Atticus: Are you here to collect your sand again today?
Sophia: Yes. The fine sand here is ideal for polishing lenses. My father's eyeglasses are just about ready.
Sophia is a hard-working girl. She is always ready to change, to become a better version of herself.
She knows nothing of her future fate and, therefore, has no fear. Her core is so firm, her steps so sure. It's enviable.
Perhaps that's one of the reasons I asked her that question.
Atticus: ... Why do you choose to struggle so much against the path of fate?
I didn’t really expect an answer from her; it was just spontaneous curiosity.
We are entirely different people. Even if she gave her reasons, they wouldn't help me, not really.
Because I have exhausted every possibility and sought every line of reasoning.
My question is unsolvable.
Sophia remains silent, wanting to say something but hesitating. She twists the ends of her hair, avoiding my eyes.
Sophia: ... I have to do something, anything.
That’s a peculiar answer.
Without any reason, any logic, just "doing something."
So, I am left puzzled again.
Sophia: ... But preparing for what must come is better than doing nothing at all.
Sophia: Right, the glass bottle—like the one on the table ...
She flusteredly tries to give an example, inventing a glass bottle that is bound to break, then surrounding it with a cloth.
This way, even if the bottle still breaks, we can pick up the pieces more easily.
It's a practical explanation—pragmatic and devoid of abstraction. This is her answer to fate, the total opposite of mine.
Atticus: Thank you for the long talk, Sophia.
A new path is carved out between the waters.
