—Alright, Uribet, it's been a few weeks already. You and your buddy Aireles Miramontes finished the cumbia to use on someone, right? —said Nicolás Maduro while calling Adrián Uribe.
—Yeah, man, we finished it —Uribe replied, clearly annoyed—. But it wasn't easy. Making a cumbia in Mexico when I'm an actor and comedian? It was rough.
—Anyway, here you go, I'm sending the file.
Adrián Uribe transferred the audio as Maduro eagerly opened it.
—Excellent… everything is going just as planned, even though I failed to find the other fragment of the Aztec thread destroyed in the Poliedro del Beso... —he said, clenching his hand—. At least I've got this beautiful thread in my hands, which I stole from those brats. This cumbión will be enough to control that Ávila girl.
Maduro rubbed his hands like Mr. Burns and pulled out the Thread of Love and South American Destiny. Watching from the video call, Uribe replied:
—Well yeah, the cumbia I composed with Ariel is strong enough to hypnotize that Ávila girl and her Aztec goddess chi…
—But just so you know, it's unstable and has a hidden flaw that's tough to decipher. So use it with caution, man. You don't want her going overboard.
An image of Jolie under hypnosis flashed in Uribe's mind as he warned Maduro, who scoffed and muttered bitterly:
—Sure, sure. I'll make sure the Autistic Technopath's girlfriend doesn't go too far.
Lies… I'll ignore all the warnings and make the dumb girl commit drug trafficking, robbery, and murder for me.
—Did you just say that out loud?! —Uribe snapped— You're gonna use a minor to commit crimes?! That's seriously messed up, man!
—Still, I'm not gonna question it. You're a damn thief who stole the elections in a country already destroyed by your stupid policies.
—Anyway, I gotta bounce, I'm filming the new season of La Hora Pico. Later.
He cut the call, shaken but ultimately indifferent. Maduro yelled at the screen:
—Thanks for exposing me, Uribe! Go to hell, you stupid Mexican!
—I'll do whatever I want with María Ávila to keep capturing opposition rats. Right, Cilita?
He turned to his wife. Cilia Flores crossed her arms and looked down with disdain:
—Of course, my love. That idiot girl won't resist the power of the cumbia. Even if her love for Índigo tries to stop it, she's no match.
Meanwhile, in Llanos de Santa Lucía, Sunday night...
—I still don't get how you guys enjoy these kinds of shows here in Costa Rica. But whatever, they're your programs. I guess I should respect that…
—But now let's go watch my favorite show from my dear Mexico on your laptop, Índigo —Jolie said, sitting on the couch with me and my grandpa.
I glanced at her and replied:
—Don't question our TV taste, Jolie. Let's just head to my desk and watch your show.
My grandpa, hearing our little argument, asked:
—What show are you two watching now, Índigo and Jolie? You're interrupting just as the Llanos de Santa Lucía contestant came on!
—Oh, it's nothing, grandpa —I said, pointing toward my desk—. Just Jolie's favorite Mexican series.
Jolie grabbed me by the shoulder and grinned:
—And you're gonna love it, Índigo. Come on!
—Alright, alright, I'm coming. But I hope it's quick, because Trumpete just went over the line again—he banned entry to twelve countries...
—Coming, grandpa —I said, checking the news on my phone.
—Okay, take care then, Índigo —my grandpa said, settling back into his chair.
I turned on my laptop and we watched an episode of Nosotros los Guapos. After it ended, we both reacted the same way:
—Wow, Albertano was such a dumbass for trying to fight that wrestler. He didn't last a second!
—If he'd gone up against Doña Trompas or Ortega instead of us, he'd be in a coma! —Jolie burst into laughter, rolling on the floor of my room.
—I mean, at least the training from your grandpa and Mailen helped us last time… but I still don't get why you like that show so much —I added.
—By the way, Trumpete really crossed the line with those bans, just look at this post —I said, covering my face while handing her my phone.
—Look, the reason I like it is 'cause Adrián Uribe's one of my favorite actors. It's also a taste I share with my family. We're into other shows too—like La Familia P. Luche and Vecinos.
—And about that message… remember, we agreed our ties with him are in a "cold war" state, so we can't interfere… even if I do wanna punch that old fart again.
She smirked and gently grabbed my shirt, her eyes a little seductive.
—Still, admit it… you were enjoying it. You even sang the theme song in that deep voice of yours. Kinda manly for a nerd.
