I woke up to the distant sound of footsteps in the yard. It took me a few seconds to remember the night before — the landlord, the travel bag, the request that still twisted my stomach: "Rafael, keep an eye on her."
I spent the whole day trying to pretend that it didn't change anything, but it did. Even the sounds of the house, the ones I hardly noticed before, now carried a different weight. The creak of the stairs, the opening and closing of a door, the scrape of a chair downstairs. Everything seemed to remind me that I wasn't exactly alone.
At university, I tried to keep my mind busy. Evelyn talked endlessly about the preparations for a party, classmates chatted about future assignments, and I forced a laugh at jokes I barely understood. I took automatic notes during class, but deep down, every word from the professor slipped through my mind like water through my fingers.
When I got home in the late afternoon, I had a pile of exercises waiting, but I couldn't bring myself to open my notebooks. Instead, I made coffee, organized the shelf, wiped the floor unnecessarily. Anything to keep me from thinking about what I really wanted to think about: Rafael.
The following days passed much the same. It had already been three nights since the landlord had traveled again, and during that time I hadn't had a single interaction with Rafael. No words, no gestures. Only the certainty that we were in the same building, sharing the same silence.
His presence was like a constant shadow, even when I didn't see him. And yet, every night, without fail, I ended up going to the window. Watching to see if he left, if he arrived, if the gate opened for him. But in the past few days, nothing. He always seemed to be at home. Maybe it was because of his father — he had once said he didn't like leaving the house alone. Still, part of me liked to imagine there was another reason. That somehow, he didn't want to leave me alone.
That night, after so many with no sign of him, I finally saw him standing by the gate, as if he had never been gone. Hands in his pockets, shoulders leaning forward, carrying the weight of the world.I thought: either he came back earlier, or he never left.
My heart raced. Before I could convince myself to return to my books, I was already going down the stairs.
In the yard, I forced a casual smile, starting with the first silly thing I could think of:— It's cooler tonight, isn't it?
He looked at me sideways, expressionless.— Maybe.
The silence that followed was so thick it was almost tangible. Nervously, I looked away.— I'm going to the corner to buy a beer.
I left before he could answer, but my haste betrayed me. I tripped at the curb and nearly fell to my knees. I would have hit the ground if strong arms hadn't caught me at the last moment.
Rafael steadied me with ease. His face close to mine, his eyes sharp, and the words came out dry:— Are you sure you want to drink alcohol? You can barely walk without tripping.
My face burned.— I'm already used to being clumsy — I muttered, shrugging.
He said nothing, only released my arm with the same firmness he had grabbed it.
I bought the beer and walked back slowly. When I entered through the gate, he was sitting on the steps, as if no time had passed. I hesitated, but ended up lifting the bottle in a casual gesture:— Want some?
He refused with a brief shake of his head.— I don't drink.
I climbed the stairs with his words sticking to me. It wasn't just the refusal. It was the tone — dry, but not hostile. A different kind of silence.
Lying in bed, I stared at the ceiling. His hand holding my arm before the fall replayed in my mind like a stubborn flash. The beer sat untouched on the table beside me.In the morning, I would have class early. Maybe the routine would help me stop thinking about him.
But deep down, I knew: it was too late to ignore.