Fate’s eventuality is cruel that it does gives you what you want, but usually not at the right time. At the moment of realization, comes the bitter reality that true love is Shakespearean. It was a cool October day when Tristan first met Sophia. He was sitting in this decrepit diner just outside Chappell Hill, Texas. He was lost in his own thoughts, when Sophia walked in. The diner was quaint but reeked of cigarettes and the musk of lost dreams.
“Just as good as any place,” she thought to herself. She sat down at the bar and ordered her food.
“I will have the chicken plate,” she said with confidence. The old waiter obliged and took her order. Sophia thanked him and reached into her purse and pulled out a stack papers in a roughly bound manuscript.
At this point Tristan was sitting two seats over and couldn’t help but observe. He glimpsed over in the corner of his eyes, as he read the cover of the manuscript – Time…., but he couldn’t make out the rest of the title. Sophia started to read but could not concentrate as she could feel his lingering gaze from a short distance.
“Excuse me. Can I help you?” she boldly asked him.
“Sorry didn’t mean to bug you. I was just curious what you were reading,” responded Tristan.
Sophia just looked at him blankly without a word. Something to know about Sophia was that she is constantly in motion as she avoided the stillness at all costs. As it was in this solitude, where her thoughts betrayed her. On the surface she was polite and soft spoken. Her blonde hair flowed and smelled like a summer breeze, and her brown eyes were gentle but seductive at the same time. Sophia was the kind of person where she would say just enough; never to reveal her deepest thoughts. Even though Sophia was always personable, she was always cautious about strangers.
She was about to reply, when Tristan walked up and sat right next to her. She quickly closed it, as if it contained all her secrets.
Hesitantly, Sophia tried to be cordial. “Oh, it's nothing just something a friend gave to me.”
“What’s it about?” Tristan was beginning to annoy her.
“Nothing!” she replied in stern voice.
Tristan paused as he could sense her discomfort. “I apologize. I didn’t mean to be nosey. I am Tristan by the way - Anyways I will leave you to your 'book'.” He then began to turn away to leave when Sophia realized she was being rude.
“Please! You didn’t do anything wrong. I was the one being rude. My name is Sophia.”
Tristan sat back down as to accept her half-fast apology.
Sophia continued, “So, are you from around here?”
“Actually no, I was just passing by myself. You can probably say I am a traveler.” Pointing to his motorcycle outside.
Before Tristan could say another word; interruptedly, Sophia’s mobile phone rang. She glanced down to see who was calling her. Seeing who it was, she closed her eyes and sighed deeply. She answered the phone. Tristan couldn’t hear who was on the other side, but he could tell it must have been someone important. Sophia said a few words of acknowledgements, threw some money down on the counter, and hung up.
“I have to go. But it was nice meeting you,” as Sophia stood up.
With those words, Sophia darted out of the diner as quickly as she arrived. Tristan watched her pick up truck disappeared leaving only the dry Texas dust.
However, he couldn’t help but think of her. It was like a spark was ignited deep within him. He could not explain it. At this point the waiter threw Sophia’s order onto the bar. She had forgotten her food, but more interestingly, she had left the manuscript behind. It sat there on the counter, beckoning Tristan.
He picked up the manuscript and on the front page was the word ‘Timeless’ imprinted by what he could tell was done by a typewriter, and not a computer. He flipped through the manuscript, realizing that it was not finished. The inside of the manuscript had been scribbled with remarks in red ink. Words like unpromising, non-captivating, weak plot, were all etched across the pages. Someone definitely did not like it. Then Tristan saw it – an address – somewhere in Austin. He curled the manuscript up and put it in his satchel that was laying besides him.
Tristan stood up and was about to leave when the waiter said, “Son, do you know what you are doing?”
“No, I don’t. I actually don’t!”
The old waiter shook his head and whispered, “Amor Fati.”
“Huh?” Tristan squinted to understand.
“Just be careful boy.”
“I will. Here! Keep the change,” as Tristan threw down a twenty-dollar bill.
With that Tristan threw his satchel over his shoulder, walked out the diner, and jumped on his black Harley Iron. The thunder of his bike resounded and he heat emanating from the engine embraced him. He put on his shades and helmet, and started into the direction in which Sophia disappeared to; leaving only the dry Texas dust!
(To be continued)