It was already six in the evening.
The morning air —icy, like a caress that cuts— had given way to a warm breeze. A slight current brushed against me, as if the day was trying, with sweetness, to close the invisible wounds of those who still keep walking.
—It was an excellent date —said Mian, with a smile as light as cotton.
With a step forward, she approached without asking permission. She rose just on the tips of her toes, tilted her face and, unhurriedly, brushed my cheek with her lips.
The kiss was brief, but left something deep: a warm tenderness that didn't stay on the skin, but filtered down to that corner she knew needed thawing.
When she pulled away, the air seemed to hold itself, as if the entire world wanted to keep silent for that instant.
—I hope Rinn likes the cake —she added with a serene voice.
"Those children were right to smile. Thanks to Mian I understood: even the grayest puddle can hide, beneath its opaque layer, beautiful water."
I watched her take a step back, unhurried, as if she didn't realize what she had just done. She seemed unaware of her help, even if it was just a little. Her ignorance drew a smile on me.
—Thank you, I had fun too.
A slight laugh escaped from her nose and, as if with brushes, her smile was drawn.
—I'm glad you can be honest.
But her smile, for no apparent reason, began to fade.
—Well... I have to go, it's getting late. Goodbye Marl
On her heels she turned, showing me her back. Her steps were slow, as if expecting something from me. I felt something pulling at my chest. It wasn't sadness, nor longing... it was something more subtle. A need to not let that moment end without a final spark.
—Mian —I called, before she crossed the corner of the hallway.
She stopped and turned her face just slightly.
—Mmm?
—When you return... do it with a smile.
As I expected, a small gesture was enough to feel the warmth she emanated.
—Yes, I will. You too. Don't forget to be sincere.
We said goodbye with a smile. She took the street on the left, I took the one on the right. We were walking in opposite directions, but something told me she maintained her smile.
The sky was beginning to burn in orange tones and violet brushstrokes. I walked unhurriedly, with the box between my hands, wrapped in a red ribbon that sparkled under the golden light of sunset.
Inside, a tres leches cake crowned with strawberries dipped in chocolate.
The sweet aroma escaped through the cracks, floating in the wind, mixing with the warm perfume of the afternoon.
Upon turning the corner near my building, something out of the ordinary forced me to stop dead in my tracks. A black limousine, imposing, gleamed in front of the entrance.
I remained motionless, with narrowed eyes, examining every detail. A dense and heavy knot settled in my chest, as if the air had suddenly thickened. I squeezed the cake box, feeling the red ribbon dig into my fingers, while that sweet aroma that had comforted me before suddenly became oppressive.
A cold sweat ran down my back. The city, usually noisy, seemed to have sunk into an ominous silence; only the accelerated roar of my own pulse resonated in my ears.
—That vehicle... it's from...
The rear door of the limousine opened slowly, as if time hesitated to advance until he appeared. A black shoe touched the ground, its heel click resonating in my ears.
I recognized him instantly. Years without seeing him weren't enough to erase that sound from my memory.
—Mr. Yerner.
He completely exited the car.
He emerged unhurriedly, tall like a stretched shadow. The sword straight on his back, silent steps, loose arms... as if gravity wasn't his concern.
He wore an impeccable gray suit, so fitted it seemed sewn to his breathing.
And that look... it wasn't hard, it was worse: it seemed to have all the answers, but no hurry to give them.
He lit a cigar with that almost ceremonial slowness. The flame barely touched the tip before going out, as if even fire knew to respect his rhythm.
He inhaled with a calmness that didn't seem human. As he exhaled, the smoke climbed up his shoulders like a living shadow, dressing him with an authority that didn't ask permission.
His mere presence tensed the air. Each firm step on the pavement not only sounded: it imposed silence. As if even the city —with all its noise— held its breath so as not to interrupt him.
—How are you, young Stimson?
He asked with a soft voice, measured with surgical precision. The smile that accompanied it seemed sculpted in marble: courteous and precise...
His eyes stopped on my cheek, right where the shine of the balm —still with the shape of Mian's lips— gleamed under the sunset light.
He exhaled a sigh of gray smoke, with a sharp serenity.
—Did you have fun with my daughter?