I’m in a pub, bank card waving in one hand, clutch bag in the other, waiting for my next vodka and blackcurrant at a buzzing bar. “Sorry there” he says. He being a handsome stranger who has also just managed to squeeze into a space at this busy bar. “Pint of Heineken, please” he asks, smiling. The smile moulding into dimples as his friends come up, adding to his order.
Our minds are elsewhere, and we stand there, awaiting different drinks, before we put them down on different tables and continue living different lives. We may cross paths again that night, or the following weekend, not speaking, just simply sharing the energy of the same room.
Neither of us know it, neither of us know or suspect we’ll meet again someday, in different circumstances, years later, when we’ll get to know each other over dinner or make new routines together. We’ll effortlessly weave our lives together, these two strangers at a bar, and someday I’ll ask him, as midnight sets in and my fingers sleepily draw shapes on his back – “Do you think we could have met before?”
