In the middle of the afternoon, while I was organizing my notebooks in class, I overheard two classmates whispering near the door.— Did you hear? — one asked. — That guy… Rafael.My whole body went on alert at the sound of his name.— They say he felt sick. Ended up in the infirmary. — The second added: — Left early. He looked really bad.
My heart jumped so hard that I nearly crushed the pen in my hand. The plastic cracked under my fingers, but no one noticed. I froze, as if pretending not to care was enough to hide the way those words cut through me like silent knives.
For the rest of the class, I couldn't write a single line. My hand moved over the paper, but the letters came out meaningless, scribbles that formed nothing. The professor's voice echoed in the distance, muffled, as if it came from underwater.
When class finally ended, Evelyn invited me for coffee. I made up some excuse. I didn't want her to notice the knot in my throat, the restless pace of my steps, or the feeling that if I didn't see with my own eyes, I'd suffocate.
The university gate felt farther than ever. I walked fast, almost running. With every step, my breath shortened, as if I were the one who had just come out of the infirmary.
When I reached the building's gate, I stopped. What would I say if I knocked on his door? What if it was nothing? Or worse… what if it wasn't?
My heart pounded like it was trying to announce a truth I wasn't ready to hear.
I pressed the doorbell of the ground-floor apartment. No answer. Rang again. Silence.
My heartbeat was too loud now. I leaned toward the window — and that's when I saw him.
Rafael was lying on the couch, his body heavy against the cushions, his forehead shining with sweat. On the side table, a half-filled glass of water. He shifted restlessly, as if trapped in some fever dream.
I rushed back to the door. Turned the knob without thinking — and it gave way. It wasn't locked.
The air inside smelled stale, with a faint metallic trace. I went to the kitchen, opened a random drawer, and found a plastic basin and a clean towel. I filled the basin with cold water, my hands trembling, soaked the cloth, wrung it out, and laid it across his forehead.He didn't wake. He only sighed deeper.
I stayed there, changing the compresses, unable to leave. With each gesture, the worry inside me knotted tighter. In the end, I sat down on the floor, on the rug beside the couch. Exhaustion overtook me and, without realizing it, I fell asleep.
It was his voice that woke me, low and dragging:— Just how tired did you have to be to crash like that… all twisted like this?
My heart jolted, but I stayed still, frozen. I didn't dare open my eyes, though at the same time I wanted to know what he would do. I felt movement near me, footsteps returning, his weight lowering close. His hand, firm but careful, touched my head, adjusting my neck with a strange gentleness.
— Or maybe you were drinking? — he muttered, almost with irony. — Yesterday you already wanted beer… guess you like a shot of liquor.
That's when I opened my eyes on impulse, ready to snap back. But the air caught in my throat: our faces were dangerously close, so close I could count every line of his expression, every detail I had never noticed before.
For a split second, we stayed like that. Yet those seconds felt long enough for me to recognize the rhythm of his breath, the warmth of his skin, the clean scent of his clothes mixed with the heat of his body. And I had the strange sensation it wasn't just me — that in that fleeting silence, he was perceiving me the same way. That for the first time, without a single word, we truly saw each other.
Rafael pulled back first. He stood abruptly, as if caught in something that shouldn't have happened.— What did you do this time? — he asked, sharp, his voice laced with irony. — Set the apartment on fire and came to hide here?
I stood so quickly I almost tripped on the rug.— Nothing happened! — I shot back, offended. — I just heard you'd been in the infirmary. I wanted to see how you were, but no one answered the door… and since it was open, I came in.
I swallowed hard, trying to keep my voice steady.— You looked bad, and I thought your father would want to know you were alone. I only tried to help. But I see you're fine — fine enough to complain at me.
I didn't wait for an answer. I turned and ran upstairs, slamming the door of my studio too hard. My heart was still erratic. I collapsed onto the bed, praying sleep would come quickly and erase the weight of the night. I slept the little that remained, with a body heavy and a mind full of images I didn't want to revisit.
The alarm dragged me out of bed too soon. I turned it off with a groan, my neck aching from the awkward position I had slept in on the rug. I sighed, washed my face, and started getting ready for class.
When I opened the door to leave, I almost tripped over what was on the floor. A thermal cup, smelling of coffee with milk, beside a small bag. Inside, a pack of muscle ache patches.
I froze for a moment, hardly believing it. Picked them up slowly, as if the act itself might make them vanish. Looked toward the silent staircase leading to the courtyard and the small garden below, half-expecting to catch someone there.
But there was no one.
I held the cup in my hands, feeling the warmth seep through, and let a disbelieving smile slip out. I knew it could only have been him. And even without saying a word, that small gesture spoke louder for Rafael than anything he could have told me.