On the Shoulders of the lover

Part. II

The rain tapped rhythmically against the window, a soothing yet melancholic symphony. It was June 1st, 2024—108,540 days since the great Sir Isaac Newton had passed away. Yet here he was, standing in my small room in a quaint German medieval university town, gazing out at the downpour as if it held the secrets of the universe.

"Isn't it a beautiful day?" I quipped with a satirical tone, breaking the silence.

Newton didn't acknowledge my jest. "I remember," he began, his voice tinged with nostalgia. "Several German scholars did visit me when I was yet in Cambridge. I no longer remember their names, but I inscribed mine in their alba amicorum."

His sudden change of topic left me momentarily confused. Was he feeling nostalgic? Sad? Did he even catch my attempt at humor?

"Why are you bringing this up now?" I asked, careful not to disrupt his reverie.

"Some of them said they came from Tübingen," he replied, his eyes still fixed on the rain.

"So... you're here with me now, in Germany, Tübingen!" I said, trying to connect the dots. He remained silent, lost in his thoughts.

The room fell silent again, filled only with the gentle patter of rain. I considered quoting some lines from Plato to reignite our conversation but thought better of it. This moment of quiet reflection seemed precious to him, and I didn't want to intrude.

It was already 2:00 PM, and I needed to head to the library. Sensing that this Scholar preferred solitude, I decided to leave him be.

"Sir Newton, I need to go now," I said, handing him my spare phone. "If you have any problems, just push this button, and it will contact my phone directly." I demonstrated briefly, hoping he'd grasp the concept.

He nodded, examining the device with a mix of curiosity and excitement. "Please don't disassemble it to see how it works. I'll bring you some books about smartphones later."

His eyes sparkled with the enthusiasm of a child discovering how to make new colors out of different ingredients. At that moment, I could imagine what his eyes looked like when he read 'The Mysteries of Nature and Art' for the first time back in Grantham.

"And you can't access the internet yet, Sir Newton. It's too dangerous for now."

"What is the internet?" he asked, genuinely curious.

"I'll explain later," I replied, grabbing my backpack. "Until then, see you later, Sir."

As I reached for the doorknob, Newton's voice halted me.

"Desidero ut diutius maneas."

I smiled, as my heart warming. "I will be back soon," I promised.

With a final whisper—"My Sir"—I closed the door behind me. Walking away, I felt a sense of companionship. Someone was waiting for me, and for the first time, my room felt a little less lonely.