A Story

She put on the white dress with straps like a girl's braids. They looked like the ropes of a boat moored in a small private port. From her waist down to her ankles, the many pleats gave it an attractive beauty. This woman had three distinct qualities in her private life: simplicity, cleanliness, and finesse.
She picked up her bag and went out into the street; she had to be at the airport two hours before departure. The midday sun with its bright rays forced her to half-close her eyes; she instinctively reached for the sunglasses on her head, but... “Did I forget them, or are they in my bag? I’ll be inside now, I don't think I'll need them,” she thought as she walked.
She entered the large airport hall, taking in the clean environment with her eyes; although it was gleaming, the cleaners were still at work. “I’m early,” she said, and sat down on one of the passenger seats. Near her, she heard merry laughter that crossed the space like a flock of doves. A group of young people in sportswear were seeing off a friend of theirs. They hugged him and left.
The young man was left alone. He dropped his bag on the floor, certain no one would touch it. He felt in his pocket for his pack, but just as he was about to light a cigarette, the sign in front of him caught his attention: “No Smoking.” He read it and laughed. He put the pack back in his pocket and headed for the nearest kiosk.
He bought a pack of chewing gum. “I don't suppose these are banned,” he smiled at the sign, amused by the airport's strict rules.
The loudspeakers began to boom: one, two, three, four. The staff started making the preliminary announcements for the passengers. The platform and the hall were already full. Travelers were saying goodbye to the relatives and acquaintances accompanying them. They passed through the large hall into the security area and headed for the airliner.
“How nice,” the young woman thought about the young man. “His friends saw him off, but no one saw me off.” She felt a pang of pity for herself. The young man—whom she had just dubbed with that name—picked up his bag and combed his fingers through the long hair that had fallen over his forehead. “Who will be my fellow -
passenger this time?” he asked himself. “Oh God, just let it not be some old man who sleeps and snores the whole time,” and he set off.
He cast his gaze beyond the large windows and took in the runway with a clear, focused look. “Magnificent,” he thought, “magnificent as always.”
The passengers were climbing the plane's stairs; on the last step, the young man raised his hand in the air and called out, “Goodbye,” while the person behind him reminded him to hurry up.
In the plane's narrow aisle, he looked for his seat number. He stowed his bag and sat down by the small window. His chest filled
with the space his eyes roamed over, and he felt a pleasure he was unable to explain; the seat next to him was still empty. An elderly woman was coming toward him with a large bag. “Ah!” he thought, “as always!” But the elderly woman walked past him, smiled at him, and sat in a seat further down. The young man smiled too, without hiding his pleasure at her departure. He helped her put her heavy bag in its place. When he returned to his seat, he saw a lady in white clothes reaching up to stow a laptop.
“Excuse me, can I help you?”
She smiled sweetly. Her translucent lips opened like two petals, and from their depths came a sweet chirp of a “Thank you.”
The young man put everything in its proper place and sat down. He tactfully cast another glance at the seat next to him. His traveling companion looked like a white lily in full bloom. Two sweet eyes with eyelashes as long as pine needles to guard her gaze, and blue eyes that contrasted with her white dress. Nature had worked carefully to create this beauty. Her round chin caught the eye, two cheekbones with two dimples in the middle, a waterfall of hair poured down and wrapped around her slender neck, spreading over her fragile shoulders and her small, graceful breasts.
To the young man, it seemed he had the Louvre Museum in front of him. Every one of her features opened up before the young man like a masterpiece in its own right.

The woman, “White Lily,” took her seat and was trying to cast her gaze out the small window, but the young man's tall body and handsome head blocked her view. Instead of the landscape, she saw up close his calm eyes, a light, merry cloud drifting in their deep expanse, his half-open lips, and his clean face, which showed he hadn't been using a razor for long.
The young man saw her movements, understood her observing gaze, and so addressed her politely:
“Would you like to sit by the window?”
For a moment, the woman had forgotten the landscape outside. With her mind's eye, she was trying to capture the details that made up the landscape of this young man's face.
“If it’s possible, why not!” she replied, and her face took on a light pink color, much like her lips and her smile. This smile had the color of politeness; it embellished even more
her beauty and nobility. She sat down, looking intently at the runway.
The young man read her smile and asked:
“Are you traveling for the first time?”
“Yes!” she replied, “for the first time.” In truth, she had been traveling on this route for years. She had tied her life to it. The company she worked for had entrusted her with its economic relations and business in Germany. “Ah!” she thought, “little do you know that I work tirelessly for the future, for a quieter and more secure life, forgetting the present,
which flows by unnoticed, taking the best years of my life.”
“What kind of work do you do?” the young man asked again.
She looked at his large eyes, like two lakes, waiting impatiently
for the flow of her answer, but she did not speak.
“Never mind,” he thought. “The journey is long and we will talk.” He just smiled, looking at her perfect portrait.
The flying bird rocked, took a deep breath, and launched into the blue. The woman sat with her gaze cast outside. The airplane
more or less finished its climb and steadied, beginning its level flight, which gives you more of a chance to observe. The long bands of clouds were like white sheets, whole plumes of fluffed-up pillows. The mountains were like an open notebook;
in the valleys moved a gray mist, drifting toward the flow of the streams. She covered her eyes with her hands and turned to the young man. She was pale,
like leaves at the end of early autumn.
“Are you shaken?” he asked.
“A little,” she said.
A few minutes passed, and she was still not calming down.

