I wanted to scold Robert for his stupid bravado, for the way he shamelessly increased the speed on the narrow forest road, not paying attention to the fact that we were driving straight into the empty silence of the night. But at that moment another thought flashed through my mind. I remembered that this was our last evening together, when we could love each other without raising suspicion, without hiding anything, without hiding behind false masks and without hiding our eyes. This was the last chance to spend the night as two people who were open to each other, before we plunged again into this world where hiding feelings becomes a necessity.
I held my breath, watching him concentrate on the wheel, confidently driving us along this route, as always, with a slight challenge in his driving style. He was not afraid. And I was still thinking about how I wanted to continue this night, not thinking about tomorrow. About how after it everything would return to normal. Robert could not know how hard it would be for me to return to the usual course, to pretend again that everything was normal, that we did not know what this look, these touches, this closeness meant.
I opened my mouth to say something harsh to him, but at that moment I felt another wave wash over me. Instead of making the usual remark, I suddenly moved closer to him and, feeling his warm breath, lightly touched his shoulder. He was not surprised, did not move away, but only slightly turned his head, letting me know that everything was okay. There was no condemnation in his eyes, only understanding. And this understanding was more important to me than anything.
"Don't worry," he said quietly, without taking his eyes off the road. "Tomorrow everything will be different."
I didn't answer. Instead, I just put my hand on his thigh, feeling the thick fabric of his jeans under my fingers. In that same second, I realized that I couldn't think about this. I couldn't think about tomorrow, about returning to our normal lives, about hiding what we had again. I wanted this night, this connection, this passion. Only now, in this moment, I wanted to be with him.
We continued driving, and I felt more and more how some invisible density was growing between us, which became more and more noticeable with each turn of the road. I felt my fingers tightening on his thigh, and in that moment there were no words, no fears, no thoughts about what would happen tomorrow. We were here, now, together, and that was enough.
It was our last night. I knew that tomorrow everything would change. In Albany, my lover had a message at the post office that he was to report to the editorial office in two days. I knew what that meant: his time on vacation was over. That was how long it would take to travel the nearly thousand kilometers that separated our camp from Ottawa: to Albany by car, then by boat, and back on the highway. We both knew that, despite our silence, this night was the final chord, the last moment when we could be just two people, oblivious to the world around us.
Robert suggested that we stay at the lake until the end of September, as we planned, to enjoy the peace and solitude, but of course I didn't agree. I couldn't stay. I knew that nothing would come back, and I couldn't afford to prolong the inevitable. There were things that couldn't be ignored, no matter how hard we tried to hide them, no matter how hard we built our little worlds, protected from everything else. I couldn't look into his eyes, knowing that tomorrow we would no longer be the same. We would not be the same as we are now.
"Are you sure you don't want to stay?" Robert tried to convince me again, but his voice sounded tired. He knew the answer, but he probably still hoped that I would change my mind. He was the one who always acted with confidence, with determination, but that night it seemed to me that something had broken in him. His words were quiet, but there was a hidden request in them. He couldn't understand why I didn't agree, why I felt that I needed to leave, that we needed to finish this.
"We both know it doesn't make sense," I said, feeling my chest grow colder with each passing minute. This was all just an illusion, a briefly forgotten reality. We could stay on this lake, enjoy every moment, but we couldn't escape what was waiting for us after. I knew I'd soon go back to my life, and he to his. And we wouldn't be like this anymore. We wouldn't be like this anymore.
He leaned back in the wooden chair that stood near the fire. I sat next to him, frozen in the shadow of the fire. There was no wind, and there was a dead silence all around. Only sparks from the fire flared up in the darkness, like our feelings - quick, bright, but short-lived.
"You always know what to do," Robert said after a pause, his voice soft and casual, but I sensed something more in it. It wasn't a reproach, not an insult, but rather an admission: he knew that our paths were diverging. We both knew that this moment on the lake was part of some other time that couldn't continue. We couldn't stop that process, despite everything that connected us.
I stood up and walked towards him without saying a word. He raised his head and looked into my eyes, and in his gaze I read what I felt: we both knew that this was our last meeting, our last morning, which would be complete and then break apart like something fragile and invulnerable. I touched his shoulder, and without saying another word, we remained silent, watching the fire gradually die out.
