There are certain moments which are filled with magic and whose charm time fails to erase. They keep themselves alive not by being mummified in the memory, but by continually rejuvenating their youth; by emerging again like a phoenix from the lifeless ash. It was such an evening of rebirth.

Every person at one time or another has experienced the anesthesia of roaming aimlessly. The mind is robbed of its cognizance and becomes almost like a tabula rasa, an empty slate, in which stale and fresh thoughts are being written and erased in a constant state of flux. Being jostled here and there, you merge with the crowd and lose your identity, and the world appears to portray Hegel’s unified reality. Such was my condition when I was dragged back to my own self…there she was, the same long, black hair with a prominent tinge of auburn, the same slim physique, the very graceful gait. And although I was some steps away, I felt as if my nostrils could detect the same nuance of perfume which had so tempted me before. Past flooded my sanity and I rushed forward without realizing the absurd impossibility of what I was thinking. I touched her on the shoulder and she immediately turned, and I found myself starring into a puzzled expression on an alien face.
“Yes?” she questioned with surprise and irritation.
“I am sorry,” I gulped, “I thought you were…you were…someone else.”
And as she moved ahead, I stood there in disbelief, like a cliff in a stormy ocean.