The two women leave. The door slides shut. I walk toward it and it opens. Good news, I am not locked in. I do trust Mingxia, but this room has no windows.

I go through the vinyl collection and it’s mostly hip-hop. I want to listen to Yeezus by Kanye West, but it does not seem right. I should play something more romantic, but maybe Stanley Turrentine is fine. It already sounds beautiful and familiar. I try to soak it in, but I can’t. I am thinking too much, and I want Mingxia to be here already.

I go to the bookshelf. It’s is stocked with books like Bongani Madonda’s Sigh the Beloved Country and Bitches Brew by Fred Khumalo. I appreciate her effort, but I don’t want to read. The collection is impressive, and I worry again that Mingxia’s aunt might be someone important. I pick up The Three-Body Problem by Cixin Liu, but then I put it back. I know what I’m going to do.

I write.

The process is meditative, and for three hours I am in another world. I look at the door once or twice, but Mingxia is still not there.

Having written fifteen pages, I feel better. I get into bed and sleep.

“Ngelosi,” a woman’s voice says, waking me up after what feels like minutes. I open my eyes to see a woman looking down at me. She is beautiful and in her late thirties.

Mingxia’s aunt is sexy, I think.

“I am sorry for waking you up, Ngelosi, but I could not wait anymore,” she says, and her face is happy, but I am uncomfortable with how we are facing each other, so I sit up.

“Hello, Miss Zai. It’s nice to meet you,” I say, still trying to make sense of what is happening.

Her smile is sad, but she says, “You look so much more beautiful in person.”

“Thank you, you are beautiful too, Miss Zai,” I am trying to be respectful, but I am still confused and kind of worried. “Miss Zai, Where is Mingxia?” I ask.

“You keep calling me Miss Zai. Have I changed that much in all these years?” her small laugh is accompanied by tears, “I am Mingxia, Ngelosi.”

“You are as gorgeous as I imagined,” I mean it.

She laughs, “Yes, I guess it’s true, ‘Asian don’t raisin.’”

“Yeah,” I smile. We sit in silence for a while.

“Ngelosi, I did not lie to you about my age. I would never lie to you,” she says, “I did wait for you at the airport, but I was waiting for you nineteen years ago. Then, we were told that your plane disappeared.”

She starts sniffling, “I thought I lost you forever, Ngelosi,” I place my feet on the floor. My skin feels hot, like there was an explosion inside me.

Mingxia is wiping her eyes, “Look, I am the one crying, but you are the one who travelled nineteen years into the future.”

“No, it’s okay for you to cry,” I tell her.

I pull her in for a hug and it’s a perfect fit. I can feel her heartbeat and it’s strong and healthy, and I can’t help smiling. I am trying my best to keep from floating. I breathe in her scent to try and ground myself in this moment. I may be nineteen years in the future, but that’s just an idea. I am here, and I can adapt. Mingxia is holding me tight, and I don’t want her to let go.

“Am I dreaming?” I ask.

“Ngelosi, this is real. You are not dreaming,” she says, her tears turning into laughter.

“It feels real. I’ve never had a lucid dream, but I imagine this is what it would feel like. Both real and unreal. The car did not feel like it was moving, Ming, and I should have known that Tesla didn’t have a model like that back in my time,” I tell her.

“Ngelosi, look at me,” Mingxia says cupping my face, “You are here with me. You are not dreaming. Your plane went into a wormhole, taking you nineteen years into the future. I know it’s hard for you, but you’ve got to believe me.”

Tell us: Given it were possible, would you travel nineteen years into the future?