"Are you sure that I don´t know you?" -he said.
-He looked tall, bad-shaved and crazy-haired. Too slim. And she didn´t have a clue. So "no", she replied. "I´m sure not".
Then, that night there was that dream. That fight, within a war. Steel and blood, and black smoke from the fires of the first strike. He was in the middle of the battle field, sword at hand, covered of red and ground. His army against her father´s. He fought fiercely, a lion against thousand dogs. He fought over and over, over the cadavres of his friends and their enemies. And she looked at him, full up hate, and love and more hate again. Her child could sense her rage from inside.
He didn´t ever looked back at her, not even when he was lying close to his death and she walked towards him, dress in her intact robe, smelling the flavour of the victory, bitter, in the mouth. He had never looked back at her from that former sunrising, at his bed, in the private room inside his castle. When he was the prince who´d be her king. And he never looked back at her again.
Next morning, at the office, he approached again.
"Are you sure that I don´t know you?" -he said. She looked at him. She stared at his eyes for a while...
-"No, I´m sure not."
Pause. Silence. Both of them looking at each other.
And then, there was a naughty smile, and she continued...
-"Not yet".