“Excuse me, I need to go to the restroom. Please.” Her voice was sweet, soft, silken. It held within it the sweet sounds of the currents of her soul and of her wide-open blue eyes, like the sky after a dew that washes away all the dust and hides all the noises of the day, making way for rest and the movement of the breeze in the valleys of her eyelashes and the hills of her flushed cheekbones.
“Are you airsick?” he asked, and a cloud of despair appeared in his peaceful eyes, somewhat spoiling his earlier handsomeness.
“I think so,” she said, fixing her gaze on his eyes.
She tried to stand up, but couldn't; her whiteness swayed, like a cloud woven by the wind through the branches of trees, and she fell. She reached out her hand to hold onto the young man's shoulders.
He felt the weight of her body upon him. It was a light weight,
soft, dreamy. It seemed to him as if he were holding beauty itself in his hands, accompanied by the distinct fragrance and the waterfall of her thick hair.
“Excuse me.” Her voice came out trembling, like a melancholic song
coming from a musical instrument that he did not know, but only felt. She murmured these words so sweetly, like a prayer, without taking her hand off his shoulders.
“Please.” The young man watched her movements with pity. And nature, he thought, does not know where it hands out its punishments.
She stroked her long hair as if by accident, and started to leave. The white dress, like an elusive dream, brushed against his hands and his expressionless face. She walked away like an angel, leaving behind her fragrance and her image.
“Oh God! What was that? Why did I get so flustered?” His heart was beating forcefully, like the flow of a river in the turbines of a hydroelectric plant, producing light only for the rooms of his soul. A few minutes passed and she was nowhere to be seen; in his chest, a downpour of sadness leveled the blossoming fields of feeling. The seat felt like it was full of thorns, the seatbelt was relentlessly squeezing the spaces of his soul. He stood up. He knocked timidly on the door.
“Are you alright?”
“Come in!” he heard from inside.
He entered somewhat hesitantly.
“Are you nauseous?”
“A little!” she whispered. “I've calmed down somewhat.”
A knock on the door, the flight attendant:
“How are you?”
“Fine, fine,” he replied. “My wife got a bit airsick.” He smiled at her eyes so they would accept the joke. He approached her, he didn't even understand
himself how he took her face in his hands. She was so beautiful, so fresh.
His hands plunged into her long hair, into a forest of dreams, fell to her shoulders and arms, and locked around her slender waist. She was trembling all over, burning from a
flame that no barometer could measure. He was surprised himself by this action. He had always known how to control his feelings, but today they were drunk and had escaped the clutches of logic. He knew nothing but work; feelings, for him, belonged to the future. She opened her mouth. From the depths
came a fiery volcano that seemed to tell him that she too was as thirsty as he was for... salt water.
He devoured her parched lips.
“Lower,” she whispered between kisses, “lower.” The heavily pleated dress opened like seagull wings and melted into the young man's hands. Wherever he touched her, he discovered new meadows, bubbling springs like her beauty itself.
“Now, now,” she whispered.
“No, let's wait a little longer,” he replied, amidst his quickened breathing.
“No, please, we have no time to lose.”
“Let's wait a little longer, please.”
She wanted to live those moments without losing time.
Finally, the young man decided and entered the paradise of her
wondrous feelings to release himself entirely, like a heavy cloud over the planted fields of the soul. To rest and release that beautiful woman. Their flight now seemed angelic; their souls and bodies were angels flying free in the heavenly spaces of feelings.
They stayed like that for a long time, until a knock on the door reminded them that they had to return to their seats.
“Right now, right now,” the young man replied. “Are you alright?” he asked the woman.
“Fine!” she smiled.
“How are we going to go out?” he asked again.
“Together!” she said. Holding hands, they went out and sat in their seats.
After their flight, she looked even more beautiful. She rested her head on his shoulder and closed her eyelashes. The airplane was landing. She blinked and slowly opened her eyes, as if she didn't want to look at reality, but wanted to keep living in the dream.
“Are you married?” he asked.
“Yes!” she said. It seemed she wasn't telling the truth.
“What kind of work do you do?”
She cast her gaze deep into his eyes and did not speak, as if to let him know that work didn't matter.
“What do you like in life? Movies, songs, poetry, stories?”
“I like them all,” she replied, “and I liked you a lot too,” she added with a smile.
“What kind of work do you do?” he insisted again.
“You'll find out, figure it out,” the woman said. “When are you coming back?” she asked to change the course of the conversation.
“After the match.”
“Shall we meet tonight?”
“If you give me the address, I'll come and find you.”
“Call me when the match is over. I hope you win, you play beautifully,”
she spoke with a hidden meaning. She handed him her phone number. “I will wait for you.”
After midnight, he made his way to her hotel. Sleepy, she opened the door for him. He took her in his arms and covered her with kisses. She woke up.
“Let me take a shower,” he asked for permission; “after the shower another pleasant shower awaited him.” He slipped into the cream-colored sheets and, under the light of the lampshade, eagerly sought out her beauties. He already knew this woman's desires.
“Please,” she murmured.
“Just a little more,” he insisted.
Finally, the first rays of the sun fell on the silken curtains, turning their room into a fairy tale. They had fallen asleep, to wake up in a blue, blue world, like the flight of their feelings itself.