“Why do we always run into each other like this?”
You bumped into Asra on your way back from the market. A good thing too: if you’d gone on without interference you would’ve kept heading north, into the dark forest. Your aunt’s house was south.
“What do you mean?”
“Well,” you say, squinting through the bright late-afternoon sun. “When we first met I was thrown into your booth. You stopped me from falling onto my face. At least, from falling hard. ” It’s a jab through time, irrelevant. You were both kids then. He couldn’t have possibly been that strong. “Second, I got lost coming back from the masquerade. And today I’m lost coming back from the market.”
He shrugs and it’s so nonchalant you can’t help but laugh. “Fate.”
“Doesn’t exist.”
“Complete chance, then.” There’s a beat of silence and he says in an astonished murmur, “But my God, what wonderful odds.”
Off in the distance, a busker tunes their instrument. Asra’s head turns in the direction of the sound, and your eyes follow. Then he grins and takes your hand.
“Wanna go listen?”
Your mind wanders briefly to the herbs your bag, the ones your aunt sent you out to buy. But one look at Asra, one look at the excitement in his eyes and you say, “Alright.”
He leads you toward the sound until you find a short, stocky musician wielding a lute. Your hand falls from Asra's, and the two of you stand and listen for a moment. The melody that they craft is energetic, bold, entrancing.
You don’t realize you’re holding your breath until Asra places a hand on your shoulder.
“Care to dance?”
A soft laugh escapes you. “You were planning that from the start, weren't you?”
Aara grins, looking askance, and rubs the back of his neck. He still holds out one hand. You reach for it, then hesitate.
“I should mention, I can't dance.”
“I'll teach you.”
You scoff and shake your head lightly, but nonetheless take Asra's hand. His face lights up. He steps closer to you and puts his free hand at your waist. You place your hand on his shoulder.
By now the sun has begun its descent, casting the sky with a brilliant blood-orange. Your heart is beating so loud in your chest that it’s a wonder the ground itself doesn’t crumble beneath you both.
The first few steps you take together are sharp and clumsy, cacophonous with the flow of the melody. After a number of false starts you look at him.
“I told you.”
He lets out a soft laugh and says, “Feel the energy around you.”
You frown. “This isn’t magic.”
“Isn't it?” He raises his eyebrows. “Instrument and instrumentalist--they play off each other like magic and magician. Rhythm and movement--it’s just another duality under a different name.”
You look at him, deadpan.
“C’mon,” he says. “Just try.”
With a sigh, you close your eyes and open your senses. The buzz of city chatter fades, leaving just the melody in your ears, the ground beneath your feet, and Asra’s hand in yours. You take a tentative step and he mirrors you.
“Good.”
You take another step, and then another, and another, and every time he matches you as if the two of you were your own duality. Instrument and instrumentalist, magic and magician, rhythm and movement, Asra and you.
As the music grows in intensity so does your dance. Where before there was just footwork, now there is twirls and spins. You don’t know if you’ve ever felt this alive , and the astonishment in Asra’s eyes tells that he’s wondering the same. You barely notice the small crowd of spectators because your mind is so invested in the dance.
He dips you as a sustained high note rings in the air. Your breath leaves your lungs in a gasp. Though it’s been years since he dropped you, you cling onto him. He lets out a huff of laughter.
“Too soon?”
The setting sun catches in his eyes and you can't look away.
Then you’re back on your feet and twirling, twirling, twirling as the musician reaches a dizzy crescendo.
Asra steadies you as the music ends. The small crowd, probably twenty or thirty now that you’re able to get a good look at them, applauds. Although Asra grins you can feel the nerves radiate off of him. After he catches his breath, he reaches into his bag and drops a few coins in the musician’s case.
“Thank you,” he says.
You two continue on your way home. A couple blocks down, Asra takes your hand again. In the dusk, you both laugh as he twirls you among softly glowing oil lamps.
When you stand at the foot of the steps, you look up and gape at the thousands of softly glowing stars. Asra follows your eyes then looks back at you, a soft smile on his lips.
He brings his hand to your shoulder, and you snap out of your reverie.
“I guess I'll see you around.”
He leans forward and presses a kiss to your cheek. You blink, heat rising to your face.
“Yeah,” you manage.
“Good night.”
“Night.”
You stand there for a few moments, a hand against your cheek. Then behind you, a light flickers on in the shop. Your aunt opens the door. You climb the steps, and right before you step inside, you look up at the stars.
Meeting Asra was complete chance. Nothing could change that.
But what wonderful odds.