Robert suddenly remembered the newspapers he had brought from town and went to the car to get them. I stayed by the fire, which was already dying down, leaving only weak flashes of red light in the air. The dark, starless night enveloped us, and the space around us seemed immense, eclipsed by something mysterious. I listened to his footsteps, distantly pounding on the damp earth, and at that moment something in the silence clearly cut into my ears - perhaps it was something beyond the fire, unknown and unnamed.
When Robert returned, he held out his hand with difficulty, holding several rolled-up newspapers. He looked a little awkward, as he always did when he returned from these short walks filled with tasks he didn't always want to do. I noticed that he was holding something back, perhaps a reflection of the fact that we both knew our vacation on this lake was coming to an end.
He didn't unfold the papers right away, but laid them down next to him, away from the fire, so that their rustling sound merged with the crackling of the coals. We were both silent, but it wasn't an awkward silence, it was almost habitual, as if we both knew that everything that needed to be said had already been said. And then Robert turned on one of the car's headlights again - a bright beam of light cut through the darkness of the night, illuminating the entire camp, the rocks, and, of course, us. His face became clearer, as if we were suddenly in another light, in another time.
"I find it strange how much one simple thing can change," he said, not looking at me, but there was a hint of irony in his voice. "These newspapers," he shook his head slightly, as if he couldn't believe himself. "They won't change anything anyway, will they? But still..."
I looked at him, trying to figure out what he meant. There was a tension in his words, not just weariness, but a tension that was almost invisible, like a shadow lurking in the corner. He felt that this moment was important, but he couldn't quite put his finger on why. Robert was always like that-he had an intuitive sense of when something was bound to happen, and he knew to give it time to settle in before he made a move.
"I don't think it matters," I finally answered, coming closer and squatting by the fire. "We've already chosen everything. Everything that happens to us is just temporary. Newspapers, cars, these nights... Everything that's really important eventually goes away. We can't stop that process, after all."
Robert looked at me again, his eyes a little lost, as if he were searching for something more in my words. But I didn't continue. Everything had been said, and in that silence, in the headlights, I felt something pulling me toward him, and no matter what happened next, we both probably already knew that our paths would eventually part.
He sighed, then straightened the papers, unfolding them and peering at the black-and-white pages. Their contents didn't matter to us, but we both knew that in this silence, in this waiting, every gesture, every look was important. We just didn't want anything to change.
He laid out the newspapers on the old wooden table, and I watched as his fingers carefully smoothed out each fold. The papers were simple, black and white, worn, with the smell of old printing presses and dull news that seemed unable to touch us in this solitude. We sat here in the deep forest, far from the bustle of the city, but we still felt his presence, like a shadow that could not go away.
I lit my pipe, letting the cloud of smoke obscure my vision. It took me a moment to notice that Robert was deep in his reading, but as his eyes swept over the lines with concentration, I sensed something had changed. Perhaps he had found something that had been bothering me about this place. Perhaps his attention to these papers was more important than just echoes of old news.
"You are not worthy of living in this venerable forest wilderness," I said, smiling reservedly. I wanted my words to sound light, but there was something else in them - weariness or irritation, something I had not been able to express for a long time. "An unhappy city dweller."
Robert did not answer immediately. He continued to stare at the paper, his face almost hidden in the dim light of the lamp, which illuminated only his silhouette. It was that moment when, despite all the closeness, a thin, almost imperceptible distance slipped between us again. He looked up, and there was more in his gaze than just an answer. It was a challenge.
"You better listen," he said, his voice firm, even surprisingly sharp for this place. "This isn't just about the newspapers. This is about you. And us."
I raised my eyebrows, narrowing my eyes slightly. His words weren't easy to take in, but I felt they needed to be said. He leaned even closer to the table, and his finger ran over the title, as if he were trying to tear the lines apart.
"You think we can just walk away from everything? Leave our lives, our stories, and forget that we were ever a part of this world?" He paused, and when she didn't answer, he continued. "You've always run away from reality, thinking that here in the forest you'll find refuge. But you can't live like that. It's not a solution, it's just an escape."
His words cut through me, even though I tried to remain calm. In that moment, I realized that Robert did see me differently. He wasn't as fixated on the idea of solitude as I was. For him, this place wasn't a refuge, just a temporary place to stay. He wasn't trying to hide from the world-he was trying to understand it, despite all its oddities and cruelties. He was right, though I didn't want to admit it.
