After their breakfast at the restaurant in the south of Cancún.
Lysandra followed the discreet direction Ruby indicated with her gaze. Across the restaurant, at the table of young doctors, a man was watching her. It was the same one whose fleeting glance she had met upon entering: Damien. His attention was undeniable, a mixture of curiosity and an intensity that, even from a distance, was palpable. Lysandra felt a light blush rise to her cheeks, not so much from the attention itself, but from the way Ruby, with that knowing smile, had pointed it out.
«Well, so it wasn't just my imagination,» Damien thought from his table, seeing that the two women's conversation had paused and that the one with violet eyes now seemed aware of his gaze. «She's even more beautiful when she looks slightly disconcerted. She reminds me of…» A fleeting face, from another time, another place, crossed his mind, bringing with it a pang of melancholy he hadn't expected. He shook his head almost imperceptibly, returning to the present, to the fascinating stranger with amethyst eyes.
Lysandra, true to her nature, averted her gaze almost immediately, turning back to Ruby with a studied indifference that didn't fool her new friend. "An interesting observation, Ruby," she said with a light tone, though her heart was beating a little faster. "But I believe our buffalo meat is getting cold, and we still have a city to explore, don't you think?"
Ruby let out a melodious laugh. "Absolutely. Unknown admirers can wait. Adventure calls us."
They finished their exotic meal, the flavor of the buffalo leaving a lasting impression on Ruby's palate, who admitted that, after all, it hadn't been bad at all. They decided that, before immersing themselves in history or nature, a bit of "retail therapy"—as Ruby called it with a wink—might be a pleasant transition.
Lysandra first took her to some exclusive boutiques in the La Isla Shopping Village area, where luxury and design met the sea breeze. Ruby moved through the stores with the same grace and confidence she had displayed at the mansion, her green eyes evaluating the garments with expert judgment, but without being carried away by simple whims. Lysandra, for her part, observed more than she bought, enjoying Ruby's unexpectedly pleasant company, her witty comments, and the way her presence seemed to brighten even the most opulent interiors. Then, for balance, Lysandra guided her through some local artisan workshops downtown, where the aroma of worked leather, carved wood, and fired clay filled the air, and where Ruby showed genuine fascination for the skill and tradition behind each piece.
The afternoon sun was beginning to set when, laden with a few bags—Ruby had found a hand-painted silk shawl with quetzal motifs that, she said, "spoke to her," and Lysandra had acquired a small, deep blue glazed ceramic bowl that reminded her of the Caribbean Sea on a stormy day—they passed by a modern cinema.
"Do you like movies, Lysandra?" Ruby asked suddenly, stopping to look at the marquee.
"I love them," Lysandra admitted, surprising herself with the ease with which she shared something so personal. "They're one of my few… escapes."
A smile lit up Ruby's face. "Strangely enough, me too. It's funny, isn't it? With my search for deep truths and your connection to the echoes of the past, that we both enjoy fictions projected onto a giant screen."
The movie they chose, almost (at random), guided by a poster that promised beautiful landscapes and a moving story, was a romantic film. Neither of them expected much more than pleasant entertainment, a respite in their day of exploration.
But as the theater darkened and the first images filled the screen, they found themselves immersed in a love story woven with a delicacy and intensity that took them by surprise. The protagonists, two seemingly disparate souls—a dreamy painter and a pragmatic architect—met and lost each other amidst dreamlike Italian landscapes, their dialogue laden with a poetry that struck a deep chord.
Lysandra, who had always maintained an emotional distance even with the most moving fictions, felt her defenses begin to crumble. There was one scene in particular, under a starry Tuscan sky, where the architect, after a misunderstanding that had separated them, finally confessed his feelings to the painter.
"I didn't know the entire universe could fit into the curve of a smile until I met you," he said, his voice barely a hoarse whisper, his eyes fixed on her with an adoration that transcended the screen. "Every line I draw in my plans, every structure I imagine, now only seeks to be a worthy shelter for the light that emanates from you. I thought I was building buildings, but what I truly longed to build was a path back to your arms."
Lysandra felt a lump in her throat. The purity of that declaration, the vulnerability in the actor's voice, reminded her of her father's letters, but also the lament of her own dream: the inability to have experienced anything remotely similar.
Ruby, beside her, remained motionless, but Lysandra could perceive, even in the darkness, the tension in her posture, the way her breathing had become shallower.
Later, in another crucial scene, after she had fled, frightened by the intensity of her own feelings, he found her by the sea, with the waves breaking at her feet.
"They say the sea erases all footprints," she said, her voice breaking. "I wish it could erase this feeling that consumes me, this fear of loving so much."
He took her face in his hands with infinite tenderness. "Then don't erase it, my love. Engrave it. Engrave it in every grain of sand, in every wave that kisses the shore, because this love," his voice filled with an overwhelming conviction, "is not a footprint that can be erased. It is the tide itself, the force that moves the oceans of my soul. And loving you is like breathing; how could I stop doing it without ceasing to be who I am?"
At that moment, Lysandra couldn't stop a silent tear from sliding down her cheek. She wiped it away quickly, hoping Ruby hadn't noticed. But glancing sideways, she saw that Ruby's green eyes also shone with an unusual wetness in the dim light of the cinema, her beautiful face holding an expression of deep melancholy and longing.
The movie ended with a passionate kiss, a promise of an uncertain future but one filled with a love that had proven stronger than fear and doubt. When the house lights came up, both women remained in their seats for a moment, as if needing time to return from that emotional journey.
They left the cinema in a charged silence, the echo of those romantic phrases, of those intense emotions, floating between them. Evening had fallen over Cancún, and the air felt different, softer, perhaps a little more vulnerable, just like them. The movie, unexpectedly, had touched a raw nerve in both, opening a small window to their own longings and perhaps, to their own fears about love.