Parallel Universe — Running Late

The wind was roaring in my ears as I strode my way back towards the train station. Something about it, the fierceness, the force, the only time you could actually feel what something sounded like against your arms, it was a little intimidating.

The sky was slowly blurring into mixtures of evening, bright oranges and dark reds dripping onto the horizon. I was late, again. Michael had probably been waiting for me for at least an hour by now.

However, I had an excuse this time, a legitimate real-life, human-to-human excuse. And if anything, once Michael would find out why, he would be pleased that I was late. Pleased that I had got to be a part of something so amazing. Because, as I was walking home from the shopping centre, I stumbled upon one of the most unique moments a person, as an outsider, could ever get to witness. Almost like watching a supernova, exploding across the streets, star dust settling around you.

Outside and around the corner, the way I walked towards the station, lay an elegant bookshop. Six floors, white pillars and endless amounts of books happened to be the location of one of the most passionate types of stories ever to be told; love. It also happened to be where I was standing the moment one man who was so desperately in love with one woman, proposed.

It felt like I was in a film. One of the characters who gasps in awe and claps wildly at the scene unfolding before them. But none of it was scripted, every gasp was my own, every clap meant to be heard. Because when you get to watch it, to be a part of somebody else’s magic, it makes the sky sparkle a little, to see people so in love, so happy, it reminds you that the world is spinning amongst a sky full of stars. But something even more beautiful, even more spectacular, is being allowed to read their story beginning with only those words. The words that are being felt right before your eyes. Not knowing who they are, where they came from but, in that moment, seeing that they are so blissfully in love, that’s something else entirely.

It is proof, four legs, two hearts, one love, proof. It’s showing us that, no matter how individual the story, no matter how wild the path, we all share common ground. We all want to find things, people, we love. We all want happiness to pour from the sky and pool at our feet. And it’s showing us that, there by a bookshop where it all began, it can happen.

Her eyes were golden, full of tears, infinite. His hands were shaky, sweaty, but so so ready.

“Michael,” I said when I had finished telling him the story, “I believe in magic, don’t you?”

“More than that Lyra, I feel it,” he whispered, “every time I’m with you.”

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