I woke up before my alarm went off.
That had been happening to me lately. As if my body didn't trust that this was real and needed to verify it every morning. I opened my eyes and saw the unfamiliar ceiling of my university dorm room: white, with a damp stain in the corner that looked like an imaginary continent. It wasn't the ceiling of my room back in the village. I wasn't home.
I was free.
Well, not exactly free. I still had classes, exams, and a roommate who snored softly in the bed next to mine. But it was a different kind of freedom. The freedom of being anonymous. Of no one knowing who I was before they met me now.
Luna moved in her bed and muttered something unintelligible. I stayed still, watching her. Her brown hair was splayed across the pillow, and she wore a t-shirt of a band I didn't know. We had been living together for two months, and I already knew that Luna slept with socks on even in the summer, that she hated coffee but loved green tea, and that when she was focused on her paintings, she could go hours without saying a word.
What Luna didn't know about me was much more.
I got up carefully so as not to wake her and walked toward the window. From the third floor of the residence building, I could see the campus waking up: students with coffee thermoses, cyclists dodging pedestrians, the grass still damp with dew.
Four hours away. That was all that separated me from the village. Four hours by bus. And yet, I felt like I was in another country. In another life.
—Are you awake already? —Luna's sleepy voice snapped me out of my thoughts.
I turned around. She had sat up and was looking at me with one eye closed, the other barely open.
—I couldn't sleep —I said.
—Nervous about Sociology?
—Something like that.
Luna smiled and stretched.
—You're going to be fine. Besides, I heard the professor is cool. Demanding, but cool.
I nodded. It wasn't the class that made me nervous. It was everything else. Every new semester was a risk. More people. More questions. More chances for someone to make the connection.
But so far, it had worked. No one knew. And I planned to keep it that way.
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—What do you want for breakfast? —Luna asked, already pulling on a sweatshirt—. Because if you say "nothing," I'm going to force you to eat something. You can't go to your first class on an empty stomach.
—When did you become my mother? —I said, but I smiled.
—Since I saw you skip breakfast three days in a row last week.
She was right. Anxiety killed my appetite. But Luna didn't need to know that.
—Fine. Pancakes —I said.
—Perfect. Let's go.
While we walked toward the campus cafeteria, Luna talked about her Arts project. Something about distorted perspectives and how people never see the same thing when they look at a painting. I nodded at the right moments, but my mind was elsewhere.
I wondered what Luna would see if she knew the truth. Would she still see me the same way? Or would it change the way she interpreted every thing I'd said, every joke I'd made, every moment I'd stayed silent?
—Hey, are you okay? —Luna touched my arm—. You got serious all of a sudden.
—Yeah, just... thinking about class.
—You're going to shine —she said confidently—. You're the most observant person I know. You always notice things the rest of us ignore.
If only she knew why I had learned to be so observant. Why I had developed the skill of reading expressions, anticipating reactions, disappearing when necessary.
But I couldn't tell her that. So I just smiled.
—Thanks.
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The cafeteria was full. That's what I liked about this place: you could be invisible in the middle of a crowd. In the village, walking into any place meant being recognized, greeted, questioned. Here, I could sit at a table and no one paid me any attention.
Luna went to order, and I stayed to save the table, watching.
Two guys were arguing about soccer at the next table. A girl with huge headphones was studying while moving her lips in silence. A group of freshmen laughed too loudly, still excited by the novelty of being at university.
I wasn't a freshman anymore. I had already moved past that stage of excessive nervousness and awkward introductions. Now I was a sophomore, and that gave me a kind of extra camouflage. I was no longer the rookie who drew attention.
Luna came back with a tray.
—Pancakes with extra honey, just the way you like them —she said, sitting down—. And I got the last croissant. Today is my lucky day.
We ate in a comfortable silence. That was another thing I liked about Luna: she didn't feel the need to fill every silence with words. We could just exist side by side.
—Where are you from, Sofía? —a voice suddenly asked.
