A stranger sat at her table, claiming to be her soulmate.


He urged her to stay seated and took the chair across from her, catching his breath from all the running.


"I know you may not remember, but I'm sure you can feel it. I am the reincarnation of Narcissus, and you are the lake I drowned in, now blessed to be born a human. I've come to drown in you again." He told her whilst out of breath.


She asked him what he meant, and if he was perhaps sick.


Her head looked around in hopes there was a phone booth nearby the cafe. He stopped her by reaching for her hand, holding it with both of his like it was a lifeline as he looked straight into her eyes with a look of relief. It was as if he ran marathon after marathon trying to find her.


"Sir, this is quite inappropriate! Don't you think?" she asked him as she tried to tug her hand away, but of course, he refused to let go.


He desperately explained that had been searching for her ever since he first went to her art exhibition that was held not long ago. It was not his first time visiting an art show, but that most recent exhibition was his first time hearing of the artist whose hands he was holding now. And from just seeing her works and commissions for the first time, he quickly loved her works.


Each and every one of them displayed a different type of human form in different poses. Some were of whole bodies drawn with illusions in mind, and others were only of certain body parts, held in their places while the rest of the body was missing. They were normally the body parts that most would consider unflattering, barely noticeable, or the lesser favorites. In those paintings of hers, she made them all look beautiful, whether or not the shapes, colors, or poses fit any beauty standards from any fashion or beauty magazine. And she made them all look alive, whether any of them had faces or no faces, or even a head.


However, those, while they piqued his interest, did not fully enamor him like the one that solidified his belief that she was his soulmate. It was the largest painting there, and the main attraction of the show. It was why he attended in the first place, for he heard rumors that the portrait looked similar to him. The artwork was so beautiful, that it had its own room. Naturally, being a well-known model, he thought it kind to attend the event of the artist he assumed to be his fan.


In that room contained a life-size portrait with a lake background that showed the image, or more reflection, of a man. There was nothing else in the painting aside from the reflection and the ripples of the water. The reflection itself showed the silhouetted yet detailed features of a Greek man, with luscious but unruly-looking hair. It was difficult to tell whether he was blond or brunette due to the water, which gave the illusion of realism like the water was real and defying gravity by not spilling from the upright canvas.


The painted man's features and the details, smiling and reaching out. Because of the life-size portrait being hung on the wall, it gave the illusion that the reflection was smiling down at the viewer and reaching his hand out to caress them. Ah, but then, blink, and the viewer remembers that it is merely the owner of the reflection smiling down at himself and reaching out to play with the water.


How the observers would know or be reminded of this is when they look down and see the name of the painting.


"Narcissus: The Man Who Died in Love."


The model remembered the artist's name, carved on the nameplate under that portrait. He asked the host where the artist was, yet oddly enough, she wasn't there.



...



The artist is a woman who walks the line between dreams and reality, and she normally has a good balance, except for when sudden dreams come to her in the form of maladaptive daydreaming.


Sometimes it was the shape of people, their intricate shapes, and how they could naturally bend and twist or move and create impact upon touch. No other artists could depict anatomical artworks the same way she could, and no other artists could depict textures the same way she could. However, that didn't mean she enjoyed people-watching. Her interest in depicting the different human forms came from the inspiration brought on by her dreams.


Her recent dream which inspired most of the works from her recent exhibit was unorderly, sometimes just showing glimpses of the sky in different forms, of people passing her vision, and of people who sometimes would stop to stand in front of her. Those unknown characters in her dream would seem to model themselves before her, leaning in close to touch her face, or simply admire and caress their own faces in front of her.


The most beautiful of them all was the last person she saw in her most recent dream, which led to that large painting she made.


"When he showed up in my vision next, his features were blurry." She told the interviewer who was asking her questions.


"I was motivated to bring him to life because part of me knew he must've been extremely handsome, he looked the most enamored by his features than any of the other people in my dreams. However, it was a bit difficult as I had to guess his more detailed features, such as the shapes of his eyes and nose, hair, and his lips."


She had a busy schedule, her art exhibit and interview with the newspaper journalist somehow got scheduled for the same time slot. Thankfully, she trusted her manager to host the event for her, killing two birds with one stone.


"When the photographer took a snippet photo of your main painting for the event's spot in the newspaper, many people who saw the snippet commented on how it looked like a famous model. Did you perhaps use any handsome male models as a reference?" The interviewer asked as he sat across from her at the table, sipping his coffee.


The artist hummed in thinking, picking up her cup to bring the aroma to her nose as she looked off into the distance.


"Honestly, I can't tell. Sometimes I do read magazines, but mostly to look at the photographs of people, any kind of people, to look for inspiration. The clothes or food that I see in some magazines are nice, but I'll always view the human body as the most inspiring for art. However, I don't recall looking through any when I began painting the reflection. I didn't want to actively use a reference and instead used my own feelings to guess what he might look like. I suppose though, my memory must've caused me to use some details of a model's face I remember looking at."