—Okay, okay, I admit it! It's catchy! —I blushed.
—I liked it too, even though I've barely had time to chill—been researching how to find the missing Aztec thread.
—But hey, don't get all flustered, Indigo. I'm too tired to tease you. I worked overtime 'til 4 PM.
—So I'm gonna crash early tonight. Sweet dreams, querido Indigo. Don't stay up too late watching YouTube.
She pointed at me while yawning and left the room. I replied, still puzzled:
—Huh… I didn't know that about you, Jolie. Anyway, goodnight. I'll try not to stay up.
—Man, this is so weird… I don't know why I'm struggling to accept my feelings for her...
Later that night, I went to bed. Somewhere in the house, someone had placed a speaker playing a cumbia. I didn't pay much attention...
But then I saw Jolie get up. Her eyes turned cyan, and her Aztec necklace activated, changing her clothes—though I couldn't make out the outfit clearly since I was half asleep. I heard her whisper something about Venezuela and then she flew off at full speed.
She crashed through a window in the Miraflores Palace, waking up Nicolás Maduro. He shouted:
—I'm here, Nicolás Maduro. You were the one who summoned me with that cumbia —Jolie said, glaring at him threateningly as he lay in bed.
—Well, you got here fast, Joliet... but did you really have to smash through the window? That's a national monument!
—Yes, I was the one who called you, through that cumbia composed in Mexico, by the way. And I want you to do something for me tonight —Maduro said, getting up and groaning about the broken glass, offering her a task while waving his hand.
Jolie grabbed him by the neck and growled:
—Fine. I'll do whatever you want, General Maduro. But call me Jolie, not Joliet, you idiot.
—Sorry about the window. I still can't fully control my strength.
She hurled him against the wall, then stepped back and apologized. Maduro wiped some blood from his nose and muttered:
—Alright… but damn, your strength is something else. That chokehold hurt! Ouch!
—What I want you to do… is go to Elon Mots' estate and destroy one of his Teslab cars.
—That way, he'll blame Donalds Trumps and it'll spark a conflict between the two. Payback for what he did to me when I won the elections in Venezuela last year —he added, picturing Jolie carrying out the plan.
—Interesting... but I thought Trump said he wouldn't interfere with you anymore —Jolie responded, intrigued—. Meh, whatever. If it's your order...
—But I don't get why my Aztec necklace gave me this dress that looks like Anne Hathaway's from the 2025 Met Gala. Not exactly the ideal outfit for committing a terrorist attack. It even feels... borderline illegal to wear it —she said, turning to inspect her outfit, hand on her face.
—I know, girl, I know... It's not ideal, but at least it'll make you look classy while committing crimes under my command —Maduro smirked, wrapping bandages around his wounds.
—Now take this weapon and go carry out the mission.
He handed her a gun and tapped her shoulder. Jolie stared at it, then smiled with psychotic glee:
—Classy, huh? Then fine… for once, I'll unleash what I learned back in Tamaulipas.
Jolie took off at full speed. In a trance, fully under the cumbia's influence, she bypassed all of Elon Mots' security. Acting like a complete psychopath, she used a triple chi combo attack combined with a shot from the gun, unleashing a massive explosion that destroyed over 10,000 Teslab vehicles.
Mission accomplished, she returned to Maduro, who only said:
—Good job. Now head home and rest for tomorrow night.
While flying back to Costa Rica, the cumbia's effects wore off. She was disoriented but too exhausted to process anything. Once home, she quickly changed and went to bed.
The next morning, before we headed to university…
We saw breaking news about a midnight attack on Elon Musk's property. Stunned, we both shouted:
—What?! An attack on Elon Musk's property?!
Our heads nearly exploded in shock. My grandpa, still watching TV, added:
—Yeah… seems like it, Índigo, Jolie. The report says more than 50 people died in the blast.
—This is serious, Jolie. People died on the estate of one of the richest men in the world… and someone who also has Technopathic chi —I said, shocked.
—Yeah, and according to the report, the attack was carried out by a girl sent by Doña Trompas to sabotage Musk after he criticized her government —Jolie said, clutching her backpack.
—You might be right… But it's weird. Even if the girl's face was hard to make out, she looked a lot like you —I said, squinting at her—.
I noticed you left last night around midnight.
—Wait… did you do this, Jolie?!
I put my hand to my chin, then pointed at her, alarmed. She replied firmly:
—I don't remember anything from last night. All I know is I heard music—some cumbia or something—but that's it.