I froze. I looked up and saw a guy standing by our table. I didn't know him. Dark hair, kind eyes, an easy smile.
—Sorry, what? —I said, buying time.
—I asked where you're from —he repeated—. Luna mentioned last week that you were from a small town, and I got curious. I grew up in a small town too. It's always interesting to meet someone who understands that life.
Luna looked at me, waiting for me to answer.
—From a little town up north —I said vaguely—. Nothing special.
—Does this little town have a name? —he asked with a smile.
My mind raced. If I said the real name, there was a chance he'd Google it, investigate, find something. But if I made up a town and he knew the area, he'd catch me lying.
—San Lorenzo —I finally said. It wasn't a complete lie. It was near my real town. Technically.
—Ah, cool. I'm Damián, by the way.
—Sofía —I replied.
—I already know —he said with a smirk—. Luna talks about you a lot. See you in Sociology, right?
—Yes.
—Great. See you there, then.
When he left, Luna looked at me with an amused expression.
—See? I told you he was cute.
—You didn't tell me that.
—I thought it really hard. It still counts.
I laughed, but inside, my heart was still racing. One simple question. "Where are you from?" And I was already lying. Again.
________________________________________________________________________
San Lorenzo wasn't my town. My town was called Villa Mercedes. And in Villa Mercedes, everyone knew me.
(Flashback - 7 months ago)
—Sofía, dear, how are you? Did you get your university responses yet? —Mrs. Domínguez stopped me in front of the bakery.
—Yes, ma'am. I got accepted into several.
—How proud we are. Your mother must be so happy. After everything you all went through...
She didn't finish the sentence. They never did. They just left the sentence hanging in the air, waiting for me to fill the space with... what? Gratitude? Tears?
—Yes, she's happy —I said with an automatic smile.
—Well, give my best to your family. And take good care of yourself, okay?
Always "take care of yourself." As if I were made of glass.
(End of flashback)
SCENE 5: First Sociology Class
The Sociology classroom was on the second floor of the Humanities building. I arrived early and chose a seat in the third row.
The professor arrived exactly on time. He was a man in his fifties, with a grey beard and round glasses.
—Good morning. I am Professor Méndez, and this is Sociology of Identity. If you are in the wrong room, now is a good time to leave.
No one moved.
—Perfect. Then let's begin with a question: Who are you?
Awkward silence.
—It's a simple question —he continued—. But the answer is not. Because identity isn't something we have. It's something we construct. And more importantly, it's something others construct for us.
I felt a shiver.
—This semester we are going to explore how social narratives shape who we believe we are. How expectations, prejudices, imposed roles... all of that becomes part of our identity, whether we want it to or not.
It was as if he were talking directly to me.
—Your first essay —he said, writing on the blackboard— will be on this: "How have the perceptions of others shaped my identity?"
Luna gave me a gentle nudge with her elbow.
—This is going to be interesting —she whispered.
_________________________________________________________________________
Class ended and we went out into the hallway. Luna went to the bathroom and I stayed there waiting for her.
—Hey, Sofía.
I looked up. Damián was standing in front of me with another guy.
—Meet Javi. He's in Engineering, but he likes to come to Humanities classes because, according to him, "engineers are boring."
Javi laughed.
—It's true. You guys have more interesting conversations. Hi, Sofía.
—Hi —I replied.
—We were thinking about getting together to study for this class —Damián said—. Well, more like discussing the topics. Would you like to join us?
—Yeah, sure —I said, surprised.
—Perfect. Oh, and I also invited Mateo, a friend who just transferred here. I think he's going to be in our class.
The name hit me like a punch.
—Mateo? —I repeated, trying to keep my voice neutral.
—Yeah. He moved from... where was it? Villa Mercedes, I think. Isn't that your area?
The world stopped.
—No —I said automatically—. I'm from San Lorenzo.
—Ah, right. Well, it's around there anyway. Maybe you know him.
—Maybe —I murmured.
But it wasn't a "maybe." I knew him. And he knew me.
And he had just arrived at my university.