Fui al jardín porque no podía respirar.
I went to the garden because I couldn't breathe.
Not from the heat, nor from being confined, but because since I walked out of that room with Declan,
something inside me hadn't returned to its place. I felt an invisible tremor on my skin, a summons
that didn't come from the mind or the body, but from somewhere deeper. As if the world were
pushing me toward a precise place, at an exact moment.
I didn't know he would be there. And yet, some part of me had always known.
The sky was veiled in a thin mist. The moon hadn't yet revealed itself, but the air held that peculiar
electricity of moments that have not yet been named.
It felt like a fairy tale—the garden with so many different kinds of flowers, yet in perfect harmony.
Each flower was more beautiful than the last. I slipped off my shoes to feel the night grass, walked
slowly, trying to steady my breathing. It was a place so beautiful it brought peace and, at the same
time, delight and wonder.
I crossed the threshold of the garden and then I felt it. The moment Declan set his eyes on me,
some of the flowers that were already open began to pulse. A subtle pulse, with a dim glow—but a
pulse nonetheless.
At first it was gentle, but with each step I took toward the center of the garden, it grew stronger.
Like a drum. Like a heart.
His? Mine?
I stopped, and for a moment it felt as though the entire garden was breathing with him. With us.
The air grew dense and sweet. And there he was, watching as the water began to reflect not the
moon, but a light that did not come from the sky.
He lifted his gaze from the water and saw me again. His eyes held mine with that silent gravity that
belonged only to him. He didn't move right away. It was as if every one of his gestures were
measured, as if he carried the responsibility of an entire universe in each step. He didn't come
closer, yet his mere presence filled the garden.
This time, I was the one who walked toward him.
—Do you feel it? —he asked.
I nodded.
—The flowers —he said—. Something similar had happened before. But never like this. Never
because of another person.
The distance between us was minimal. The world had grown small. There were no longer houses,
nor islands, nor lineages. Only a pulse. And us.
He moved closer slowly, each step gliding as if he were floating above the ground. When he stood
before me, he raised his hand and placed it over my chest. Not with pressure. With a contained
reverence. His warm palm vibrated, as if recognizing the heartbeat beneath my skin.
—You changed everything—you never cease to surprise me —he murmured.
My breathing grew uneven. I wanted to speak, but there were no words that wouldn't interrupt the
moment.
He looked at me, and his gaze saw beyond what I was willing to show him.
The pulsing of the flowers intensified. Faster and faster.
—What is happening? —I asked, confused and yet awed.
—In a few words… the flowers are giving me away.
—What do you mean? —I whispered.
His eyes darkened instantly.
—I'm going to kiss you —he said, and it was neither a promise nor a question. It was a decision
laden with destiny. The silence between us shattered like a sheet of glass under the weight of a
feeling. And when he finally kissed me, it wasn't sudden. It was as if the world were holding its
breath, as if gravity itself had been suspended just to give us that perfect instant.
He took me by the waist with one hand and pulled me close—with force, with belonging—while his
lips touched mine for the first time.
It wasn't a stolen kiss. It was given. As if his mouth spoke an ancient language my body already
knew. A language of skin against skin, of memory without words. There, in that darkness, the
flowers stopped pulsing, and all that could be seen was the moon's reflection on the water.
At the first touch of our lips, I felt a warmth like coming home after a very long journey. My mind
spun in every direction. While I was still trying to understand what I was feeling, he pulled back a
few inches and looked at me without saying a word.
I looked back at him… and he kissed me again.
My feet lost contact with the ground. I felt it. Literally. It wasn't a metaphor. I levitated. I floated.
Or perhaps the earth withdrew from us to give us space.
I felt intoxicated by a sense of fullness and desire, as if I were being overflowed by a current from
within. My chest beat with the force of something that wasn't only mine, holding me from some
invisible place. My body felt pliable, light, my thoughts clouded.
—What is this? —he whispered, breathing in my breath.
Was he feeling the same thing?
His hand held me. But this time not with force—with certainty. As if he knew I was his point of
return. That night, it wasn't only my lips that were kissed—my soul was kissed.
When we finally parted, I felt something inside me settle into place. As if my soul had found a
home it had always belonged to, but had never remembered how to return to. I didn't know how
much time had passed.
My mouth burned. My fingers trembled like leaves in a storm—not from fear, but from the fierce
need to return to that point of contact, to that suspended instant where the world did not hurt. And
yet, I felt calmer than ever.
He smiled. It was a curve almost imperceptible. That smile said I see you, I chose you, and also
I fear you. It was more intimate than the kiss because it didn't try to possess me. It only accepted
me.
We said nothing more.
The garden had already spoken for us.
I sat beside him, in silence, still not daring to break the spell that wrapped around us. Moonlight
peeked through the tall branches and cast soft shadows across his face.
—Was it always like this? —I asked—. Was love among your people always this… physical?
He looked at me slowly, as if he hadn't expected the question.
—No. Not like this. The physical was always a consequence, nothing more. There wasn't this.
There wasn't this… vibration. The flowers never pulsed in time with my heartbeat. The island
connected with me—and it longed for you as well. I could feel it.
I shivered.
—Then… what are we?
Declan didn't answer right away. He closed his eyes for a second and took a deep breath.
—We are the only exception —he said softly, almost guiltily—. And perhaps we are also the last
hope. But if the island beats for us, then something deeper than duty is at stake. It's no longer
about understanding it. It's about feeling it.
The breeze stirred the flowers once more. This time they didn't pulse. This time… they seemed to be
asleep. Calm.
As if they knew that, at last, they had been heard.