That Friday I promised an unexpected encounter to four zodiac signs. For the others I offered caution, rest and a conversation with someone close. I had written an entertainment column for the local newspaper long enough to know how many people read general sentences as personal letters. I did not base my own decisions on them. Still, when a friend invited me to dinner with a colleague I "had to meet", I refused because I disliked encounters written in advance.
I met the man a week later while helping the same friend move. His name was Ivan, and he carried the boxes in the wrong order, so the books arrived before the shelves. We argued about where to put a lamp neither of us would use. Afterwards we cleaned up spilled juice together. He did not ask my sign. He asked whether I always worked on Sundays, because I had checked a message from my editor three times. I said I worked more than I admitted.
He brought a newspaper clipping to our first coffee. His forecast said he should listen to a friend encouraging him out of his routine. He said he did not usually believe such things, but liked that part. I recognised my own sentence, written while waiting for window varnish to dry. I did not tell him immediately. For a few minutes I allowed it to look like a sign of fate, then became ashamed of my little performance.
I admitted that I wrote the column. Ivan looked at the paper, then at me, and asked whether that was how I had known he should order tea instead of coffee. I said the waiter had known because Ivan had told him. We laughed, but I noticed a little disappointment. I asked whether it spoiled the meeting. He said it did not spoil the meeting, only deprive him of a story he had planned to use when teasing his brother.
Over the following weeks we did not behave like people joined by something predetermined. Once I cancelled an outing for work and had to suggest another time. Once he was late and apologised without joking. I liked our relationship taking shape through decisions that could be checked rather than sentences broad enough to contain everyone. Ivan nevertheless kept the clipping in his wallet. He said he liked the paper more now that he knew who had written it.
For his birthday I wrote a brief prediction that was not intended for the newspaper: "On Saturday at seven, someone will be waiting who will probably be five minutes late, but is coming because she wants to." I arrived exactly on time. Ivan opened the door and said the horoscope was obviously unreliable. Then he kissed me before I could offer a general explanation.