“Do you think the universe is infinite?” asked Caroline after a while of silence.

Ian thought for a second.
“It’s possible.”

They were on the couch. She lay in his lap.

“I think,” she said, sitting up and facing him, “that if the universe is infinite, then time, too, must be infinite. If I had to embark on a journey without end, it makes sense I’d travel forever. Do you know what I don’t understand? When people talk about infinity, they always imagine a point, a beginning that stretches onwards. They don’t see at all that something could also stretch backwards. It doesn’t just have no end. It also has no beginning. Something that has no end and no beginning never existed—and yet it does. The only thing we have is the now.”

“Yes,” Ian nodded, “what you are describing is, in mathematics, a line with zero in the middle stretching in both directions. People don’t see it because everything we experience begins and ends. It’s natural to assume the universe had a beginning too, just like any story. But mathematics allows for a reality that never began and will never end, because beginning and end simply don’t apply to it.”

Caroline shook her head. “Why are you talking about mathematics?”

“I’m just giving you an example of what you’re describing.”

“What I’m talking about is that if the universe is infinite, then it has no beginning, so it never began. It’s as if it never even existed—and yet here we are.”

“I understand.” Ian shifted and crossed his legs. “But what about the Big Bang theory?”

“A theory! Nonsense! Tell me who was there to prove it happened. It’s silly. Nobody knows how it started. That’s the point—it didn’t. Nobody can even go back that far. No one could remember. Even if we could store that memory somewhere, sooner or later it would disappear, like everything always does. What is infinite can’t be remembered.”

“Don’t you think it still had to start somehow?”

“It didn’t start. It just changed.”

“Who changed it? Or what changed it?” Ian didn’t look at Caroline as he asked.

“Existence.”

Now he looked at her. “How? Why?”

“Because it wanted to. How, I don’t know. But how doesn’t matter. We have only the present and all those scientists and physicists just waste their time. Nobody will ever find out. It’s a mystery and it will remain a mystery. They talk like they know everything—millions of years ago this and that—come on. They’re like children playing. They don’t know anything. We don’t know anything.”

“They don’t really say they know everything. They just try to go as far as possible before hitting a wall.”

Caroline laughed. “A wall?”

“All right, not a wall. Maybe there’s nothing there at all. But some people feel drawn to it and go looking for answers, while others just laugh, like you.”

“I don’t think there’s nothing there. We just don’t see it, because our consciousness hasn’t reached the required level. There’s something. But we won’t find it by going into the past. We can discover it only now.”

“What do you think we’d see?”

“For example, that we’re not the only ones here. Look at what people do. Do you really think we’re so special that it’s only us?”

Ian didn’t answer. For a moment, he looked at the remote control.

“The only reason we still don’t travel to other planets is that we haven’t yet realized it’s possible.”

“How do you know other planets really exist?”

“When all we do is spend our time killing each other, it’s obvious our brains can’t reach a higher level to see it. We just remain blind. We’re busy with war.”

“That’s right. But you still haven’t answered my question.”

“Do you want the tea now?”

“Yes, please.”

Caroline went to the kitchen. Once she was out of sight, Ian stretched out on the couch, lying on his back, thinking—and briefly almost worrying.

Caroline was quick, bringing two steaming cups and setting them on the coffee table.

“Move,” she said gently.

“Why? Lie down here.”

She lay on her belly next to him.

“You never imagined we could create a new reality just by thinking? A different consciousness?” she asked, looking him in the eyes.

“But that’s what we do all the time, honey,” Ian said softly. “We always think first, then act. That’s how the world is built.” He held her gaze.

She turned and rested her head on his shoulder, and now they both gazed up at the ceiling.

“No, we don’t really think,” she said. “We just repeat ourselves. Like robots. Tell me, is what we see and do a reflection of our mind, or is the mind a reflection of what we see and do? They are not the same.”

“You mean, what came first?”

“Yeah.”

“You said there was no beginning.”

Silence.

“I think the mind came after,” Ian said.

“Why?”

“Did you have a mind, a conscience, when you were one year old?”

“I didn’t, but my parents did.”

“That’s not the same thing.”

“Not the same thing? Then why do we repeat the same things our parents did? And maybe I’m not just talking about the mind of one person, but a universal mind. What about the mind of nature? Do you think she has no mind? Now tell me—what came first?”

Ian thought for a moment.

“It depends on the angle you look from. In that sense, the mind could be first. But now we’re entering the realm of God. Maybe the universe is truly infinite, but this life—at least as I understand it—has a beginning and an end. And if you say it never existed, it feels… I don’t know.”

“What I’m saying is, the only thing we truly have is now—and only in the now do we have the chance to change something.”

“Right! Let’s have the tea, then.”

They sat up and reached for their cups.

“Hmm, this is so good. What did you put in it?” Ian sipped eagerly.

“Cinnamon, cardamom, orange peel, honey.”

“Wow… delicious.”

They drank the tea in silence. When they finished, they gently put the cups on the table.

“I just want the world to be a good place,” Caroline said quietly.

Ian put his arm around her waist. “It already is a good place… because you’re here,” he said, a little cheekily.

“Are you making fun of me?”

“Deadly serious,” he said.

They stayed on the couch together for a long while, saying nothing more.

Finally, Caroline said she was going to take a shower. As soon as the water ran, Ian grabbed the remote. United were already down by two goals.

“Unbelievable.”

But he wasn’t in the mood anyway, even before he turned on the TV. He switched it off and kept thinking. Something had touched him.

That night when they met in bed, Ian said, “Do you know what I think?”

“What?”

“You should write a book.”

“About what?”

Ian smiled.

“Start with the universe.”

She smiled, leaning closer. “Because it’s infinite?” she whispered, inviting him.