A man walks toward a lady sitting on a sofa at the corner in the departure hall at Confluence Airport. He moves fast like flowing water, whereas the lady sits like an ancient iceberg. People are waiting in line in the background for security check.
B: Bora; S: Shui
S: Good morning, ma’am.
B: Hey. (Taking off her earphone)
S: Well, since we’re in the morning airport, not a night pub, I might as well get straight to the point. (Showing the book he’s been hiding behind his back) I think you might find this book interesting.
B: And why is that, if I may ask?
(She takes a look at the book, her expression mixed with, I wildly guess, surprise and vigilance. Therefore, her face resembles a piece of floating blank paper under the sun.)
S: Well, I just saw from a distance, (Hesitating for a second) that you were reading a book. I am pretty sure it’s A Winter Book by Tove Jansson. The blue cover is so unique that I recognized it at once.
(Seeing the puzzled look from the stranger, he continues.)
And here, the book called My Early Life in Taiwan and Hong Kong. They would be a perfect match.
B: (Recovering from her temporary mutism) The book is written in Chinese. You might as well recognize that I am a foreigner.
S: Yes indeed. (Giving a chuckle, only making the foreign lady frown) But I couldn’t help noticing your writing style. You see, vertical writing is only for those who learn Chinese. Or Japanese, Korean, Vietnamese.
B: You’ve definitely got sharp eyes. (Speaking coldly) I am thinking if I should be offended or not.
S: I apologise for my inappropriate behavior, ma’am. It’s just that I rarely find someone who still writes on paper nowadays, especially in this busy airport.
B: It’s not forbidden.
S: Of course not. Not for a lady who’s willing to stay in her seat for all night long.
B: I’m sorry. (She puffs her chest, her moonstone neckless shines defiantly like a third eye.) What are you trying to imply?
S: You carry no luggage, and almost none of your personal belongings. (Nodding at her neckless politely) I can see you’re not a typical traveler.
B: Now I’m suspecting you to be a cop or an undercover who gets thrilled at the act of uncovering. (Her irony can freeze vapor.)
S: (Not a little bit offended) I promise you that I’m neither of them. But here’s my assumption: you don’t have any tickets with you, do you?
B: (Suddenly changing her tone. She now speaks slow as if she considers her every word, and makes sure they fall on the man with glacial force.) I can get one right now. And I can disappear right now. To god, knows, where.
S: (He smiles and talks smoothly like a new-born hot spring.) Yes, I believe it with my whole heart, and that’s why I decided to approach you.
B: You’re asking me for a date or something? You’re definitely walking on a tight rope now. (A crack appears on the surface of the iceberg.)
S: As I mentioned in the first place, there’s this book that I assume you to be interested in.
B: I’ve read this book before, so there’s no need to……
S: Exactly!
(A moment of silence)
(His enthusiasm intrigues the woman somehow. So she waits. She looks at the stranger. His all-white outfit makes his fit figure larger, and creates angles on his shoulders. The wrinkles on the sleeves fail to hide his muscularity. He gives her the impression of a perennial river, steady and not clumsy.)
S: (He continues, finally sitting down next to the lady.) In fact, this is perfect. It saves us from lingering here for too long then.
B: Don’t you have a flight to catch? Too? (She quickly adds while moving her body to make sure they keep a decent distance from each other.)
S: (Ignoring her question and confession) I’ve always been wondering how these two books can be both unrelated in terms of languages, historical backgrounds, and geograpgical locations, and so related when they have a chance to meet each other.
B: (Now busy searching something in her mind.) That depends on the intepretation, I suppose.
S: I think there’s this universal feeling of claiming something, whether the thing is small as The Stone. (He savors the moment when the girl Jansson tried to roll the stone across the tram road.) Or immense as a island country.
(Someone dims the light in the hall. Or maybe the sun hides behind the clouds outside.)
B: They both are forced to leave them for good after owning them for a while. (She is surprised at her words, coming out as if they’re spoken by somebody else.) And here, all the good stuffs in these books, of pain and serenity, of jealousy and willingness, of disappointment and anticipation.
S: (His eyes tender like gurgling water) Have you claimed that island of your own yet? Or you’re already leaving it?
(Behind, there’s a deflating sound of a balloon when a child is told not to bring the it to the security check. They both turn to look at his disappointed face before the lady speaks.)
B: I don’t know. I live in one. And you do for quite some time, obviously.
S: Do you mind if we move to somewhere else, a more private place?
(They move to the center of the hall, of the whole airport actually if seen on a map, where crowds after crowds flow past them. They introduce themselves briefly as they walk, learning the properties of their elements. The spotlight turns on. Here comes the awkward but beautiful moment when water and ice collide at the river confluence.)
(Bora continues, whispering despite of the noise.)
B: Sometimes I feel like I was born in an odd place. My mind wanders up and down, undecisive of where I should be. How lucky you are to be able to gain full speed towards the destination.
S: (Rubbing his hands together because he sees them sweating) I don’t feel this way. I long for any chance to stop before going down to the ocean, where I do nothing but wait for vaporization. I fail all but this time. Right before the departure. How lucky I am.
B: Where do you plan to go?
S: (His fingers twisting together in an impossible shape. It confuses me like the time when someone told me that they had seen water tying knots.) I don’t know. And that’s the scariest part. People speak about the ocean, but I don’t think they know about the ocean at all.
B: (She sighs, you can see her breath coming out of her mouth. It’s beautiful.) I think now maybe I’m more of like leaving here. Maybe that’s the way I get what I want. You know, all the memories I had here can be preserved on pages, and new things will be written down as I venture forth into the unknown. (She smooths her notebook she’s been holding all the time.)
S: But you might not get to feel what you’ve felt before. And things are always changing here.
(He can feel sweat trickling down his neck. He secretly hates the weather here.)
Your words might become unauthentic. And full of romanticism.
B: That’s why I am stuck here for such a long time. You can always crane your neck for fresh feelings and isolate yourself for reminiscence.
S: Sounds like not much of a bad thing.
B: This is the perfect place for people to write.
S: And they have good food here, I would say.
(Both of them break into a nervous laugh.)
B: Well usually,(She sounds much more friendly now, like the water drops from melting ice.) it’s me who make the first move. I approach a stranger, get their stories, and then they leave. Or I wait in the arrival hall and welcome them. Then I repeat the same thing. I can always expect an exciting conversation, their plans and fresh experiences. And now here you are, doing the same thing to me. I feel surprised.
S: Only I’m not leaving yet. I don’t want to ruin this opportunity. Maybe I can stay here for a long time like you do.
B: But in the end, days or years after, we have to leave, right?
S: I’m afriad so. I kind of like this island, and there’s this island farway that still holds a place in my heart.(He picks up A Winter Book from Bora’s lap. She blushes, but no one can see it because the ice is either white or transparent.)
B: Well, I can only think of something terrible here, but then, something terrible there happens.
S: We don’t have to make a decision now, do we?
B: (Smiling) No. We take our time.
(And they go to have a second breakfast together.)
River on Baltic Sea 
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