Chapter 1 The Return

 Chapter 1

The Return

Long, long after the great war, John Denver felt his breathing quicken as he walked across the soft sand of the beach. It wasn’t the heat, nor exhaustion; it was the weight of a trembling inside him that he couldn’t control. This fair-haired man in his mid-thirties felt as though the sound of his heartbeat could be heard beneath the waves with every step he took.

The moment he saw the blonde woman in her thirties sitting on a lounge chair, the world fell silent for an instant.

She sat there squinting under the sun, as if she had been waiting for him for a very long time. When she noticed John, she first lifted her head, then quickly stood up. John, on the other hand, hesitated for a moment; the tangled emotions of seeing a familiar face again flickered in his eyes.

The very next second, the woman started running.

John didn’t move. As if, should he take another step, the image would dissolve and the dream would shatter… He only watched the approaching silhouette—step by step, out of breath, that long-missed face coming a little closer with every second.

When the woman reached him, she didn’t stop; she wrapped her arms around his neck.

“You’re late,” she whispered.

John was still stunned. His hands slowly reached for her arms; the moment he touched her, his breath caught. His eyes traced her face, then he stepped back slightly and looked at her.

“I can’t believe it…” he said. “You… you feel real.”

A faint smile appeared in the woman’s eyes.

“What did you expect?” she said. “Didn’t you want it to be this way?”

On John’s face were joy and fear, longing and an indescribable shock all at once. Even the tone of his voice had changed.

“I really… feel like you’ve come back. This must be a dream…”

The woman tilted her head to the side.

“Yes,” she said. “I’m here. For you.”

And in that moment, the wind blowing along the shore silently carried the time between them away.

Holding John’s hand, the woman walked toward the lounge chair. As the warm sand left soft impressions beneath their feet, John couldn’t take his eyes off her face. With every step he looked at her again, and with every glance he sank a little deeper into reality.

When they sat down, the woman picked up a glass from the small table beside them. The colorful fruit juice cocktail shimmered in the sunlight. The glass was lightly misted; its coolness could be felt without even touching it. She handed it to John.

“I made your favorite fruit cocktail,” she said.

As John took the glass, he couldn’t look away from her.

“So…” he began hesitantly. “How much do you remember about me? I mean… how much were you told?”

The woman lowered her eyes for a moment, then turned back to him with a gentle expression.

“If you like, let’s leave that to time, John,” she said. “What I know or don’t know, what I remember… you’ll see in time. Don’t ask me that now. What do you say?”

John took a deep breath, as if surrendering to the calm in her voice.

“Alright,” he said. “Okay… I think that’s better too.”

He fell silent for a moment, holding the glass in his hands as he looked at her.

“But I can’t tell you how much I missed you.”

A soft smile appeared on the woman’s face. She reached for John’s hand with tenderness.

“I missed you very much too, John,” she said.

And in that moment, as the rhythm of the waves filled their silence, the longing they felt for each other softened even the warm air of the beach.