When he was a kid, whenever they drove to the supermarket at the outskirts of the town or to visit family at the countryside, he would secretly hope for his father to turn the wheel out of the blue and follow a different, wrong road, one that would take them far away into the unknown. But despite this powerful urge he felt, that never happened, not even once. They always chose the right way, the shortest path to their dull destination. Perhaps, that was when that odd idea first occurred to him, when it began to shape in his mind until it conquered all his other thoughts; he started to believe that somehow, every destination would turn out to be dull. It was the road that whispered with magical allure into his ears. It beckoned him so he could do nothing but obey.

***

The trees ran along the window and through their long branches, he could see the darkened sky brooding over the fields. It’s going to rain, he thought. By the time the train reached the railway station, large drops of water falling on the roofs proved him right.
He climbed down on the crowded platform, people running in every direction and protecting their heads with umbrellas and hoods. He didn’t mind rubbing his shoulders against strangers; he was quite used to it; he had seen many such stations before. As he made for the exit, he was already wondering whether the town was worthy of a week’s stay or should he spend here merely one night, and calculating the amount of money left from the previously visited city. He stopped near a bench, a few steps away from the restless crowd, to take the guidebook out of his backpack. It was then and there that he first saw her.
There, while rummaging through the many pockets of the bag, he was struck by her airy presence. She might have not even been real; he might have held out his hand to touch her and grasp nothing but thin air. She just sat there on the bench, the only calm and quiet person in the whole fuss; she needn’t move, for her stillness had something much more charming than any stir. He shot a quick glance at her, then bent his head again above the yawning pocket but couldn’t remember what he was looking for. A sudden feeling of exhaustion overcame him so he put down the backpack on the ground and sat down on the bench beside her.
‘Hi’, she spoke with a soft smile and he heard her voice, all the other noises of departing trains and hurried people faded away.
‘Aren’t you thirsty?’, he asked after what seemed an infinity of silent moments.
‘It’s pouring’, she said with laughter. ‘No, I’m not thirsty, I can’t be with so much water around.’ she paused and he let out a disappointed ‘Oh’.
‘But I do know an excellent café not far from here.’
And this is how it all started.

***

The coffee shop, or as she called with a cute accent, the café, was indeed not far away, but their walk in the rain was long for she had the smallest steps. However and in spite of the burden of the backpack weighing down on him, he enjoyed every minute of it. The twisted narrow streets, the flaming petals of the flowers hanging from balconies above, the small alleys paved with square blocks of ancient stone and her hair, the wet auburn waves of her hair, everything was quite delightful in the bluish light filtered through the clouds. He confessed that the quaint little towns of this continent had won his heart ever since he had laid foot on it (which was only partly true, because he noticed that beauty only then, when they were wandering side by side) and she put all those lovely questions about those other countries and continents he said to have visited and they talked a lot, they talked until the rain was over and the sun came out from its hiding and the whole world was suddenly gilded.
They talked for hours that day and the days that followed. He told her all about his travels round the world and she was fascinated by his tales of the lazy life in the swamps and along those mystic rivers, of the wilderness and the sky-high mountains, of the big metropolises, of savannahs inhabited by untamed creatures. She loved his way with words. She would put her head in his lap as they sat on the grass in her garden and while she listened to him speaking, she pictured everything in her mind, it all came alive and it was truly beautiful. Then she would stand up and go to her easel and make paintings of his stories. He would sit back and watch her, those little white hands, the gentle strokes which spread a medley of colours on the canvas, and they would persuade him to stay for another day.
Until a month had passed and he was still there, he who, since he left the parental house, had never stayed that much in one place.
Sometimes, on moonless nights, the sultry heat banished sleep from his eye-lids and he leaned against the sash looking out at the road, the dark alluring road. But her breathing called him back in so he turned his head to see her asleep, snuggled in the armchair with a heavy book open in her hands and the lamp above her casting a hazy light upon her peaceful resting face. He walked towards her and carefully covered her with the blanket. He turned off the lamp, shut the book and putting his arms around her fragile body, dragged her to his beating heart. That made him forget his dreams of departure and for a moment, his only wish was to stay like that forever. But after that moment had drifted away and after he had got used to the warmth of the little girl sleeping on his chest, his eyes started once again to thrust long looks at the window. The stars shone like candles on the midnight sky and he thought about the road, the freshness and the freedom of the air. Somewhere, out there, there was a home for him, there was his real self waiting patiently to be found. He had realized long ago that something was missing from his life that kept it from being full, and that something was himself. He had to find himself to live completely. Where could he be hidden? He had to find out, he had to see everything and there so many places left unseen!
But then she pulled him from his distant worlds back into the room again as she gazed up at him with glowing eyes. He hushed her “hm?” and whispered with husky voice into her ear: ‘Go to sleep.’
She nodded, kissed his chin and cuddled in his arms. Her pale skin shone into the dark, shone more brightly than the stars outside and his sleepy kisser’s hug made his lids finally fall into silence. A pleasant feeling warmed his insides and for a short while, that indistinct place between the armchair in the room and the land of sleep felt like home.

