There is no God to thank: we haven’t made It yet.

1. Parallel Reality?

Oxford, October 2003

So... she wasn't dead after all.

For a moment, he'd thought he had seen the shock of red hair under the dimming light in the corner of the empty quad, and hope and fear danced their whimsical dance in his insides. He stayed by the window for a few more seconds, but the transparent surface only reflected the shadowy world behind his dark blue eyes.

A deep sigh of relief and disappointment left his lungs as he sat again in front of the screen.

...there is at any instant, only one physically possible future.”

That was the premise. He was determined to contradict it in this paper. The question was, how?

The possible split of the space-time continuum had been explored and fantasized about endlessly. However, the abstract, Mathematical Proof had never been enough for him. He wanted something tangible. More so, after his strange delirious dreams last summer, followed by Kate's uncanny appearance as one of his students at Worcester College three weeks before. It had felt like the continuation of those dreams.

Perhaps he was still unconscious in his flat in Nottingham. That was an unsettling thought, and he shivered looking blankly at the empty screen, accosted by his inner questioner. Was he now living in a different universe, exploring different aspects of his personality, making different choices, or had he created a new reality where Kate hadn’t killed herself?

If he was dreaming, he still didn't have any control over his life. Damn! He gritted his teeth and banged the smooth surface of his desk. It felt real enough. However, whether he was dreaming, living in a Parallel Universe or experiencing a different reality, Kate always seemed to have the control.

But was this the same Kate McAllister that had both mesmerized and driven him to despair twenty years before?

He clasped his hands under his chin and closed his eyes for a few seconds trying to slow down his breathing. So much for all my meditation and yoga techniques, he snorted.

He recalled with a degree of anger, the green eyes, the unruly cascade of red hair, the skin of porcelain, her perfume... the breath caught in his throat leaving him suffocated and confused, craving for an escape that so far, seemed impossible. And her voice. Ah! Kate’s voice… Kate's silvery laughter, cascading into his ears, childish, real, flirtatious, charming... The memory tingled in his loins and he leaned back resting his hands on his legs, a bit more appeased. Too long since he had last heard those bell-like giggles that perhaps belied the only true and real thing about her: the tender child, spontaneous, vivacious, yet so impish under the veil of innocence. It had done him much mischief.

He smoothed over his silver flecked temples as if the gesture could smooth over his lust for her.

To think that she had become even more beautiful than that dreamlike creature that had ensnared his senses and clouded his mind in his youth. Age had honed and made ripe her beauty. It had mellowed, softened her, and the combination of that natural beauty with the spirit that had seemed absent before was quite... quite unbearable. Unbearable, because he knew deep down if he hadn’t been able to help loving her twenty years before, if she was now even half the person he sensed she was, he was doomed. And yet, the feeling of doom was so... so delightful. Like a dreamt nectar hardly tasted, and yet, always longed for; like water in the desert of his soul; like food for his undernourished heart.

His chest expanded and his lips curled into a happy grin.

But he must focus.

If we are indeed the creators of our own reality,” he wrote, “it is possible that an ardent desire might be a way to collapse the wave function; a way to change the state of a system from indeterminate to distinct.