The alarm rang, but I had been awake for a long time, silently repeating Rafael's explanations as if they were a memorized song. I put on the first comfortable clothes I found, tied my hair, and drank coffee in quick gulps, without even tasting it. Anxiety made everything inside me run faster than usual.
When I opened the door of my apartment, I found a scene that, without realizing it, had become one of my favorites: Rafael in the garden, beside his father. The landlord watered the flowers calmly, and the two exchanged a few quiet words, as they always did.
"Did you sleep well, Helena?" the landlord asked, turning to me with his welcoming smile. "Did you eat properly? You'll need energy for the test."
"I did," I replied, smiling back warmly. "And I had breakfast. I'm ready."
Rafael stared into nothing, but I already knew: he noticed every detail. He always did. This time, I didn't let the silence stretch. I stepped closer, tugged lightly at his sleeve:
"Come on, I want to get there early."
The landlord chuckled, shaking his head, surprised at my urgency. Rafael, on the other hand, seemed not to have expected that reaction. Still, he left with me without protest.
On the way, I tried to fill the air with rushed talk about formulas, numbers, and the hours I had spent reviewing. Rafael interrupted me with his calm, almost ironic voice:
"What did you eat for breakfast? If you keep this up, you'll finish the exam before you even get the sheet."
I laughed, blushing."It's nerves. I can't switch my head off."
He looked at me from the side, serious, but his voice came out soft:"You'll do fine. You had the best teacher."
His words warmed me in a strange way, and all I could do was smile in response.
When we arrived at the university, to my surprise, we no longer caused as much of a stir. Curious stares were still there, but less intense. It seemed people were starting to get used to seeing us together.
Before we entered different classrooms, Rafael touched my shoulder lightly."Later I'll decide which meal you'll buy me for this test."
I nodded, laughing, and went on my way. But before stepping into the room, I turned instinctively. I stood there, watching him walk away. A shiver ran through me. When had we grown so close? How had something that once seemed impossible started happening right before my eyes?
The exam began. At first, my hands trembled. But as I read each question, the formulas simply appeared in my mind. It was as if my pen had a life of its own, tracing lines and numbers without me having to think too much. By the time I finished, I was exhausted but satisfied.
Once the exam was over, the day was free. During exam season, afternoon classes were canceled. We only had to show up for each test, nothing more.
I returned home with a lighter heart. I still planned to review the material for the next day's test at night, just for peace of mind. My habit of studying every night before bed had always given me an advantage. Though, of course, that hadn't applied to calculus.
I had some time until lunch and the entire afternoon free. As I climbed the stairs, I wondered if Rafael had already finished his exam, if he had done well. A pang of guilt hit me: he should have been focused on his own studies, not spending so many hours teaching me.
That's when I heard the landlord's voice."Helena!"
I looked down quickly and saw his wide smile."You must be tired after the exam. I made a nice lunch, come eat with us."
My heart skipped. I smiled back, full of gratitude."Of course, I'll just drop my bag upstairs and come down."
I hurried into my apartment. The lightness I felt was replaced by a new nervousness. I was going to have lunch with Rafael. Of course he would be there. After all, it was his house. If he hadn't arrived yet, he would any moment.
I rushed to the bathroom, brushed my hair, retouched the faded lipstick, and tried to tidy myself up quickly. Only then did I go downstairs.
The landlord welcomed me with the same warm attention as always. We chatted for a few minutes and, in the middle of the conversation, he ended up sharing stories from when Rafael was a child. It was strange how, in such a short time, I already felt so comfortable in that house.
We were laughing at one of his memories when the door opened suddenly. Rafael entered quickly, like someone who had come in a hurry. Before I could think, I blurted out the question:"How was the test?"
"It was fine," he replied shortly, but not coldly.
The landlord added cheerfully:"Today's lunch is special for you two. And get used to it: this will happen until the last exam. I want to make sure you're well fed for this marathon."
I smiled immediately. Rafael only sighed, resigned.
Lunch was simple but full of care: fluffy rice, fresh beans, stewed meat with potatoes and carrots, lettuce and tomato salad. As we ate, the landlord shared stories from his youth. He even told a funny situation he had once lived through while working at my father's company.
"So that's how you know each other!" I commented curiously.
He smiled, with that respectful air."Your father has always been a great man." And he quickly changed the subject, as if he didn't want to dwell on it.
After lunch, the landlord and Rafael cleared the table, while I insisted on washing the dishes. Soon after, Rafael appeared by my side with a dish towel, ready to dry. The landlord, already in the living room, watched television.
Suddenly, it was just the two of us. The silence was filled only by the sound of running water and clinking dishes. My heart beat so hard I almost feared he could hear it.
"Did you think the test was easy?" he asked quietly, as if not to disturb his father.
"Yes," I replied, almost laughing. "It was unbelievable, actually."
He glanced at me from the side — discreet, but intense enough to make me blush. I quickly turned back to the sink, praying he wouldn't notice the heat in my cheeks. But deep down, I knew he noticed everything.
When I placed the last plate carefully on the counter, it felt like I was delaying the inevitable end of that moment. I dried my hands on the dish towel absentmindedly, just as Rafael reached for the same towel to hang it on the wall hook — his fingers firm, his movement precise. And then, our hands almost touched.
Almost.
The tips of my fingers still carried the warmth of the freshly washed dishes, and I could swear I felt the faint heat of his skin, so close that just a millimeter more would have made the touch real. It didn't happen — but the possibility lingered in the air, suspended, as if the world itself had held its breath just to see.
I held mine for a second too, unable to move. Pretending normalcy, I thanked them for lunch, my voice lower than usual — first to the landlord, who answered with a satisfied smile, then to Rafael, without daring to hold his gaze for long. Then I slowly climbed the stairs, each step echoing the memory of that nearly invisible distance that had almost brought us together.