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There is a concept called “eternal return” that Tao has heard once or twice in the reflections of men wandering through religions. It says that the universe will continue recurring and repeating itself an infinite number of times in a finite number of ways – that every person and place and idea that has been defined will come to be defined again, in exactness, in a future that a single lifespan will never know. Tao finds this true himself when he is approached by a five-year-old girl with a frog-printed jumper who asks him why he looks like the old, faded photographs in her grandmother’s attic.

This is why he anticipates the day that a man with carefully combed hair and a flashy white suit comes to sit by him on a platinum bench that he doesn’t remember being there. This is why he is unsurprised when he turns his head and the man is already looking him over, soft smile waiting to be unleashed from behind his lips.

“Hello,” the man says politely. “Are you a traveler, too?”

And even though Tao wants nothing more than to draw the man into his arms, he resists. Even though he sees him with windswept hair and a satchel, mud on his face and gems in his teeth, he keeps this thought to himself – close to his heart, but not enough to squeeze it into nothing. He only returns his smile, checks his lungs, and nods his head.

“Yes,” he breathes. “Yes, I am.”

The man leans back, settling a briefcase on his lap. The sight of the bumps on the leather makes Tao nearly cry. “Then maybe we can explore together,” the man grins. “My name’s Kris.”

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