—And of course not, Índigo. I'd never do something like that. I promised myself at 10 years old that I'd never let anyone else get hurt in this cruel world.
—So stop worrying. Let's go already or we'll be late for university —she said, messing with her hair and looking at me with a mix of irritation and suspicion.
—Alright… I guess you didn't do it. Still, it's strange —I said, putting my pinky to my face, still suspicious but unsure.
But over the next few nights, more strange incidents occurred.
Jolie kept waking up to that same eerie cumbia melody. Under its control, she committed all kinds of crimes: drug trafficking across Costa Rica, parts of Mexico, and other cities. Authorities were completely baffled.
She even carried out assassinations of Venezuelan dissidents who had escaped abroad. Sometimes, she ran into Costa Rica's OIJ agents who were hunting her down, but because her Aztec necklace darkened and her eyes changed, they couldn't recognize her. They assumed she was just a crazed cosplayer imitating Anne Hathaway's 2025 Met Gala look.
I kept trying to figure out why so many crimes were happening, but I had my suspicions. The melody... that damn cumbia... it always triggered strange behavior in Jolie.
Still, I had no solid proof. That is, until Tuesday, July 1st.
By request of the OIJ, Monserrat went to Paraíso. They had intel that the strange girl dressed like Anne Hathaway was spotted there. When she arrived, she found her—Jolie—about to commit a double homicide against former Venezuelan embassy members.
Monserrat acted fast, throwing an origami attack at her and knocking off her dark sunglasses. She then took a combat stance and said...
—Who are you and why were you about to commit a double homicide?!
—Wait a minute... Jolie?! —Monserrat said, taking a combat stance as she caught a clear look at the woman's face, shocked to realize it was my friend.
Jolie, wiping some blood from her face, replied with a twisted smile:
—Surprised, Jazzgirl? Or should I say Monserrat, the one who almost killed me along with those two idiots sent by that worthless Ortega?
—The reason I'm doing this is because I'm following the orders of my general, Nicolás Maduro —she said coldly, rising with a psychotic glare.
Monserrat, visibly shaken, said:
—That's impossible! You'd never do something like this! You and Índigo are supposed to protect the innocent and keep the Threads of Love and Destiny out of the wrong hands!
Jolie responded, eyes narrowed and full of menace:
—That was before. Ever since I heard that cumbia composed by Adrián Uribe and Ariel Miramontes, I've been doing what's right —even if it looks psychotic and sadistic.
—But enough talk. I'll take you down Tamaulipas-style, without even needing my chi. Just martial arts. And once I'm done, I'll get back to my almost-boyfriend Índigo Vicente Pereira Adame.
She stomped the ground with her heel, pulling a submachine gun from her pocket and pointing it at Monserrat.
Monserrat, in her mind, thought:
A cumbia? Índigo has to know about this.
—Alright, Jolie. We're going to fight. I won't let you hurt anyone else—no matter what it takes —Monserrat said, readying her origamis to launch like projectiles.
The fight began. And while it unfolded, Monserrat sent me a message. I was still in bed when my phone buzzed.
—Huh? A message at midnight?
—It's from Monserrat…
"Hi Índigo. I figured out why your future girlfriend Jolie has been acting this way. Turns out the melody playing these days in Llanos de Santa Lucía was composed by Adrián Uribe and Ariel Miramontes at Maduro's request."
—I said, taking my phone off the charger and reading.
—So it was Maputo… using her biggest weakness against her.
—As for that whole "future girlfriend" thing... I'm still thinking about it, Monserrat. Don't rush me.
She even sent some pictures.
—Wow... her power really increased under the cumbia's control.
—And that Anne Hathaway Met Gala 2025 look... damn, she looks radiant. And… kinda succulent.
—Okay okay, calm down, Índigo. No time for pervy thoughts. Not after lying on her chest three weeks ago.
—I need to focus on a strategy. Maybe I should ask Uribe if there's a way to break the cumbia's effect.
—I'm tired though. I'll ask him tomorrow afternoon —I said, clenching my fist, staring at the images of my friend while preparing my plan.
The next day, in the afternoon...
I called Adrián Uribe via Instagram. He picked up and said:
—So, you're Índigo Vicente Pereira Adame? Also known as El Tecnópata Autista, huh?
—And you wanna know how to undo the effects of the cumbia I made with my buddy… so that bastard Maduro stops controlling your girl, right?
