The day to return to reality had finally arrived. My heart felt like it was going to leap out of my chest, that's how anxious I was. Of course I missed my parents. The smell of my mother's cooking, the sound of the pressure cooker hissing, my father's endless table conversations… all of that was part of me. But at the same time, there was an unrest burning quietly inside me — the urgent need to see Rafael again.
I wanted to know how the situation with the convenience store robbery had turned out. I wanted to tell him what I discovered — that we had known each other long before any of this, that he had been part of my childhood without me ever realizing it.Did he remember?Did he know that I had grown up in the house that once was his?
The drawing trophy, the toothless smile in the photos, the scribbles still on the walls of my bedroom — I wanted to tell him everything, share this secret that suddenly felt so precious.
But with that desire came fear, too. The memory of his distance still stung: the cold look, the sharp tone, the way he pushed me away as if I were a danger he couldn't afford.What if he was still like that?How would I handle seeing him every day, practically under the same roof, if he continued treating me with that same icy indifference?
Rosana's voice echoed in my mind. She said that if he still acted cold, I should provoke him, tease him, deliberately get closer."If he really likes you, Helena, he won't be able to resist for long," she'd said with so much certainty that it almost convinced me.
I bit my lip, uncertain.Maybe I could do it — but, knowing me, I'd probably just end up terrifying him. I could already picture it clearly: me trying to act seductive and him frowning, asking if I was feeling dizzy.The image was so vivid I let out a nervous laugh.
I shook my head, as if that alone could chase away the messy thoughts. I needed to believe that things could be different.
When I dragged my suitcase to the door, it felt heavier than it really was. Every step toward the bus station carried not only clothes but a kind of homesickness that began even before I had left.
The bus pulled up with a long metallic sigh.My mother wrapped me in the same familiar warnings — bring a jacket, don't forget to eat properly, call when you arrive. I knew them by heart, but I smiled through the tears anyway, because her voice made me feel eight years old again, like I was going to sleep over at a friend's house for the first time.
My father stood beside her, solid, though his eyes were shining.When he hugged me, I felt the weight of a gesture that wished it could shield me from the entire world, even knowing it couldn't. His hand on my back was firm, but there was a slight tremor in his fingers.
I climbed the bus stairs slowly, almost dragging my feet, and turned back one last time.My mother waved with a watery smile.My father only nodded, serious, as if every small movement were a quiet promise that I would always have a home to return to.
I chose a window seat and rested my forehead against the cool glass.The engine rumbled, vibrating through the floor.Little by little, the station faded away.My parents grew smaller, first in shape, then in color, until the only thing left was the warmth of their embraces lingering on my skin.
The trip back felt shorter than the trip there. Maybe because my thoughts didn't leave me alone for even a second. The rocking of the bus, the quick stops, the constant hum of the motor — none of it mattered.I could only think of one thing: returning.
When the taxi finally stopped in front of the downstairs house, my heart raced so hard it almost hurt. I looked at the familiar facade, wondering if Rafael was inside, if he would step out to greet me.The expectation made me hold my breath.
But the one who appeared was the landlord, smiling warmly as always.
"Helena! I'm so glad you're back. How were the holidays? Did you get some rest?"
I smiled and hugged him.
"They were good, yes. I rested a lot."
I said it gently, though inside, only one question repeated itself:Where was Rafael?Why wasn't he the one at the door?
The landlord smiled wider and gestured toward the house.
"I'll make some lemonade for you. With spring coming, these warm days call for something refreshing."
I sighed, touched by his kindness.
"I'd love that."
He waved his hand as if everything was already settled.
"Just leave your suitcase there by the stairs. Rafael will take it up later."
My heart jumped.
Rafael was home.
My breath hitched, and I had to hide it behind a small smile.I tried to look calm, but inside everything was anticipation.
I followed the landlord into the living room. The breeze coming through the window carried the sweet scent of garden flowers. I sat on the couch, hands clasped on my lap.
I heard glasses being taken from the cupboard, running water, ice clinking — and then footsteps, heavy ones, crossing the hallway.
My eyes fixed on the doorway.I didn't even blink.
And then he appeared.
Rafael stepped into the room, sweat-darkened shirt clinging to his skin from the heat. His hair was damp, as if he'd just splashed water on his face. His eyes met mine — briefly — too quickly — before he looked away and muttered a soft, almost indifferent "hey."
The air left my lungs.
I didn't know whether I wanted to run to him and tell him everything, or disappear so he wouldn't notice I was shaking just from seeing him.
"Rafael, help Helena with her suitcase later," the landlord said, carrying the lemonade. "She just got back from traveling, she must be tired."
Rafael only nodded, crossing the room without looking at me again. He sat in a chair, pulling out his phone like it was the only thing that existed.
I tried to compose myself, smiling gratefully as the landlord handed me the cold glass.But as the lemonade cooled my mouth, the bitterness I tasted was the distance between us.
The landlord watched me with that gentle, perceptive gaze I'd grown to know so well.
"So, Helena, how were your days?" he asked, settling into a chair beside me.
"It was good to be home. To see some things again…" I paused, choosing each word, as if they were shields for everything I wasn't saying.
He nodded, satisfied, leaning in a little.
"And your father, how is he? It's been a long time since I spoke with him. I always admired that man."
The knot in my throat almost didn't let the words out.
"He's doing well… still working hard, like always." I took a quick sip to cover the emotion. "I think he would be very happy to see you too."
The landlord smiled softly, eyes full of memories.
"Your father was always a good man. It was a privilege to have had him with me in those days…"
I nodded — but inside I was screaming.
I know.I know everything.I know you took us in when we had nowhere to go.I know my bedroom belonged to Rafael.I know those scribbles were his.I know he has always been in my life, even when I didn't see him.
But the words stayed trapped.I only smiled, fingers tightening around the glass.
He changed the subject, asking about my mother, the trip.I answered everything gently, pretending to be calm.
I wanted to stand up and tell them.I wanted to look Rafael in the eyes and ask if he remembered.If he knew.
But I stayed there.Smiling.Speaking softly.While the secret inside me burned — bright and trembling — ready to burst.