I lit another pipe, trying to get rid of the bitterness that was starting to fill my chest. But his words wouldn't let me go. He was right. I hadn't come here for peace, but for escape. I wasn't looking for harmony, I just wanted to get rid of the fuss, the worries that always seemed unbearable. But what was left after that escape? Robert didn't ask me about the past, he didn't try to judge me. He was just trying to bring me back to life.
He stood up, looking at me one last time, and picked up the papers. His gaze was light and calm now, as if he had finished speaking. He knew what I had heard, and perhaps now I had to do something about it. But for a moment, as he turned to leave, I felt that I didn't want to change anything. I wasn't ready to return to the world I had tried so hard to leave.
We started to hug, and at that moment, when his hands found me and I felt the warmth of his body, suddenly Robert jumped up from the ground, as if something had overtaken him. It was unexpected, like a break in silence, like a flash that takes everything away. I stepped back, watching as his figure jumped off the ground and he stood there, almost frozen, his eyes wide open, as if trying to understand what was happening.
The sky, invisible until now, became brighter, as if in one moment all the clouds had dispersed, and in their places only some strange brightness remained. We both stopped, not understanding what was happening, but at that moment I felt something new, elusive, blow in the air. The edges of the clouds began to sparkle like metal blades, and the whole world around us, which a second ago had been engulfed in darkness, was filled with bright light.
"This is something... something strange," Robert breathed, his voice almost lost in the flash of light.
He couldn't understand what this phenomenon was, and neither did I. Everything that was happening seemed to have no logical explanation. It wasn't like a thunderstorm - there was no wind, no rain, only a strange, almost unearthly glow that eclipsed everything around.
I walked up to Robert, trying to touch his hand, to bring him back to reality, to make him a person again with whom I could share this moment. But he was carried away by this phenomenon, his gaze full of something new and disturbing. I saw in his eyes not fear, but rather a kind of wariness - as if he knew that something important was about to happen, and it was inevitable.
"We have to..." he began, but did not finish the sentence, because at that moment the light enveloped us both.
We both felt the space around us shrink, as if time itself had stopped for a second at that moment, and the world we lived in was no longer the same as we knew it.
It wasn't just a night, not just our last evening in camp. It was something more, something inexplicable. We stood in the center of the light, surrounded by silence, and I realized that everything we had done before, everything that connected us, was now unimportant. We were here, but not in this time, not in this place.
Robert froze, his face reflecting the light, but I couldn't tell what he was feeling. We both knew that nothing would be the same after this.
"A meteor! It's a meteor!" Robert shouted excitedly, his voice shaking with surprise and delight.
He spun around, unable to contain the impulse, and leapt toward the car. In one motion, he turned on the headlights, the bright light cutting through the darkness, reflecting off the wet ground and sliding down the silvery tree trunks.
I stood there, still not understanding what was happening, watching him rummage through the car, his hands shaking with excitement. He was like a child, absorbed in something incredible that had just burst into our nightly reality. It seemed to me that it was just some strange mirage, but Robert was sure. I could only follow his gaze, feeling a strange uneasiness growing in my chest. A meteor. Or perhaps it was something more than just a cosmic phenomenon.
"Look, look!" he pointed to the sky, where at that moment a bright fire flared up, piercing the black curtain of night.
The meteor, moving quickly across the sky, left a glowing trail behind it. But its trajectory was strange - not like normal meteors, but as if it was moving with some kind of intention, some kind of purpose. Its tail was too long, and the flash itself was brighter than I expected.
I squinted, trying to see the object, but the headlights were blinding. Robert ignored my doubts, he continued, not hiding his delight:
"It's not just a meteor! We have to find it! It's too close! Look how it moves, it's going to fall very close!"
I didn't know what it was, but Robert's voice was so sure that I couldn't deny it. This moment seemed out of this world-out of the world I was used to, where we just sat around the fire, talking about the past and forgetting about the future. This was something else, something so much grander than all those nights on the lake.
"We have to go there!" Robert continued, now grabbing my hand, not giving me time to think. "This is a chance. We can't miss it!"
I felt his anxiety become infectious. I didn't know what was happening, but I had the strange feeling that in that moment we were part of something bigger, something beyond our usual thoughts. We left the car and ran through the forest, past the lake, through the dark, damp bushes, closer and closer to where the meteor would fall. We didn't know where this path was taking us. But Robert, full of determination, led me, and I followed.
