Parallel Infinities

  Part of Rosetta instinctively willed to tell him that she could not speak Italian, but the flirtatious and genuinely awed nature of the words he chose to say in his mother tongue drew a blush to her cheeks and an uncharacteristic shyness to her personality. She forced back the nervous urge to bite her nails, folding them in front of her to keep the habit at bay. "Sorry. It's been a rough week, and I wasn't sure I should look for you again."

  "Oh, I see." His eyes softened, flooding with sympathy. "Do you want to talk about it?"

  Rosetta's walls snapped shut like the binding of a thick, leather-bound book, and all tender shyness was gone in a flash as her expression hardened and her eyes narrowed. "No. But thank you for the offer." He had moved to step marginally closer to her but apparently caught on to the wariness clouding what had been curiosity mere seconds ago. He backed off, and Rosetta relaxed slightly. "So, what's your name?"

  "I am Luka," he answered. "Luka Allegri." And you are...?"

  "Rosetta Spin."

  "Rosetta," Luka repeated. His face brightened, resembling the rays of sunlight that were beginning to peek out from behind the tall hills that cradled them. "That is a beautiful name. The name of a flower, yes? It suits you."

  "Oh, you're thinking of 'Rose'," she replied, trying as hard as she could to be dismissive. The very second intrigue morphed to affection, alarm bells rang loudly in her head, but she could not stop herself from feeling just a bit flattered. She never thought of herself in poetic, lovely ways. Who perceived oneself that way, really? Besides which, she did not have the time to worry about whether she was beautiful or not. There were more important qualities to worry about, like being strong, being brave, and not crying in front of Rachel when she was not sure how they would make the shop's next rent payment. And there are certainly more important things to do than be wooed by this stranger. Rosetta wanted the thought to be harsh, but it came out halfhearted. Luka had unwittingly struck a soft spot in her resolve; subtle kindness made her feel weak because it made her feel like someone else would watch out for her, and that trust was something that she now knew was a woefully flawed fantasy. "I'm no flower."

  "We can agree to disagree," he compromised. The corners of his lips turned upward. He had a nice smile; Rosetta could not help but notice how it started slowly and grew into a lovely depiction of happiness, a gentle crescendo of joy tugging at his features, and was just slightly crooked. "You must understand; I am convinced that you are very special. I have never met a dream-walker that could see me before. You are a dream-walker, yes?"

  Biting her lip in the midst of a sudden wave of uncertainty, she turned from him and back toward the beautiful view that the hills and the river running in their valleys provided. "I am," she mumbled, "and I'm not--well, all right, maybe I'm special in some ways, but not in any that you're insinuating," she granted chastely. "I don't know why I can see you. I don't even know how I found you, really. I just heard your voice, and..."

  "Oh...mio voce?" In an instant, Luka's posture shifted from confident to reserved. His shoulders hunched inward and his head ducked down slightly, and his bangs fell over his eyes like a theater curtain sweeping the stage into its secretive embrace. "I thought maybe you had not heard me singing."

  "I didn't mean to intrude," Rosetta curled her arms over her torso in hopes that maybe it would help her hide how entrancing she found him and his voice alike. The bashfulness he was poorly concealing now was almost painfully endearing, though it brought about an odd dissonance with his somewhat intimidating form. "Besides, it was a lovely song. Did you write it for someone?"

  "Perhaps," Luka said cryptically, but changed the subject before Rosetta could ask what he meant. "What do you think of Vogogna?"

  "Is that where we are?" Rosetta asked, turning her eyes from the rising sun to the nearby town that was slowly starting to wake up. Lights were turning on, the distant hum of car engines were gradually increasing in frequency, and she was certain she had heard the cacophonous crow of a rooster the very second the sun had broken through the eclipse of the horizon. Luka nodded. "It's beautiful. Do you live here?"

  "I do," he confirmed. "It is no cherry blossom grove, but it is a lovely little place."

  In spite of herself, Rosetta smiled at the mention of the cherry blossoms. She wanted to visit that little nook of the world at least once more before the blooming season was over. "Where's your home?"

  A few heavy seconds of silence ensued. Luka's expression twisted into one that was much more hesitant than before. He pressed a hand to the back of his neck when he responded. "Well, you see, I like to think of myself as living everywhere around here," he rambled. "All of my fondest memories are here, even my very earliest—I once lived on the bank of this river, and later I moved in with relatives in town, and now, well, I am here. I think the whole of Vogogna is my home, really." He made a swift second of eye contact with Rosetta before glancing away.

  Questions prodded at the back of her mind, but she decided not to pry, at least for now. Luka almost certainly would not appreciate an interrogation from a strange American girl, whether he thought of her as a flower or not. Rosetta found herself drawing a blank in regards to what to say next. Her mind was drowning in lovely sights as she watched the dawn kiss the sky and bring it to life, and all she really wanted to do was stay forever, so long as they could discuss stars and monsters, love and tragedy, some things deep and some things petty. She could not do that, though, not with this stranger, not with anyone she knew. Those topics were so vulnerable, so heartfelt, so personal, and she could not convince words so intimate to make the leap of faith from her mind to her lips. And she certainly should not, could not, would not try to with a stranger from what was practically another world to her.

