Travellers

The first time I saw her, my heart skipped a beat. I had no idea why I was there, in that place, in that time. Yet her graceful neck awoke in me a memory — of someone, of something — though I could not say who. All I knew was that the feeling was not new. I had lived it before. Not in a dream — or was this the dream? And who was she?

I fought the sudden impulse to hold her. Then she turned. For a moment her beautiful eyes, half-hidden behind dark glasses, rested on me. My heart froze, then her gaze drifted past. I was shaken to the core.

I walked towards her and, to my own surprise, I spoke. Spanish — fluent, natural, with just the faintest trace of an Italian accent.

“Perdón, have you got a light?”

“Of course.”

I tried again: “Are you from Buenos Aires?”

“Sadly not.”

I clung to that “sadly.” “Why sadly?”

Her reply came with a delicate Russian accent.“Because I’m only here on assignment, but I adore Argentinians.”

She was determined yet delicate, fragile and fierce all at once — a lioness disguised in elegance. I was captivated. As she cleaned her glasses, she revealed eyes of dazzling, golden beauty. I noticed a gesture: the way her fingers brushed her lashes as she spoke. Irresistible. I had to keep the conversation going.

Before I could, a policeman approached.“Documentos, por favor.”

I patted my pockets, panicked more at the thought of losing her than of arrest. Nothing.“No los tengo conmigo.”

“¿Cuál es su nombre?”

“I… don’t know.”

And it was true — my name was gone. I only knew I had come from 2020, and now found myself in 1938. They bundled me into a black car I had not noticed, two officers on either side. I turned to her, desperate:“What’s your name?”

“You’ll know if we meet again… and you?”

“I don’t know.”

At the station, they questioned me harshly before throwing me into a dusty cell. Exhausted, I thought of her and fell into sleep.

The next morning, a tray of breakfast appeared — cake, even orange juice. A guard told me I was free. Collecting my clothes, I stepped outside. And there she was.

“You never told me your name, so…”

“What are you doing here?”

“My interview was with the Chief of Police. I asked a favour. But now I want to know your name.” She touched her neck lightly as she spoke.

“Believe me, I don’t know. I can’t remember. I only know… I come from the future. From 2020.”

Unexpectedly, she smiled.“Then go back to your future. One day I will follow, and we’ll remain together forever. We are twin flames, chasing each other through time. When it happens, write it down. Tell our story — our incredible love story across the ages. We are travellers… we are travellers…”

A radio alarm clock blared Voyager by Mike Oldfield. Sunlight sliced through the curtains, forcing my eyes open. A dream. A strange, extraordinary dream. And yet I understood it instantly, for there you were beside me — almost a stranger still — rubbing your golden eyes awake.

And then I saw it: that same gesture from the dream, your fingers brushing your lashes. I couldn’t help but kiss them softly, hold you close, and slip into a kiss that felt endless — a promise of complicity and passion.

I had fallen in love with you despite quarrels, doubts, fears and lies. Now there was only the beauty of us. Inside, I knew we would always overcome.

Even today we fly together, like two kites chasing one another endlessly, caught in the same current of wind.

✍️ A short story from the book

Mano nella mano by Roberto Salvo