Yes, I love you like a river!
The
most romantic thing in airport.
We make our way to the other terminal. I enter a florist’s and buy a dozen roses. We reach the arrivals gate, which is crowded with people waiting for friends and relatives arriving from far-flung places.
“Does anyone here understand English?” I shout.
People look startled, doubtless because of the three burly men with me.
“Does anyone speak English?”
A few hands are raised. I show them the bouquet of roses.
“A young woman whom I love very much will be arriving shortly. I need eleven volunteers to help me give her these flowers.”
Eleven volunteers immediately appear by my side. We form a queue. Hilal comes out of the main door, sees me, smiles, and heads straight for me. One by one the volunteers hand her the roses. She looks half confused and half happy. When she finally reaches me, I hand her the twelfth rose and fold her in the warmest of embraces.
“Aren’t you going to tell me you love me?” she asks, trying to keep control of the situation.
“Yes. I love you like a river. But now we must say good-bye.”
“Good-bye?” she says with a laugh. “You’re not going to get rid of me that easily.”
The two men who are to be my escorts suddenly say something in Russian. My journalist friend laughs. I ask him what they said, but Hilal herself translates.
“They said it’s the most romantic thing they’ve ever seen in this airport.”
Taken From:
Paulo Coelho
Aleph,
Moscow, June 1, 2006
We make our way to the other terminal. I enter a florist’s and buy a dozen roses. We reach the arrivals gate, which is crowded with people waiting for friends and relatives arriving from far-flung places.
“Does anyone here understand English?” I shout.
People look startled, doubtless because of the three burly men with me.
“Does anyone speak English?”
A few hands are raised. I show them the bouquet of roses.
“A young woman whom I love very much will be arriving shortly. I need eleven volunteers to help me give her these flowers.”
Eleven volunteers immediately appear by my side. We form a queue. Hilal comes out of the main door, sees me, smiles, and heads straight for me. One by one the volunteers hand her the roses. She looks half confused and half happy. When she finally reaches me, I hand her the twelfth rose and fold her in the warmest of embraces.
“Aren’t you going to tell me you love me?” she asks, trying to keep control of the situation.
“Yes. I love you like a river. But now we must say good-bye.”
“Good-bye?” she says with a laugh. “You’re not going to get rid of me that easily.”
The two men who are to be my escorts suddenly say something in Russian. My journalist friend laughs. I ask him what they said, but Hilal herself translates.
“They said it’s the most romantic thing they’ve ever seen in this airport.”
Taken From:
Paulo Coelho
Aleph,
Moscow, June 1, 2006
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