Diane Chambers opened her eyes, to the sight of the cabin around her. She was alone.

She sat up in the bed, rubbing her brow—and rubbing away the tears that had welled up in her eyes. She looked around her.

Dawn was breaking—morning was coming. It was the beginning, at last, of a new day.

A new day… She felt a smile at the thought. A new beginning—a new chapter in the rest of her life…and in the rest of his.

She stared across the room, at the desk—and the typewriter. The page was still there—the screenplay—her screenplay—was waiting for its conclusion.

Diane's smile grew, and she slid off the bed onto her feet, walking over and sitting down. She was rested, now—refreshed, equipped with a purpose. She was going to finish, today—and she was going to go straight to Hollywood, with the plane ticket the studio had provided, along with the money they'd paid in advance.

And this wouldn't be the end. She could feel several new ideas waiting to burst through—from her mind, through her fingers, into the typewriter, onto the printed page at last…to see the light of day. (One idea, amusingly enough, involved a single-mother heroine with a certain resemblance to a certain Italian waitress whom, despite herself, Diane considered a good—albeit vitriolic—friend.) And Diane knew she would succeed—she knew she would win, and "make it big".

I'll do it for you, Sam. I—I don't know if that really was just a dream, or if, for last night, we truly did connect in our hearts and our souls—if we really spoke to one another…or if it was all my imagination. But I will do this, Sam—for you. And I will keep my promise.

I will see you again, my love. But as you said…not just yet.

She sat there, at her desk, and ran her fingers through her hair.

She frowned. Somehow, it felt a little grainy—her hair. It certainly didn't feel like dandruff, by any means.

She picked out one of the grains, and stared at it on the tip of her finger. It looked and felt like salt…or maybe sand.

Diane Chambers shook her head, leaning back in the chair. Well, what do you know?

And she smiled.


Sam Malone sat in the boat of his rescuers, mulling over what had happened last night. He'd probably dozed off, thinking about how Diane would've liked the place. Still…

It was like that feeling I got on the plane, when I flew to Europe—the feeling that I wasn't going to be able to stop her wedding. And I didn't stop it—she did.

It's like that feeling…just even more. Like I have this kind of connection with her. Oh, that's crazy, isn't it? Well…isn't it?

"Well, I tell ya," said the sailor sitting right by him, "What a story you've got to tell the folks at home, huh?"

Sam smirked, and nodded. "I sure do."

He sure as heck wasn't going to tell anyone about that dream—if it was a dream. But the crashing of the boat was story enough. He'd bounced the "No Brains Atoll" idea off of the sailors. They'd all bust a gut with that one—they loved it.

One of the sailors was playing a radio. Some soul music was playing, it sounded like. Oh, what the heck. Anything to keep him occupied.

"Hey," he smiled at the guy, "Think you can turn it up a bit?"

"Sure thing."

It was soul, all right—and a song was starting up that he knew all too well. The Three Degrees, "When Will I See You Again?"

Great. Just great. God sure has a dark sense of humor, doesn't he?

But Sam wasn't going to ask the guy to turn it back down—that would've gotten some looks from them—and then questions, and so on.

And so, he listened, eyes closed…his mind elsewhere, in a bar in Boston—on a par of initials….


Sam & Diane will return….


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