"So, you said you were from Hungary, Mr. Liszt?” Chopin glanced over as he took a sip of tea.
"Yes, though I’ve just come from Vienna to see you… Might I ask you something? Why didn’t you follow your dreams and go to Paris?"
"I thought I told you? I was afraid, cowardly, foolish… I’ve missed my chance and now there’s no going back."
"Would you believe me if I told you that we were close friends, in another world?"
Chopin looked at Liszt in disbelief, “I suppose I would think you were delusional.”
"I know this will sound crazy, impossible even, but I think that the man who told you to stay here… was me," Liszt’s voice broke, "Frankly, I don’t even know what’s been going on myself. It’s as if my whole world as I knew it was gone."
"I’m very sorry to hear that," Chopin adjusted his seat slightly as he looked at Liszt.
Taking a deep breath, Franz knew that the truth was bound to be revealed at some point or another, “Frederic, I think I know why I told you to stay here. In my world, the one I came from, you—” Liszt was about to say, 'You died,' but realized that such harsh words would hardly be appreciated.
"…You contracted tuberculosis and I didn’t know how to help you. Society has made such great advances in music, in architecture, in technology, but as for medicine… we couldn’t find a cure," Liszt’s eyes darkened as his voice became nothing but a mere murmur.
The faintest hint of a smile appeared on Frederic’s face as he contemplated the facts that had just been laid out before him, “So, are you suggesting that you saved my life?”
"I am suggesting that another me, from another time, might have saved you. As for me…," Liszt pondered, "well, how could I have ended up here?"
"If it’s possible that my life has been spared by the grace of a total stranger," Chopin concluded, "then I am absolutely certain that it is possible that what you speak is nothing but the truth."—