We ran to the lake and, without wasting any time, jumped into the boat, which was gently rocking on the water. I noticed how the light of the car's headlights was moving away, absorbed by the dark strip of forest, and around us the emptiness was growing, as if the whole world was disappearing, leaving only this moment. The lake, like a mirror, reflected the night sky, but its surface was restless - waves from our rapid movements broke the mirror surface, as if nature itself could not remain calm.
Robert took the oar and began pushing off from the shore, steering the boat toward the spot where he said the meteor would hit. I didn't know if it was fear or excitement that moved him, but his face was tense, and I knew that for him this was more than just a chance encounter with space. There was something in his eyes, something like a premonition, something that couldn't be explained in words.
"You found something in the papers, right?" I asked, even though I knew the answer didn't matter anymore.
We hadn't discussed anything important in the last few hours, but I felt like Robert was hiding something from me, something that had brought us here.
He was silent, focused on steering the boat, his hands gripping the oar tightly, his gaze fixed on the dark waters as if there was something important down there.
"Maybe," he finally answered, his voice not as confident as before. "I don't know what it was. But if it... if it's true, if it happened, we have to be there.
He looked at me again, and there was a determination in his eyes that made me uneasy. This moment was beyond ordinary, and I began to realize that Robert might be feeling something I couldn't understand. We were both here for our own reasons, and if I'd known how much this would change, I might have begun to doubt it at that moment.
The boat moved further and further, and the sounds of our oar sliding through the water became the only sounds we heard. Around us there was only darkness and water, and this meteor that seemed to be slowly approaching. We were not just spectators of this phenomenon, we became part of something unknown that penetrated us from head to toe, forcing us to believe in the impossible.
"Aren't you afraid?" I asked, although I could hardly hear my own voice in this abyss.
Robert shook his head slightly.
"I'm afraid, but I can't stop. You know what this means, don't you? It's something important."
I looked at his face - and, indeed, he believed it. There was a sincerity in his gaze that left no room for doubt. This was more than just a meteor - it was a prophecy, a challenge, or perhaps the beginning of something great. We could not go back.
Suddenly, acrid steam filled the boat, a thick haze, as if the darkness itself had decided to settle among us. Humid, heavy air, as if frozen in a minute, not allowing us to breathe. It smeared the outline of the boat's bow, everything around became blurry, and at that moment I realized that we were no longer in control of what was happening. All this was not just a phenomenon - it was something alive, unknown, that was absorbing us, forcing us to slide forward, although we did not know where.
My gaze darted across the misty waters as I worked the oar vigorously, trying to get my bearings. The boat was taking us further and further into the unknown, and I knew that if we did not change course, we would end up in the very center of this foggy cloud, in its thickest part. I positioned the boat broadside, then stern to the direction of the current. I raised the engine and lowered the propeller. The water behind the stern immediately began to boil, but although the engine was now pushing us in the opposite direction, the boat continued to move deeper into this mesmerizing cloud, as if the very force of this current attracted us, as if we were part of some inexplicable mechanism.
"Oars! Robert, oars!" I shouted, but my voice was carried away into the void.
The water behind the stern foamed, as if it could not stand our resistance, and the steam only grew thicker. At that moment I no longer knew who was steering the boat - us or the cloud itself. My hands slid over the oar, but nothing could stop the movement.
Robert seemed to be in a trance. He sat motionless, his face staring into space, and I didn't know if he was even thinking about what was happening. I glanced at him, but his eyes were lost in the vortex, as if he had become part of this strange current, unconsciously succumbing to its pull.
The boat was no longer rocking as it had been before. It was vibrating, not much, but in a way that suggested the irresistible force of the current. Every movement we made echoed on the surface of the water, and I realized that something very powerful, something more than just a strange natural phenomenon, was holding us in its arms. We were racing into the fog, piercing it as if the cloud were a living creature crawling across the surface of the lake.
I tried to take control again, but what was happening around us was above us. We were just two dots in this vast space, and this cloud was some kind of link that could carry us anywhere. I looked at Robert, but he still hadn't moved. His silence was no longer just a presence, it was part of this environment, a silent testimony that we couldn't go back.