Uncompletely true

They ran into each other at Berlin Hauptbahnhof. He was just between trains to get back home after a long day's work, while she for once was in Berlin just as a tourist with the sole purpose of enjoying herself. It was an unusual thing for her, but since she left the city for Leipzig a few years earlier, she had come to see the country's capital just as a source of tiresome business trips. She now wanted to turn around that picture in some way. But it was even stranger for her to see Robert again.

"Robert!" she exclaimed. "You are here!"

"Maria!" he answered. "What are you doing in Berlin? I thought you had left for ever."

At that moment all the memories of what they had been through together came back to her. It was as if every moment, every day and hour piled up in her consciousness within a few seconds.

"Not for ever, Robert. Not for ever." She did everything to prevent her tears to show, and she turned quiet.

"But what the ..." Robert finished the phrase with a word, one could not properly write down. It was a very unusual swear word, but still very efficient. "Could you not have called in advance?"

"I had forgotten you. I do not know how I ever could. But I did not think of you. Please, forgive me."

Robert answered with another expression that is unfit for print, but it was not in any way accusing.

"Do you want to..." she asked, mentioning something that really is not very important for this story.

"Now?" He raised his eyebrows a few more centimetres than she had thought possible.

She replied something I do not want to type, and without hesitation he answered: "Really?"


Finally they had to part, but they exchanged addresses to keep in touch.


As soon as Maria came back to her apartment in Leipzig, she got his message:

"Dear Maria, If you..." something "with several..." something "definitely..." and then a few pages later: "perhaps."

He had forgotten to sign it, but she immediately knew it was from him. She got all upset and sat down to write a reply. But as so often in this kind of situations, she did not know how to express what she wanted to say. She did not even know what she wanted to say. Ten days later, a bright Saturday at 9.37 in the morning, when birds were singing the praise of long forgotten bread crumbs, she finally sent her reply. It was full of things that would be improper to publish considering their right to privacy. Suffice it to say that he merely glanced at it when he received it.

It was not out of lack of interest, but he received it in the middle of an important business transaction, and that one took all his attention. He vaguely registered that he had got the reply, but he did not actually read it until three days later, after a good lunch with his brother and nephew at a Mexican restaurant not far from the main post office.

He read the message carefully but absentmindedly, and it was only the third time he read it, that he fully understood its implications. Like so often in this kind of situations he picked up the same book he always used to clear his thoughts. The book is a very well known one, but for different reasons it would not be right to write down its name. Even though he knew it almost by heart, he had difficulties concentrating on the reading. His thoughts only circled around Maria and her message.

For a few weeks he tried to ignore her message, but in the end he could of course not resist the temptation - the urge - to write a reply.

The reply did not contain anything that is in any way secret, so I could write it out in full here, but it really would not make any sense, as you did not get the opportunity to read the original.

However, the result was a perfectly happy ending for all involved, including Robert's nephew.