He pointed at me. I, sitting down, answered:
—No idea how you knew that, but yes, it's me. And I need to know. That bastard Maputo has forced her to commit crimes she'd never do—not even after losing her aunt Jenell.
—So please, sir… I need you to tell me now, so I can save her as soon as possible!
I looked desperate. Uribe, trying to calm me down, said:
—I knew because your mic was on, my brown-skinned dude. Chill a bit.
—Yeah, what that jerk's done with her is sick. Even here she committed crimes, but with those cyan eyes and that elegant, possibly illegal, well-ironed outfit, no one recognized her.
—Anyway, listen up. When Ariel and I made that cumbia, it turned out unstable. So, to prevent Maduro from going full psycho, we added a secret failsafe.
—If you sing "Cómo te voy a olvidar" by Los Ángeles Azules and "Para siempre" by Vicente Fernández, it'll snap her out of that cruel trance. That should save your girl.
As he explained, a mental image showed how to pull it off.
—That's… a lot of info coming from a comedian, but thanks, Mr. Uribe. I'll take it seriously and plan this right —I said, eyes closed, truly grateful.
—No problem, Índigo. Just so you know, even comedians can drop some serious intel.
—See you around, kid —Uribe said, ending the call.
—Yeah, later. That didn't take long —I muttered, wiping sweat from my forehead.
Suddenly Jolie walked in.
—What didn't take long, Índigo? And who were you talking to? —she asked, suspiciously.
I faked a chill expression.
—Oh, nothing. Just chatting with your favorite actor, Adrián Uribe. I asked him to send you greetings.
I smiled, putting my hands behind my head.
—Alright, I believe you. I could hear his voice from my room.
—Just don't be hiding weird stuff again. You've been acting real busy lately, investigating strange music and all that.
—Anyway, next time, ask him to send me an autograph. I'm heading to the gym, so take care —she said with a wink, giving a playful salute as she left.
—Okay, sure Jolie. That was close…
—Ugh… I hate lying to her. But I had to. I can't let her find out about my strategy yet.
—For now, I need to stay focused and perfect the plan over today and tomorrow —I said, slumping into my chair, clenching my fist again, ready to do whatever it takes to save her.
The rest of that day and the next, I dedicated myself fully to the plan.
I listened to mariachi and cumbia to get into the rhythm. I crafted a custom charro outfit, modified my mask with cempasúchil petals for a Día de Muertos aesthetic. I even trained, preparing both physically and mentally.
I looked through old photos of my ancestor Blue, seeing his heroic deeds across Costa Rica and Mexico. His legacy inspired me not to give up—not until I rescued Jolie from that stupid mustached superpowered freak.
After hours of work, the plan was ready.
On the night of July 3rd, I saw Jolie about to leave for yet another mission under the cumbia's influence. I suited up in my charro gear, downloaded both songs to my phone, and packed what I'd need for what was to come.
Before following her, I destroyed one of the cumbia speakers outside the old room I shared with my brother Santini.
Tracking her, I discovered her mission was a double homicide against Venezuelan opposition leaders in Nuevo León… plus drug trafficking.
I was about to stop her—
But before I could react, I was ambushed by Venezuelan soldiers. She had called them as soon as she noticed I was following her.
They knocked me out cold, sealing off my chi before I could even fight back.
Later, I woke up in an unfamiliar place… and said:
"What happened? Where am I?"
"Wait a minute… Nicolás Maburro?!" I said, surprised, turning to look at Maduro. He put his arms to the sides and said:
"Surprise! I can't believe it took you so long to figure out what I was doing with Jolie, thanks to that cumbia composed by Adrián Uribet and Arieles Miramontés."
"Besides, even if I'm stupid, I'm not as dumb as I look. The night before, she found out about your plan to bring her back to normal from her greatest weakness through a note you wrote in one of your notebooks. She told me everything, so I planned an ambush with my army for when you followed her."
Nicolás Maduro said this while clapping, explaining he knew my strategy. In his mind, an image showed how he learned it. I said, breaking my chains:
"So that explains why I'm here in this base in Venezuela. And you knew my plan, you damn fool!"
"What are you going to do now? Have your soldiers kill me, or will you fight me yourself?" I asked, looking at the soldiers in combat positions, transforming my hand into a fist and turning to Maduro, who answered while looking at me:
"Neither, Indigo. It's better if your girlfriend and partner Jolie finishes you off."
"And so you don't resist the attack because you like her, I'll turn this cumbia up to maximum volume."
