A stranger sat at her table, claiming to be her soulmate. She had no idea where he had come from or how he had gotten into her house in the first place. Maybe she’d left the front door open by accident, entered the key but forgotten to turn it in the lock. It wasn’t exactly unlike her to do such a thing, she did get awfully forgetful sometimes.


Regardless of how it had happened, there he was, in the slatted chair right opposite, hands perched fidgeting on the edge of the dining table as if he didn’t quite know how to comport himself in her presence.


Fear welled up from the depths of her stomach, swirling through her chest like a whirlpool threatening to snatch her under into full-blown panic. She didn’t know this man, had no idea who he was, and when he suddenly covered her hand with his own, softly pinning her fingers to the worn damask of the table cloth, it was all she could do not to scream and run. Instead, she sucked in a frightened gulp of air and resisted with all her being the urge to pull her hand away from underneath him.


“How did you get in here?” she said, slowly looking up into pale blue eyes that seemed to be brimming with tears. “I don’t know you.”

“I know you don’t,” he replied with a soft, almost resigned sigh. “But I promise you, I am your soulmate, even if you can’t remember me right now.”


The thought occurred to her that maybe this was all just a strange, fanciful dream. Perhaps she was sound asleep right now, not downstairs in the dining room where the scene was taking place, but in the master bedroom of her small, terraced house, tucked in comfortably underneath the woollen blanket and the green bedspread with the floral design. Yes, she thought, that would explain this unlikely stranger in her house. Maybe she’d seen him fleetingly somewhere else, at the grocery store or in the library and, her subconscious having retained his image, was now projecting his likeness as a dream protagonist during her slumber.


“Am I dreaming?” she asked him and the corners of his mouth lifted ever so slightly into a wistful smile.


“No, my love,” he answered. “You’re not dreaming. I wish you knew me like I know you. I’m Robert, your soulmate, don’t you remember?”


She thought hard, allowing her mind to drift to all the Roberts she could think of. There had been a boy called Robert in primary school, the one who was all limbs and found it hard to put one foot in front of the other without tripping over his own feet or a nearby chair or table leg.


Then there had been Rob in high school, the tall, dark and handsome type who made all the girls swoon and whisper to each other excitedly whenever he walked past with his friends in the hallway. She never told anyone how he would wink at her surreptitiously in class and how she would blush furiously at that, staring straight ahead at the blackboard in a desperate attempt to regain composure.


She was sure she had dated a Robert once, in her late teens, early twenties maybe, a tall man with brown hair and piercing blue eyes that made her stomach clench and her knees tremble. But as much as she remembered how he had made her younger self feel, she couldn’t quite put her finger on what had happened to that young man or how their relationship had ended. She mentally shrugged to herself and supposed it must not have been that important. Relationships at that young age often just run their course, destined to fall victim to the whims and follies of youth or the next big romance lurking just around the corner.


No matter how hard she tried, however, she was unable to recall any other Robert that had meant anything to her in her lifetime, much less the older gentleman sitting in front of her, eyeing her expectantly, much, much less someone who claimed to be her soulmate!


“Please trust me, my love,” he whispered softly, tearful eyes so imploring she didn’t have the heart to tell him that, no, she didn’t exactly trust this strange man who had walked into her house and plonked himself down at her dining room table without announcement or invitation. Instead, she heard herself say “Okay.” and her heart even warmed a little when that scant smile once again appeared on his lips, its affection spreading across his face and into the depths of his sky-coloured eyes.


“Then come with me,” he said and she felt herself stand and move away from the table even before her brain had consciously given her legs permission. He stood, too, and they both moved around the table until they came together, his arm slightly outstretched, hand held out expectantly for her to take it. And this time, she did so voluntarily, feeling him squeeze her fingers slightly in encouragement.

He led her through the open door of the dining room into the sitting room and she briefly marvelled at how familiar he appeared to be in the surroundings. He seemed to know her little house almost as well as she herself did, but how could that be? How could this man appear so comfortable, when he was nothing but a mere stranger to her?


Her musings were cut off when he stopped short before the mantle above the fireplace. The marble ledge was filled with ornaments, beloved trinkets she had collected throughout her life, from charity shops and flea markets, and the delicately carved angel statue her best friend Agnes had gifted her for her 50th birthday.


But the stranger didn’t appear to concern himself with the objects above the fireplace, instead he pointed to the wall above it, to the large photograph that formed the focal point of the room. The picture featured a young couple, the girl wearing a beautiful, lacy wedding dress and veil, her partner dapper in a black three-piece suit. They were holding hands and from the smiles on their faces and sparks in their eyes, they looked very much in love.


With a jolt of recognition, she realised she was looking at herself in the picture, a young bride 40 years ago on her own sunny wedding day. The handsome groom next to her she knew as her husband, a man with piercing blue eyes very much like those of the stranger next to her, who was still holding her hand.


She turned to him with dawning realisation and a clarity the disease had often taken from her.


“Robert?”