  "I am glad," Luka pierced the silence in a gentle tone, "that you decided to come. Fate brought us together, you know. I was fearful that I might never understand why."

  "Fate?" Rosetta had not meant to sound so jaded and disgusted, but her preconceptions about fate betrayed her. She had long-since given up on such a silly superstition, because if there was such a thing, it was probably set on subjecting her to cruel and unusual punishment for the rest of her days, just as it had done in the past. For whatever reason, writing it off as a childish falsity helped alleviate the worry that her world might be pitched into awful darkness once again. "No offense, but it was probably just dumb luck," though, if she was entirely honest, she did not believe that; the manner in which his voice had beckoned her was too inexplicable to be chance.

  To his credit, though Luka seemed to believe that little lie, he did not reel back or look unraveled. "I suppose we will see," he said coolly. "I cannot help but think that meeting someone like you is a gift that happens once in a lifetime."

  "Someone like me?" she repeated, ready to snap back into her body with an indignant fury if he made any sort of comment regarding her appearance. She had no use for shallow statements that pretended not to see the cracks and chips carved out by hardship in her skin.

  "Sì," he confirmed. "How rare must it be to meet someone in a dream that is a mystery? It is said that you cannot see a new face in your sleep—all the citizens of your soul's adventures have passed you by on some occasion. But not us. I had never seen you before I saw you in a dream, and the same goes for you. We are newborn stars to one another, shining in the fabric that our souls are woven into, are we not?"

  Rosetta stared at him, appalled, intrigued, and considerably disturbed at how moving the words were. They were just words, just sounds, just letters strung together, but they meant so much. She knew that language was just a fleeting illusion wherein people tried to express their inner complexity in simplistic consonants and vowels. But somehow he had reached beyond the smokescreen, broken the illusion, and done it. There was his soul, molded into words, as crystal-clear as the visible form standing beside her.

  "I…suppose we are." The words did not do justice to what she was feeling, but how could they? What she felt could be des
cribed only in concepts. The awe of a toddler realizing that the sun is stationary even though it surges through the sky each day, the entrancement of a little girl falling in love with a book for the first time, the incredible notion of sonder and acute awareness of the infinite timelines snaking through the fabric of reality every day and building themselves a world, a galaxy, a universe like no other—only things such as those could pin down a description of the intense emotions jolting through her to the beat of her pulse. "I should go," she mumbled halfheartedly. She could not fall in love with those words. She could not fall in love with a stranger, even if he were not so strange anymore--even if she knew his name, had seen his hometown, and had watched the sun rise with him. The sunrise could not be special again. "I've got school tomorrow; I need my rest." When her determined eyes met his instantly-apologetic ones, Rosetta felt a twinge of guilt.

  "Oh, I am very sorry. I did not mean to frighten you away. I have too much time on my hands to weave words together, I think, and still, they come out wrong," he forced an awkward laugh. "Can we meet again, Fiore? I still know so little about you, and I should hope that you might grant me the honor of learning more."

  Rosetta paused, gazing at the silver cord that stretched between her and her physical form. She could snap back to her body at any given moment. She could have jolted away the very second that Luka had charmed her with his words and his voice and his gentle nature. Why didn't I? she mused, looking him up and down in equal parts distrust and desire to trust. Who did he think he was, to speak to her with saccharine, flouncy words and draw her into his gaze, which was the color of honey mixed with sunlight, with subtle gestures of affection? And why did she not mind all that much, when she really thought about it? Why was she so tempted to agree to meet him once more, when in a few meager minutes he had drawn too close for comfort to the walls around her heart?

  On the other hand, why was she so sure that logic should compel her to refuse? Where did logic stand on this matter, really? Was her hesitance truly backed up by a genuine danger of being hurt, or was it an ugly concoction of the past come to life in her impulses? Surely Luka could not break her heart. After all, he was practically just a daydream, a figment, a friendly phantom from another land. He could not even touch her, so surely he could not ever break her.

  "Okay," Rosetta agreed. "Where do you want to meet, and when?"

  "Are you sure? I would hate to further upset you," Luka said. His hand twitched, almost as though it was his instinct to give her a reassuring touch on the arm or shoulder. Such contact was impossible in the astral plane. It was a place of observance, not interaction. Rosetta was halfway glad and halfway disappointed. The dissonance sat uncomfortably in her stomach.

  "I'm sure," she answered soberly, despite the fact that she was not.

  "Thank you," he dipped his head cordially. "I will do my best not to disappoint you."

  "Where are we meeting?" Rosetta inquired once again.

  Luka smiled, and a cheerful gleam blossomed in his eyes. "You found me once, sì? I believe you can do it again, don't you?"

  Following a moment of hesitation, Rosetta nodded. It did not sound like an impossible task.

  "Excellent. Then our meeting place will be a surprise! Meet me at this very time tomorrow, under your moon and under the first breaths of my sun. Does that sound good to you?"

  Rosetta's eyes were fixed on the ground, and she was overwhelmed by the sensations of being both lost and found as she answered, "It does."