The Echo Between us

The white flower rested quietly in my hand, has though it had been waiting for me all along.

Its petals were untouched by the morning rain, delicate enough to fall apart with a single careless touch. Tied to its stem was another folded note, secured with the same thin white thread.

For a moment I simply, stared at it.

The bridge was empty.

The river flowed beneath me, carrying away fallen leaves without ever looking back.

Slowly, I unfolded the note.

Only one sentence was written.

"Some strangers feel familiar because your heart has met theirs long before your eyes do."

I read it again.

And again

The handwriting was neat, almost effortless, as though every word had been written without hesitation.

I slept the note into my wallet beside the first one.

Two notes.

Two white flowers.

And still not even a name.

The next morning I reached the bridge 20 minutes earlier.

The sky had only begun to Brighton painting soft shades of orange across the clouds. The city was walking slowly, stretching itself into another ordinary day.

But my day no longer felt ordinary.

Every passing foot step made me turn around.

Every figure in the distant made my heart hope.

Then...

She appeared.

Walking calmly through the morning mist, she looked exactly as she always did, yet somehow different.

Perhaps it was because this time, I wasn't just seeing a stranger.

I was seeing the person who had quietly rewritten my mornings.

She didn't notice me.

Or perhaps she did and choose not to show it.

As always, she stopped beside the railing and look toward the river. The wind brushed against her hair, and for a few moments, neither of us moved.

The silence between us no longer felt empty.

My heartbeat refused to slow down.

I took one step.

Then another

By the time I reached her, every sentence I had practiced had disappeared.

All I could do was hold out the folded note.

"I think..." I said, my voice barely louder than the breeze. "...this belongs to you."

She looked at the note.

Then she looked that me.

A smile slowly found it's way on to her face -not the kind people where to be polite, but the kind that reaches the eyes before the lips.

"I was wondering she," said softly," how many mornings it would take before you spoke."

I blinked.

"You... Knew?"

She gave a tiny nod.

"I've seen you every day."

For a second, the entire City seemed to disappear.

There was no passing buses...

No hurried foot step...

No voices...

Only two strangers standing on the Old bridge, smiling as though they had finally found a conversation they had been carrying in silence for weeks.

"By the way,"I asked, gathering little courage I had left,"what's your name?"

"Names are easy to forget."

She turned and began walking toward the road.

After a few steps she turned back.

"But stories..."

She smiled.

"...stories are remembered forever."

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