***

Just when he thought he might burst any second, should he stand still for much longer, she asked him to take her to the seaside for the weekend. He agreed, of course, with much enthusiasm so the next day, they rented an old car and drove out of the town. Their laughter was heard across the fields and throughout the woods and even the ancient oak trees arching over the road seems to smile at them and their contagious joy.
The beach, the sea, the cloudy horizon, everything was perfect. They took pictures of themselves fooling around in front of the camera. She wore a straw hat with large wavy brims that made her look like a flower and the salty breeze disheveled his chestnut hair. They looked at each other and saw their reflection in their eyes; holding out their hands they started to paddle in the sea, to run in the sun. The sea was cold and the sun was hot but they didn’t care. They ran shrieking with excitement until they fell laughing on the sand.
In the evening, clouds gathered into a threatening mass above them. They were sleeping in a tent that stormy night with nothing between them and the whirling skies but a thin canvas. They were awake until late after midnight, and the whole time he tried to quieten her holding her tight beside him. But she kept on trembling and mumbling words; at the first thunder, she spoke in whispers at which he instantly froze:
‘Don’t ever leave me! I was so alone before you came.’
He couldn’t reply, he had no words of comfort. He could only feel his blood curdle.
‘Don’t runaway. Stay’, she said again and then slowly her breath grew steady.

***

By morning, the storm was over. He hadn’t closed his eyes at all that night. When light finally started to poke through the canvas, he pulled the zipper of the door and stepped out of the tent. The fresh air stung his lungs. It was still raining with minuscule drops. The grey sea was calm and the shore full of algae blown from the fathoms of the water by the nocturnal winds. It started with rain; it will end with rain, he thought and without looking back, he set off leaving the tent and the girl inside it behind.
He was once again on the road. He borrowed a bike from the fishermen village nearby and took a car from the closest town. He was once again free, driving with no destination, just moving forward. A few hours had already passed since morning and the sun blazed at the zenith. It was hot and he was far, far away into the unknown. A month ago this would have been the recipe for happiness, but now, it just didn’t feel right. Why didn’t he feel released from the cage? Something was wrong. Something was missing. And no, this time it wasn’t his long lost self. This time it was … her. All those sweet memories with her suddenly invaded his mind. He remembered when they had gone roller-skating in the park. He couldn’t roller-skate so she had taught him. He had been so amazed at how her delicate hands had been able to hold him and support him and keep him from falling. It was still a wonder to him. How stupid of him to leave!
He pushed the brakes immediately and turned the car around. He flew at the highest speed back to that little town which, he now knew, was home and pulled over in front of her house. But those sun burnt walls looked deserted. There was nobody there. Had she not come back yet? He would wait. He jumped over the fence into the garden and there she was, an auburn-haired woman seated on the chaise-longue. But as she heard his movement, she looked over her shoulder and showed her face to him.
‘Hi’, she spoke with the same soft voice he could recall from that day at the railway-station. But she wasn’t the same. This woman was older and taller and stouter. It wasn’t her. She was gone.


***

He went back to the car. He knew what he had to do. He had to find. For the rest of his life, he would search for someone just like her.