Conversations on the Cusp

Neusforia Tower, March 2381

This is how it begins: We slip silently into a room, nervous but elated, and sit across each other at a small table. There is music streaming in the air. Around us, the glass facades present the twinkling city lights. We are high above traffic and architecture, electricity and land. We exchange a few cautious laugh, a little in disbelief that we are here, in this ambiguous lair. The waiter enters, and instead of offering a menu, he extracts, with flourish, a device on a silver platter. The red button illuminates in rhythm, bringing the words etched on it to visibility: 'Pause'. This is what the room offers, after all, this much coveted secret service. It is not for the faint of heart. You glance at me, nod, and press the button. Time stops. Our verbal intercourse begins.

This is a conversation far from conventional means. It is deprived of trivial 'how are yous' and 'how has it beens'. This is a discussion, a debate, a story telling. The Pause button grants us a vacuum that removes us from our existing realities. Here we shed our past worries, our wrongdoings and our resentment. There is no ill feeling here, no guilt. All dispositions of disagreement and discrimination is forbidden. In a frozen time frame, we find that we are able to peel off our layers and masks, our stage personas, our various versions. They are all fading away, undressing us til we are naked down to our souls. It is not a start over. It is merely a cleanse. With this, we are free to converse as we wish.

Thus the night envelopes us, and we grow drunk on the tales of our future dreams, our lame humour and the bearings of our deepest fears. We have consumed each other the way fire devours coal, only to burn brighter and brighter, fueling our conference and confidence. We are two beings, glowing with life and flaws. We are not a girl, a boy, a student, a teacher, nor are we any of the labels that has stuck to us in our lives outside this room. In here we shout, we cry, we laugh to celebrate the wonders that is a conversation without boundaries and expectations. Forget the fatigue, the hurt, the strangeness or unfamiliarity. There is no past brought to this exchange. There is also no upcoming future. We are carrying this solely for the pleasure of the present, for the thrill and romance of an enchanting talk.

As the night draws to a close, and the first pale glimpse of a new day peeks through golden horizons, we become aware that time is stirring. The power of the Pause is slowly dissipating. With every second, our mind regathers its worries. The weight of our previous relations and doings to each other is becoming more apparent; our conversation wavers. The moment arrives where we finally fall silent. A different sort of communication takes place, coded in the depths of our eye contact. It is magnetic. A form of gravity that acts as evidence of a moment in space that was ours alone. This is how we immortalise the memory: this affair that was devoid of all worldly evil, created from the purest of intentions. The waiter announces the conclusion of our session. I clear my throat, and we both rise from our seats. You hold out a hand, formally, shifting to a stranger.

"Any last words, sir, madam?" The waiter inquires politely. The air bristles in neutrality. I hold my breath, searching your thoughts. A 'thank you' is at the edge of my lips. "Sir? Madam?" The waiter prompts, a little puzzled: it is common courtesy for 'sessioners' to thank each other. But we are different, we are changed from the Pause. I exhale. A mere spoken thanks does not seem to do justice to the inferno that is still glowing in the realm of my mind. But this is the official decree. So I open my mouth, but instead of the planned phrase, I find myself uttering instead, "What I would give to have a conversation with you." There is a sharp intake of breath from the waiter. You smile, a little sadness seeping through the contours of your face. "Maybe in a different time." It is not a promise, only a possibility. "Thank you," I finally state. We shake hands, and leave the room: This is how it ends.
   

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