The interviewer recorded her words using a tape recorder and looked at the next questions on his notepad.


"It's well-known that Narcissus was the man who died by attempting to kiss his reflection in a lake. How or when did you decide to name the painting after Narcissus and his moment of death?"


"It was likely when I was in the middle of making the draft, as I was first just trying to draw the man's face and then thought more about my dream and was reminded of Narcissus. I'm afraid there is no other answer I can give that would sound more artistic. But I suppose in a way, my instincts just insisted." She said as she rested her chin on her folded hands, elbows propped on the table when she looked back at the interviewer.


He simply hummed, tilting his head in a nod.


"Understandable. Your mind is probably tired after all since there were rumors that you had spent ten, nonstop hours creating your final and main piece for the show."


The artist lightly chuckled, picking up her drink to sip again.


"And those rumors in particular would be true. I did indeed paint the main piece nonstop from start to finish, and exactly ten hours would be an understatement. I stayed seated at my chair, or sometimes the floor, sitting and staring at the giant canvas, then painting those careful strokes, sometimes fixing some mistakes, or adding more details I didn't even plan during the sketch phases. My manager ended up having to bring me plates of food that I could eat with my hands because I refused to move until it was done."


"She was likely afraid you would collapse. It would have been quite poetic though, an artist dying of exhaustion after obsessively trying to paint the reflection of Narcissus, who died trying to love his own reflection."


They both laughed and hummed at that comment.


"Oh, why that certainly would've been interesting. I do love my work but I'm not sure if I love it that much, Narcissus on the other hand simply loved himself far too much."


"Well, about that, sometimes I wonder." It was the interviewer's turn to look off into the distance as they conversed.


"If he had survived and not drowned in the lake, would his opinions have changed? Sure, it was his reflection he was admiring, but, what if after surviving, he'd have fallen more in love with the water than with himself? The thing that almost killed him, the one thing that allows him to truly see himself, since while he was handsome, he clearly wasn't rich."


"Hmm, to fall in love with the thing that nearly killed him, though he mostly had himself to blame for trying to kiss his reflection, but to realize his feelings after nearly dying? Or perhaps, did he already fall in love with the lake in the moment and decided to let the lake take his life, knowing what would happen? Now, that is certainly an interesting idea."


The interviewer, mesmerized, quickly presses the red button of his tape recorder before any more words can be said. He checks off all the questions on his notepad before tucking his pencil back behind his ear.


"Well!" He clapped his hands together once to signify the interview's completion and his satisfaction as he smiled at her.


"I think that final line was the perfect way to end it."


They both sat up from their seats as he reached to shake her hand, congratulating her on her latest work. The interviewer then offered to escort her back to the building where the exhibit was being held, but she rejected, for she still hadn't finished her drink yet, and she would've felt guilty not to as he had paid for both their drinks.


He tipped his hat goodbye to her for the evening as he headed off to his car, preparing to organize the information of their conversation into a proper article for publishing.


The artist stayed seated, blissfully enjoying the rest of her drink until she noticed out of the corner of her eye, a figure entering her vision. It got bigger and bigger.


...



The artist was familiar enough with the owner of the cafe to request all the window blinds be closed and for the cafe to be temporarily closed. Her manager was still hosting the exhibit for her and taking care of the buyers. The model who had interrupted her peace had offered to pay her manager extra and bribe the cafe owner, but she opted that he shouldn't.


"The journalists wouldn't pay much attention to what artists or writers spend their money on, always assuming them to simply be oddballs, but a model? Any suspicious activity could create a scandal, especially a mysterious money exchange." She told him after they were ushered into one of the backrooms the cafe owner allowed them to converse in.


"Who cares? This isn't a scandal, we're soulmates." He exclaimed. "There's nothing wrong with what we're doing."


"There's everything wrong with what you're saying, sir." She tried to correct him.


"Soulmates is not merely a statement you can make out of the blue, there is a long test you have to go through in order to tell whether you have found your soulmate. Compatible conversations, lifestyles, agreeability, schedules, goals, the conditional and unconditional acts of love that one is willing to do for the other-"


"Such as dying, which I have done once and am willing to do again, so long as it is by your hands."


"You know not of what you are saying." The artist shook her head lightly, being less whimsical than him.


"If you truly believe that you are Narcissus and that I am the lake, that does not make us soulmates, but more two people who should stay away from each other."


The artist looked at him and then to the cafe owner who entered the room to check on her. The cafe owner was very confused. The artist shook her head, trying to come to her senses as she reiterated.


"You are not Narcissus, and I am not the personification of the lake you drowned in. Even if you were him, that would mean your soulmate is Echo, not me."


He looked at her quizzically, tilting his head. She knitted her brows at him.


"Echo? Who is Echo?"


"The beautiful Oread nymph who fell in love with Narcissus, everyone knows her." She told him, yet he still looked confused.