"Alright, María Ávila C., take care of him—quickly." Maduro said, using his remote to raise the volume. Jolie tried to resist, but the tune was too strong, and she finally gave in, saying:
"Alright, General Maduro."
"Now that this cumbia has clouded my thoughts about you, I'll finish you, dear Indigo Vicente Pereira Adame."
Jolie emerged from a dark place, striking the floor with a gust of wind as she said this, walking toward me with an apathetic and threatening look.
I said bitterly, looking at Maduro:
"I won't forgive you for controlling my friend using her worst weakness, and for forcing her to do things she never would have done."
"I'll save you no matter what, Jolie, even if I have to control my perverted urges to fight you while you're wearing that sexy outfit."
I transformed, angry and determined, promising to do whatever it takes to save Jolie. She looked at me disgusted and said:
"Save me from what? I'm fine right here."
"Get ready, because I'll send you to Saint Peter—fast and slow, Indigo—with this technique from my native Tamaulipas."
Jolie smiled psychopathically, preparing an attack with her machine gun. I looked at her seriously and said:
"I will use my ancestor's will along with my songs."
Then I dodged her attack and started the fight. Jolie kept shooting at me, throwing bombs of air and fire. I ran quickly and used acrobatic skills to dodge, though it was difficult. She managed to hit me in the face, breaking part of my mask—the cumbia increased her strength while she was controlled, making me bleed a little. I counterattacked by turning my head into a drill, damaging her, but she responded with a Northern Shaolin kung fu kick that threw me to the ground, damaging it and injuring some soldiers.
I got up, hurt, and created a cybernetic fist to punch her. She did the same, and we exchanged powerful blows to the face—like Goku and Vegeta fighting in the Majin Buu saga—making us both bleed heavily.
I decided to sing Para Siempre by Vicente Fernández to weaken the cumbia's control on her, and it seemed to work, as she tried to resist its effects. Still, she endured and created a rock cage to trap us, giving her more time to hit me, saying:
"You are strong and fast, dear Indigo, but for some reason, you're still afraid to face me."
She wiped some blood off her skirt and hit me.
"Ouch! Of course I'm scared. Like I told you in our conversation three weeks ago, I would never dare to fight you."
"But I still don't understand why you're doing all this. It goes against who you are, Jolie—a girl whose life was marked by the death of a close family member, who became strong and became an almost romantic moral support for me."
"Besides, even if it's hard to admit, you're very beautiful and attractive."
She said, annoyed:
"I'm doing this under General Maduro's orders."
"And dear, stop it! Even if you try to say those words, they won't help you get out of the cumbia's control—unless you destroy those speakers!"
"Which is almost impossible—I have you right where I want you."
Jolie grabbed my neck tightly, visibly angry. I thought quickly:
"So, the speakers… That's the key. I have to make her let go."
As a last resort, I formed two large drills in my hands and used them to pry her grip off my neck, breaking the rock cage in the process. She said, seeing her injured hand:
"Ow! My hand… those drills pack a punch for a stupid autistic kid, but I don't know what you're planning."
"But dear Indigo, you're gonna see now!"
She flew toward a place, propelled by the wind, striking the ground with her heels. Surprised at her speed despite being hypnotized, I said:
"I can't believe she's so fast while controlled."
"But there are the big speakers. Using what strength I have left, I'm going to destroy them with my cybernetic fists and saws."
Transforming my hands into a fist and a saw, I destroyed the speakers, breaking the cumbia's hold on Jolie. She collapsed, unconscious, so I hurried to save her and said:
"Jolie! Are you okay, precious? Wake up!"
I shouted, shaken, holding her in my arms. She slowly opened her eyes and replied, still confused:
"Yeah... I just woke up. I'm fine, Indigo. Calm down."
"...But seriously, why the heck are you carrying me like a princess?" she added, flustered and turning red as she noticed the way I held her.
"A-Ah! Sorry! I'll put you down if it bothers you!"
I said nervously, lowering her with trembling hands. She looked at me and tried to calm me:
"I get it... but where are we? Why are we so injured? And why am I wearing this elegant—and kind of illegal—outfit that looks like Anne Hathaway's Met Gala 2025 dress?"
She seemed genuinely lost, glancing at her clothes. I turned to face her and explained:
"Alright, I'll tell you everything. We're in a secret base in Venezuela. Maburro asked Adrián Uribe and Ariel Miramontes to compose a cumbia based on your biggest weakness—so you'd commit crimes against your will. Terrorism, drug trafficking… even assassination of Venezuelan opposition figures."
