Prologue

22 September, 2050

Harry would always remember that moment. It stood apart on all the horizons of his life like a distinct silver lining.

He remembered every detail of her countenance as it looked then. It was as clear as the features of a full moon, resplendent on the rare, starry night when the sky was clear.

It was a moment that changed everything. Nothing would ever be the same again.

****

He ran into her at his street theater. Her audition was so raw, so real, that the theater runner, Caleb, hired on the spot.

Within minutes, the stage was set. The world felt on the verge of something new. Harry lifted his nose into the cool evening breeze.

The gong sounded. The play began. In ten minutes, his head began to swim. He had thought she was a first time actor, a casual hire. But no!

She was a strange experience.

More and more he felt it difficult to keep track of the line between pretend and reality. A lot of what she was projecting, what she was saying, not saying, seemed to be coming from a place all too real.

What was this connection? How could his empathy run this deep for an absolute stranger? A tunnel had opened between them, sucking him in.

No one, in the past five years of street theater had ever wrenched such a performance from him. He wanted to go there with her, be there with her, swim on all the currents she sent his way.

In the span of a measly forty-minutes play, he had visited places in his psyche, spaces in his soul, he had never even known existed.

By the end of it, he was floored, knocked out flat.

He forced himself to remain standing as per the custom at the end of the play. He wanted to kneel down or at least bend and place his palms on his knees, hold on to something.

Somebody give me a water bottle right now...

With surprise, he noticed that the spectators—it was a sizeable crowd for a weekday, were standing, actually standing on their feet.

A first.

But then, as suddenly as the applause had begun, it stopped.

Instinctively, he turned his head. She was standing at the left edge of the stage with Caleb. They were talking in low tones. He couldn't make out any words from afar but he could see it was heated and hurried. Then that ended abruptly too.

She was running...

She had jumped into the street and was running like hell.

What?

Why?

He had seen Caleb take out a wad of money while she was arguing, and attempt to count it. He looked at Caleb's hands, they were empty now. He looked at Caleb's face, it was peeved.

Thief! She was a thief! She had taken off with Caleb's money.

He sprang into action, jumped off the stage like she had and took off. He would have caught up with her soon, picking up some speed but something made him stop.

It was a yell from behind.

"She didn't steal it, Harry!" It was Caleb, calling him back. Slowly, he turned and faced the stage, confusion spread on his features. The spectators had already dispersed, a few groups and pairs lingering, whispering.

"It's her money. She needed it 'urgent'. Rude brat!" A bitter Caleb spat on the stage.

At last, still standing in the middle of the street, he took a deep breath to steady himself. It was then that it hit him.

He hadn't begun to run because he wanted to catch a thief, play white savior again.

He was running because he wanted to stop her, to ask her, to know her, to understand her, to find out what it was in her bony form that had left him so raw. He wanted to solve this riddle.

Who was she? Where had she come from? Why was she runningt? Where was she headed?

He remained rooted at his spot, now truly spent, trying to calm down his panting. The girl had already turned a corner out of his life.

Oddly, the last question in his mind, before he sat down in the middle of the street and closed his eyes, too tired to walk back to the stage, also loomed the heaviest in his heart:

Would he ever see her again?