A reflection for readers and for him, with no new identifiers.
Why I’m writing this part
This search sits in a strange space: it’s personal enough to make my hands shake, public enough to need guardrails. Chapter 1 told the story; Chapter 2 waits behind a privacy check for the one person it’s meant for. This chapter is the middle ground—the why, the boundaries, and the invitation to help without hurting anyone.
What the day taught me
In a place designed for forgetting, we remembered each other for hours. Not because of drama or spectacle, but because the small things stacked up: the way he cut noise with a signal, the way he drifted off and still found his way back, the way money—or the theatre of it—fell away when it mattered. I left with one clear lesson: when kindness and clarity are available, take them. Ask the question. Offer the coffee. Jump while the bridge is still there.
Why the story is specific and still vague
Public: the contours that help friends recognize him (first name, country threads, a few habits, the day and city). Gate: small confirmations only he would know. Private: the final pieces that prove we really met. It’s not coyness; it’s consent engineering.
What you can do
Share the link into Irish and Australian circles. Use his name in your post (“R***—does this sound like you?”). Don’t guess venues or post receipts. If you’re him, answer the short checks.
Stoic frame
Control: my clarity and boundaries. Not in my control: whether he sees this, what he feels, what he chooses. Practice: ask cleanly, accept cleanly.
The Most Improbable Man 