The sun had barely risen when the sharp trill of a ringtone shattered the quiet inside Adrian's apartment.
He groaned, dragging a pillow over his head, hoping the sound would vanish on its own. It didn't. Whoever was calling clearly had the persistence of a debt collector.
Half asleep, he reached for the phone on his nightstand and squinted at the glowing screen.
María Alvarez
His eyes widened. The haze of sleep disappeared in an instant.
For a moment, he just stared at the name, his hand frozen mid-air. The name carried too much weight to process this early in the morning.
Then, with a shaky breath, he pressed accept.
"...Hello?"
"Adrián, por fin! You sound like you've been wrestling with your bed all night. Did I wake you, cariño?"
That voice — warm, teasing, full of life. He had forgotten how much light it carried.
His throat tightened, and for a long moment, he couldn't speak. He sat up slowly, clutching the phone like it might vanish if he blinked.
In another life, María Alvarez had been more than just a neighbor, more than a friend. She had been family.
Back when he was a lonely student scraping by in a small apartment, she had taken him under her wing.
She fed him when he forgot to eat, scolded him when he pushed himself too hard, and reminded him that kindness wasn't a transaction.
She was the kind of woman who made the world gentler by simply existing.
And in the other timeline — the one he tried not to think about — she had died. Slowly, quietly, without complaint. He had found out too late, his success drowning out the sound of her final breath.
Now, she was alive again. Talking to him. Laughing.
It felt unreal.
"Adrián? Are you still there?"
He swallowed hard, forcing his voice to steady. "Yeah... I'm here. Just didn't expect to hear from you so early, that's all."
She laughed softly. "Then I'll take the blame. But I promise it's for a good reason."
Her cheerfulness filled the room like morning sunlight.
"You remember the Vega family from the old neighborhood?"
He rubbed his temple, trying to summon the memory. "The ones with the bakery on Third Street?"
"Exactly. Their niece just got accepted for a design internship in the city. Sweet girl, a little nervous, doesn't know anyone here. I told her she could stay with you until she finds her own place."
Adrian blinked. "You did what?"
"Don't sound so dramatic," María chided gently. "You have that big apartment all to yourself. It'll do you good to have someone around for once. You work too much."
He chuckled softly, shaking his head. "You're still trying to play matchmaker."
"Bah, no! I'm trying to play mother!" she said, voice full of mock indignation. "Someone has to make sure you eat real food and not those dry noodles you live on."
He leaned back against the headboard, a smile tugging at his lips despite himself. "You never change, do you?"
"I hope not," she said warmly. "Now listen, she'll arrive next Friday. That gives you plenty of time to clean that cave you call a home."
He laughed under his breath. "I'll make sure it's spotless."
"That's my boy," she said with pride that felt too real, too undeserved. Then, after a pause, her tone softened. "Adrián... thank you. For saying yes."
He stared at the floor, the weight of years pressing against his chest. "No, María. Thank you. For everything you've ever done for me."
There was silence on the other end — the kind that needed no words.
Finally, she said quietly, "Siempre, mijo. Always."
When the call ended, Adrian sat there for a long time, staring at the phone as if it still held her voice.
He let out a deep breath, then turned toward his desk. The monitor's power light blinked faintly in the dim room.
He crossed over and tapped the spacebar.
The screen came to life.
At the corner of his inbox, a new message awaited him.
Subject: Response from Aurora Systems
A slow, knowing smile spread across his face.
"Looks like the giant decided to answer," he murmured.