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It was October 1969, Kiev, Ukraine. I was 19, riding the trolleybus, looking out the window. At one stop, I noticed an old acquaintance across the street. He wasn’t important to me, but for some reason, I felt a powerful urge — almost a panic attack — to get off the bus.
I struggled to get out, exiting through the wrong door against the line of people trying to get aboard. I waved to my friend, who was talking to a man I’d never seen before.
Crossing the street, I heard a voice from nowhere. “This is your husband!” It was before I even saw the man’s face. I thought it was a nonsense, but when my friend introduced us, I got a strange sensation in my solar plexus, a strong knowing that he would be my husband!
Let me tell you, I didn’t plan to get married. I was dating someone else (not seriously), so I quickly dismissed the silly voice.
In a few days, my doorbell rang, and both my friend and the man had come for a visit. We sat in my living room and talked. He was very nice, handsome and polite. In a few days, he came alone, and we talked again, nothing romantic.
To make a long story short, after briefly dating, both of us knew we were meant to be. He proposed in November. My parents were in shock, but somehow felt positive about him. In February, we married, and it has been 54 years, two beautiful children (adults now), and three granddaughters.
My soul had recognized him, and I got off at the correct stop.
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