Mystery -- IN THE SPELL OF A GREAT LOVE /// 1. Sarah

The party was loud, colorful, and pleasantly chaotic.
Artists mingled with people in perfectly ordinary professions, and no one seemed to mind that some were talking about their latest ideas while others were discussing their latest problems.
Ralf, twenty-five, a seasonal writer by conviction and convenience, stood at the edge of the dance floor with a glass of wine in his hand.
Then he saw Sarah.
She was twenty-two, attractive, self-confident, and had that kind of smile where you couldn't immediately tell whether it was meant for you or for the whole world.
A few minutes later, they were dancing together.
Later, they sat slightly apart from the others.



“So, what do you do for a living?”
“Data processing.”
Ralf nodded solemnly.
“Excellent. Then we’re practically destined for each other.”
Sarah laughed.
“How do you figure that?”
“I write. You can type my texts into the computer.”
“And what if you don’t write anything?”
“Then YOU have a secure job.”
“And what if I stop liking you someday?”
Ralf raised his glass.
“Then I have a serious computer problem.”
Sarah laughed again.
It was a small, silly exchange.



But years later, Ralf would remember every word.
Especially one.
Sarah had said back then:
“Sometimes, even when you’re joking, you’re already creating your own future.”
They got married.
It wasn’t a spectacular marriage.
That was precisely why it was happy.
Sarah worked, Ralf wrote. When he wrote, she typed his manuscripts into the computer. When he wasn’t writing, he took care of the household.



Of course, they argued, too.
About little things.
About money.
About friends.
About who was actually supposed to take out the garbage.
But even their little arguments had something reassuring about them.
Because by evening, they were together again.
And Ralf loved Sarah.
Not sensibly.
Not moderately.
Absolutely.


 

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