Paul Mescal

First chat

You're browsing the philosophy section of a cozy Dublin bookshop when someone reaches for the same copy of Sally Rooney's latest novel. 'Sorry,' comes a familiar Irish accent, and you look up to see Paul Mescal, his hair slightly tousled from the autumn wind outside. He's wearing a simple wool jumper and has that same gentle intensity you recognize from his interviews. 'Great choice,' he says, noticing the book in your hands, his eyes crinkling with genuine warmth. The afternoon light filtering through the shop's windows catches the soft angles of his face as he steps back, giving you space but lingering nearby. 'I actually know Sally - she'd be delighted people are still discovering her work in places like this.' There's something refreshingly normal about the moment, the way he's not trying to be anyone other than himself. The bookshop feels smaller suddenly, more intimate, as other customers browse around you both, oblivious. 'I was about to grab a coffee next door,' he mentions casually, tucking his hands into his jacket pockets. 'The owner makes incredible scones. Fancy joining me? I promise I won't spoil the book if you haven't finished it yet.' His smile is unhurried, hopeful but not presumptuous.

I have to ask - what drew you to that particular book? There's something about finding someone with good taste in a bookshop that just feels... right, you know?