorm room.

“These boys are cute!” Natalie squealed when I walked through the door.

“Yeah but players,” I sighed

She nodded in agreement. “Backpacking players,” she said and we laughed.

The girls and I got ready for the night out; makeup splashed high and hair styled and volumed. When we walked back to our room we could feel the eyes of everyone burning through our colourful and tight dresses. We were uncomfortably out of the ordinary at this hostel, but it was cheap and an adventure and seemingly filled with cute guys.

Two drinks down and we ventured out of our room and into the overgrown courtyard.

“Hey ladies!” A boy we hadn’t seen yet called to us. “Come join us!”

We formally introduced ourselves and so did they. There was a boy from Holland whose name I couldn’t pronounce, but just after we sat down, he went to bed. Then there were the three boys from the kitchen; Peter was the tall brunette, that reminded us of Isabelle, Niklas was the quiet blonde who reminded us of Natalie, and Felix was the outgoing blonde who reminded us of me. It was odd.

“Are you serious? Peter, Niklas and Felix?” I laughed “Where are the Hans or Wolfgangs or Ludwigs?! And you call yourselves German!”

We talked – and flirted - nonstop for a couple of hours out in the courtyard, then back into the kitchen. It was fun.

“He’s soo into you!” Isabelle whispered pointing to Felix but I shushed her away. I knew they were all just being friendly, and Felix was not showing me any more attention than the others. I don’t know where she pulled that idea from.

“Come out with us!” Isabelle cheered, and when they replied that they didn’t have the funds she offered to pay their way. “We have to show you how us Aussies party!”

Being in the country for months now, I was pretty confident they knew how we partied but before I knew it we were all crowding into a maxi taxi. We finished the last of our drinks as we arrived at the first club – which was more of a pub – and bought a round of drinks. Then another, and another. The music was thumping and the alcohol was buzzing in my chest and I couldn’t help but smile at the promise of the night.

“Okay okay,” I tapped my cup like I was about to give a toast. “Honestly, how lucky have you been in Australia with those accents and cute faces?”

Everyone laughed, but I could tell they didn’t quite understand.

“Lucky?” Felix asked

“You know,” I winked. “With the ladies.”

The three of them smirked, and looked around shyly.

“Come on! You guys are bangin’, you’d get plenty of action!”

Felix leant in close so he didn’t have to shout over the music. “Not as much as you’d think.”

“He’s soo into you!” Isabelle shouted again.

“He’s also right next to us!” I laughed

“I’m soo into Peter!” She giggled then continued dancing.

We danced, and danced and danced. When that bar closed we went to another, and danced and danced and danced there too. I found myself drawn to Felix; he had this sort of magnetic affect on me. Our conversations were punctuated with polite pardons and what do you mean?s but it was inspiring and interesting and absorbing. We stayed up the whole night, dancing and laughing and drinking and doing shots and talking and not understanding and explaining.

We talked the whole walk home, back to the hostel after the last club closed at 4am, and there we sat on the porch and continued talking. He told me how to properly pronounce my ü’s, and I showed him the Southern Cross. He laughed when I told him about my brother and I let my imagination paint in the features as he told me about his home.  Dawn was threatening to break as we started to see each other more clearly in the growing light.

“Do you want to go and watch the sunrise from the lighthouse?” A suggestion for adventure, I excitedly agreed. The walk took an hour, maybe more, and as we walked bare foot along the roads and trails and beach the conversation never succumbed to the fact that we were essentially strangers. It was becoming increasingly light, the sky stained a dark indigo, and surfers and joggers were starting to appear like insects after the rain. There’s always excitement in meeting someone new, something about the idea that you both have a raw attraction over each other; a joy in discovery and the unknown, a clean start. The list of mutual loves were getting longer; music, movies, food. There were never any awkward silences or pauses, we were constantly finishing each other’s stories with stories of our own.  He was a cool westerly wind on a hot summer night, he was the first red flower on a Poinciana tree that signifies Christmas is around the corner, he was needing to pack a jumper when the seasons were changing, he was fresh, appealing — he was possibly the most charming man that I’ve ever spoken to.

It’s safe to say he captivated me that night.

“I find you so interesting,” He said, right before he kissed me.

It was still but fresh, sitting on the cliff-side of the headland. The waves were crashing into rock pools and caves below and it was quiet and we were quiet for the first time that night. It was late, well early, but late for us. The light was dragging itself up over the horizon, its movement gradual like the light was dancing, and maybe it was. 

I ran a hand through my tangled hair, the thoughts and events of the night knotting it like the wind. I stared out to sea. I could feel his gaze drift onto me, but I silently watched the storm clouds gather on the horizon and start to roll in.

I started to shiver as I felt the wind change on my arms. I started to shiver as I felt something churning in my stomach. Alcohol, perhaps. The sea air, a stitch from walking so far, mixed with this repellent feeling of dread and enclosure – which was ironic since I was sitting on the most Eastern point of this country. I wanted him to kiss me again, and I wanted to kiss him back. I wanted to grab his hand and to run down the track and onto the beach. I wanted to dive into the waves in my dress and shoes, and swim out to where I couldn’t touch. I wanted him to follow, and to wrap my arms around him and kiss him again. I wanted to have sex effortlessly and undisturbed, sleep next to him then wake up late and devour breakfast.

But I didn’t.

I sat on my hands and thought of my boyfriend. And how if I was truly in love, I wouldn’t be having these thoughts.

The rain clouds were fast approaching, causing the ocean to turn a dark grey colour. It was over. Sitting on that seat just off the walking trail, on the side of the cliff, I knew it was over.

I felt a raindrop fall on my shoulder. The dark clouds were now above us and for the first time since he kissed me I turned to look at him.

“I think it’s going to pour,” I said

“Want to run for cover?”

We sprinted down the trail, barefoot and weary, feeling the rain on our shoulders, on our legs. It started bucketing down just as we reached a small barbeque shelter. He draped his arm around my shoulders and silently we watched the rain meet with the sea.

 At seven that morning we got back to the hostel, tired, muddy and quiet. Our adventure had made us tranquil, reticent even. We said goodbye at my door, and I silently crept inside and climbed onto my bed.

Let me know when you wake, I text him. We need to talk.

I closed my eyes and sleep started to weave itself into my mind when suddenly my phone rang. I tiptoed out the door and into the courtyard to speak to him. I forgot he woke so early.

It started with me; “I think we should take a break.”

It ended, two hours later with him; “I’m never going to let you go.”

In between he cried, and I confessed and he mumbled and I yelled and he denied and I sat with my head in my hands, trying to get him to see my side. I loved him, part of me always will, but these circumstances were driving me crazy. I was a caged bird.

I hung up as I saw Natalie and Isabelle approaching in their pyjamas. “Hey, we’re going to shower – wait why are you still in your clubbing clothes?”

“I haven’t been to bed. Why are you guys up?”

“It’s 9am, we have to check out soon. What happened?”

“I’ll explain in the bathroom.”

We checked out and knocked on the boys’ door to say goodbye, but no one answered. As we were driving home in the rain, one hung-over, one dissatisfied and one incredibly tired, I thought about Felix and how I’d probably never see him again.

The anonymity was alluring. He would wake and I would be gone, and just the memory of our dalliance would remain.

Byron Bay; even in the rain it was beautiful.