The cafe owner shook her head, leaning against the door frame.


"He must not have paid attention in his classes back then, yet still has the audacity to claim he is the reincarnation of a Greek figure."


"See? If you were truly Narcissus, you would've at least known about her or eventually learned about her in school. She was cursed by Hera to only repeat the last words spoken to her, and so she was never able to confess her love to Narcissus."


The model's eyes then lit up after the artist finished talking, and she couldn't tell whether he was suddenly lying, or acting like he was having a revelation.


"Ah, I see. So, I was loved by another woman in my past life. Sadly, I never knew about her, so that must've meant we were never meant to be, for I have no recollection of her in my memories."


"Most likely because you are not Narcissus."


"No." He insisted with an almost pouting tone, hands at his sides curling into fists.


"I am Narcissus, for I always knew I was handsome, just like how he knew he was beautiful."


"You are currently speaking as if he is another person now."


He turned away from her and stared through the only window in the backroom, where the light was still shining. He closed his eyes as he stood in the light, like a cat basking in the sun's warmth.


"My memories never came to me until today and so I never who I truly was, but I knew that I was a man blessed. After seeing your painting of me from thousands of years ago, I had a divine revelation, and the memories came flooding back. It was fate that I had become a model, for even after years, my beauty follows me, and it was fate that you became an artist, to show me a glorious image of myself once again. Surely, the gods felt pity for my fate and understood my goal, to give a kiss of gratitude to the first person who could help me truly see myself."


He turned back to the artist, who then tilted her head but more in curiosity. She was becoming quite entertained.


"So, would that imply that the first time you saw a clean and pristine reflection of yourself in a mirror, you kissed the mirror?"


He scoffed, closing the distance between them as he reached for hands again.


"Oh please, back then, a mere reflection had value. Nowadays, everyone and anyone can see their reflection, windows, increased mirror production, glass. You became an artist for this exact purpose, to recreate the image of myself that has far more value than a mere reflection."


The artist squinted her eyes, now taking a closer look at the model's face, seeing the smaller details. He mistook this gesture as her attempt to kiss him and tried to oblige, leaning forward and closing his eyes. however, instead of feeling her lips on his, he felt her finger press against them, gently pushing his head back from her.


"You do bear a striking resemblance to the man in my painting, but you also look like other models I've seen in fashion magazines. It's possible that I thought about pages of you when painting the portrait. I wasn't even thinking of Narcissus when I started, but I did think of the name when I was near finished."


"Or it was instinct that you thought of Narcissus. I knew you were the lake I drowned in from the moment I saw your painting, for it was certainly an image of me from your perspective."


She nearly grinned in amusement, looking past him to the cafe owner who was also thoroughly entertained, and she shrugged when the artist glanced at her.


"How about, we go back to the exhibit? It should still be open, and we can look at the painting once more."


"Careful darling, he may end up dying again after staring too long." The cafe owner joked as they walked out.


The model shrugged them off, stopping as the artist walked forward, checking through the windows of the cafe for any onlookers or journalists before they could leave.


"Oh please, I've learned my lesson from years ago. Besides, I won't be as enamored by my face this time, I have something far more sincere to stare at." He said as he looked on to the artist who was now waving him over to follow her.


The rays of sunbeams from the window, refracting in the glass added such bright touches of color to her hair, lighting up her appearance before him.


The cafe owner squinted at him suspiciously.


"Are you really Narcissus then, if you aren't going to be enamored by your own face? Or perhaps, you're not as handsome as you believe yourself to be?" The cafe owner planted a hand on her hip, not humoring him as much as the artist is.


He hummed at the question, watching as the artist walked out the door, looking at either side of the road and sidewalk to ensure the coast was clear. The model put his hands in his pockets, thinking, before answering slowly.


"Make no mistake for I am indeed a face that can be loved by all, I'm simply smarter about making sure it does not become the end of me this time. My eyes no longer yearn to see myself, for I died knowing my appearance. No, in this lifetime, I can recognize how handsome my face is and find a better way to appreciate the only person who can capture my beauty." He finally told the cafe owner.


She listened carefully to his choice of words and only gave him a nod and a hum with approving tone. With this, he left to go follow the artist outside as they both began walking across the street to the exhibit still going on. The cafe owner went to her door, flipping the sign from 'Closed' to 'Open', as she watched the model and the artist leave.


"The story of Narcissus," She began muttering to herself as she went back to work, cleaning tables and picking up plates.


"Is the simplest story to remember and the most fun to interpret. However, each time that delusional man spoke, he had a good choice of words in every response, yet clearly, he didn't know much else about the Greek figure aside from his death and his personality. Perhaps the real Narcissus also wouldn't have known much about himself aside from his beauty, for he wasn't even aware of how close he had come to the water." She sighed.


The cafe owner turned her head to the sound of the doorbell chiming as a new couple entered the cafe, an elderly couple who appeared to be in a happy marriage.


"I wonder how this story will go."






Fin.