"The reason we're hurt is because we fought while you were under the cumbia's control. I had to destroy those giant speakers to free you."
Horrified, Jolie's face went pale. As the weight of what she'd done hit her, she broke down in tears and suddenly hugged me.
"I can't believe I did all that… My aunt Jenell would've never wanted to see her dear niece turn into a psychopathic killer..."
She sobbed.
I gently held her, trying to comfort her.
"Me neither... I almost lost you, and that terrified me. You're really important to me. But don't blame yourself, Jolie."
"The same thing happened to me back at the Marco Picado studio... but your words—corny as they were—brought me back to myself during my anxiety attacks."
I hugged her tighter and stroked her hair. With her eyes closed, she said:
"Thank you, Indigo. Still, you risked fighting me even when I was being forced to do all those awful things... That's what I like about you. How you put everything on the line to reach what you care about, even when you don't want to."
Muac.
She kissed me softly on the cheek. I blushed and stammered:
"T-Thanks… I don't even know what to say. I just did what I had to do. But honestly... you looked stunning and kind of... mouthwatering in that outfit—like, straight out of that event—and, uh... it made things a little hard to concentrate during the fight..."
I said awkwardly, scratching the back of my head while eyeing her dress. She turned beet red and replied:
"That's the most pervy compliment you've ever given me, Indigo. But... I'll admit it—this outfit does suit me. Even if I wore it while doing crimes like some cursed spirit from a legend."
"...At least you dressed up nicely as a charro," she added shyly, holding the edge of her skirt, clearly flustered.
Just then, Maduro chimed in, looking annoyed:
"Aww, how cute—lovebirds exchanging cheesy compliments..."
"Oh, right—Indigo, you destroyed my expensive speakers! I spent a third of Venezuela's budget on those!"
He looked especially angry at me for ruining his setup and foiling his plans. I responded firmly:
"Yeah—and I did it because you emotionally abused my friend!"
"Now tell me—where are you hiding the Thread of South American Love and Destiny, Maputo?!"
I demanded, staring at him with intensity. Maduro stared back and answered smugly:
"I won't tell you. Anyway, I'm outta here. Good luck next time, Indigo and... Joliet."
"I am Francesco—FIAAAUUUUUN!"
He screamed, sprinting away at high speed to some unknown place.
Stunned, I muttered:
"Damn it… That idiot escaped using the last turbo boost of his chi… like in that 'CJ Captures Maduro' video."
I kicked the ground in frustration. Jolie spoke up beside me:
"Yeah… and now we've lost our chance to stop him—for now. He used my worst weakness to get revenge on some opposition and tried to justify it as making his country 'better'..."
"But next time we face him, we'll defeat him once and for all—and we'll recover that thread that filthy thief stole."
She gave me hope again, striking her heel against the ground and smiling confidently. I smiled back and said:
"Alright… But to wash off the bad taste of fighting each other—though we're exhausted—how about we go dance a waltz?"
"There's a plaza in Nuevo León, near where you almost… um... yeah. They're hosting a 'Waltz Night' with Chayanne's music. Thought it might be nice."
I offered nervously, showing her the event listing on my phone. Jolie smiled warmly and accepted:
"Sure, Indigo. I'd love to. We've got until 1 a.m. to return, anyway. Besides, we haven't had time to dance with everything that's been going on these past five months."
"And that song… it was one of my mom Jía's favorites."
She rested her head on my shoulder and closed her eyes. I blushed and said:
"Alright then. Let's go enjoy this beautiful night."
I pointed toward the sky. We flew together toward the plaza in Nuevo León. When we arrived and saw couples dancing, we joined in.
While dancing, Jolie said:
"You know… dancing the waltz here reminds me of a dream I had after prom—where I danced with a guy who looked a lot like you."
I replied:
"I remember a dream just like that... but with a girl who looked like you, Jolie."
We both blushed and looked at each other awkwardly. Jolie laughed nervously:
"This is so weird… It's impossible. We didn't even know each other back then."
"But let's just keep dancing and forget that detail before it gets even weirder."
She held on to me tighter. I nodded, still a little red:
"Yeah... agreed. That's probably the most awkward thing we've ever said to each other."
Despite the tension and everything we'd been through, we danced like nothing had happened…
Just two battle-worn teens, sharing a peaceful moment after a storm.