Parallel Lines, Intertwined
The apartment was bathed in the soft amber glow of evening lamps, casting gentle light over books, blankets, and the two women curled in their favorite spots. Outside, the city murmured—distant car horns, footsteps below, the occasional rustling of wind against the window—but inside, the only sounds were the soft rustling of pages and the rhythmic ticking of the old wall clock.
Eriko sat in her usual spot, deeply immersed in Berthold of Moosburg’s commentary on Proclus’ Elements of Theology. The book rested heavily on her lap, its ancient philosophical inquiries mapping out the metaphysical relationships between intellect, unity, and the divine order. Her brow furrowed slightly, eyes flicking across the dense Latin text as she traced the Neoplatonic hierarchies of being with the sharp focus of a scholar on the verge of revelation.
Across the couch, Sammi lay on her stomach, feet kicked up in the air, engrossed in something altogether different—Milk Morinaga’s Girlfriends. Her world was one of soft, slow-burning confessions, the delicate unraveling of feelings, of hands brushing in passing, of longing glances that lingered just a little too long. She turned a page with an eager little sigh, her lips curling into a smile.
For a while, they existed in their separate worlds, parallel lines running through different passions.
And then—
Sammi let out a dramatic gasp.
Eriko didn’t even look up. “What.”
“Mariko just realized she’s in love with Akko.”
Eriko exhaled sharply through her nose, flipping a page in her book. “Shocking.”
Sammi narrowed her eyes at Eriko’s deliberately neutral tone. “Hey! Don’t mock my girls.”
“I wasn’t mocking,” Eriko replied evenly. “I was anticipating the inevitable.”
Sammi sat up, clutching the manga to her chest. “And what, pray tell, are you reading that is so intellectually superior to the tender unraveling of a young woman’s love?”
Eriko finally looked up, resting one arm on the back of the couch. “Neoplatonic metaphysics.”
Sammi blinked. “Ew.”
Eriko smirked. “A most compelling field.”
“Oh, I’m sure. And what earthly delight does it provide?”
Eriko adjusted her posture, turning slightly toward Sammi. “Proclus builds upon Platonic tradition to argue that all things emanate from a singular, transcendent One—a source that is beyond being, beyond knowing. Everything that exists flows from this absolute unity, descending through Intellect, Soul, and finally into material existence.”
Sammi squinted. “So… it’s like a big cosmic romance story?”
Eriko blinked. “What?”
Sammi grinned. “You know—‘everything comes from this great One, and even when they seem separate, they’re always seeking to return to their source. It’s basically a love story. The ultimate slow burn.”
Eriko stared at her for a moment, as if trying to determine whether this was brilliance or nonsense. “…That is not the conventional interpretation.”
“Mm. Maybe that’s why people don’t like reading it for fun.”
Eriko rolled her eyes, but Sammi just scooted closer, resting her head against Eriko’s shoulder. “Come on, there’s gotta be some overlap. My girls here? Mariko and Akko? They start off apart, right? Like two people who don’t realize they’re meant to be together. But as time goes on, they’re drawn closer and closer. They think they’re separate, but they’re really two parts of something whole.”
Eriko tapped a finger against the pages of her book. “And you think that mirrors the Neoplatonic idea of ontological procession and return?”
“I think,” Sammi said, tapping Eriko’s nose with her manga, “that you like that my cute manga girls are philosophically sound.”
Eriko sighed. “It’s a loose comparison at best.”
Sammi grinned. “But not wrong.”
Eriko exhaled a slow, measured breath, then glanced down at the open pages of Girlfriends in Sammi’s lap. “Fine. Explain this scene to me.”
Sammi beamed. “Gladly.”
She shifted, settling into the crook of Eriko’s arm, tilting the manga toward her so they could both see. “See here? Mariko has just had a realization moment. She sees Akko laughing, just… existing, and suddenly she knows—she’s in love. It’s not something she thought she could admit to herself, but it’s been there all along. Her heart has already moved toward it.”
Eriko hummed, considering. “That does align with Proclean thought.”
Sammi gasped in delight. “I knew it.”
Eriko turned back to her book. “According to Berthold, the soul does not move toward something new but rather toward what has been its proper object all along. Mariko, in this sense, is merely recognizing what was always present within her.”
Sammi’s eyes gleamed. “A fated love.”
Eriko smirked. “If you must.”
Sammi giggled, nestling closer. “So tell me, my wise and beautiful scholar—when did you know?”
Eriko turned slightly, her expression softer now. “…Know what?”
Sammi tilted her head, their noses nearly brushing. “That you loved me?”
Eriko considered for a long moment, the weight of Neoplatonic thought mixing with the warmth of Sammi’s presence.
She closed her book.
“Probably in the way you mean it?” she murmured. “The moment I saw you laughing, just… existing.”
Sammi’s breath caught in her throat.
And then, she smirked. “So what you’re saying is…” She waggled her eyebrows. “I was always the One?”
Eriko groaned, pressing a hand to her forehead. “I regret everything.”
Sammi laughed, looping her arms around Eriko’s waist. “No, no, too late! You just admitted I am your divine unity!”
Eriko exhaled, but there was no hiding the smile tugging at her lips. “You are ridiculous.”
“And yet—” Sammi grinned, pressing a quick kiss to Eriko’s cheek—“here you are, completely in love with me.”
Eriko sighed but pulled her closer. “Yes. Here I am.”
The clock ticked on. The books remained open.
And in that quiet, golden-lit room, two souls moved toward each other, as they always had, as they always would.
