Days passed like this, identical on the surface. The newcomers soon dissolved into the crowd of immaculate students. Gary even stopped bringing that thing with the taut strings.
They were often seen near Roy and Oliver; perhaps that was why they retained a certain relevance. Everyone knew them as their assistants—always behind, always silent. No one asked them anything. It was better to keep one's distance.
With Cinthia, the opposite was happening. She had grown more popular, the female lead of the couple of the moment. Oliver was often seen talking with her; Rudy and Gary watched from afar. She laughed, he told her something. It was easy to imagine the scene even without hearing it. A story, a romance with an expected ending.
A different day had arrived, one that seemed to have been stalking her for weeks. Cinthia trembled beside Lía, unable to hide her anxiety.
"So it's finally here…" Lía murmured, in that voice of hers that always sounded tired and kind at the same time.
"A-alone… at seven… i-in the park…"
The blush climbed all the way to her ears. She swayed from side to side, trying to look confident and failing.
"In the park?… that doesn't sound good…"
"That's not the problem! I want you to advise me like you always do…"
"Of course it's a problem. You know the park has cameras in every corner."
"They don't work. None of them do, not even the ones at school…"
"Idiot. We're watched all the time."
"And who's watching us? That's ridiculous… How do you explain that I was finally able to come to Nigella in the first place?"
Lía saw the frustration in Cinthia's eyes: a childish anger, as if a prize had been denied to her. She held her gaze for a few seconds until, inevitably, she gave in. She sighed, defeated.
"Fine. Pay attention."
She gave her a couple of instructions—precise, almost ceremonial.
That same night, Cinthia got ready at home, alone in front of the mirror. She reviewed every feature as she recalled the directions.
"I know it sounds strange… but this time, stop wearing makeup. Men notice when a girl is trying too hard. And we don't want to start off losing, right? Besides, you've always been one of those who goes natural."
She barely lined her eyes; left a faint, measured pink on her cheeks—just the essentials.
"Same with clothes: something revealing, but not obscene. I'll lend you a set I've kept. And you know—don't tell absolutely anyone what we're talking about, or what you're going to wear."
She lifted the blue dress. Studied it carefully. Minutes later, she had it on. She turned once, then again, watching how the fabric moved.
"Don't arrive early or late. Be punctual. Better if you're a few minutes late."
The city at night was a pale gray. Strangely empty. White streetlights flickered without enthusiasm. The avenues stretched out alone, hungry for life.
Through that silence walked Cinthia, adjusting her pace to the trembling of her hands.
The park appeared ahead: wide, elegant in its restraint. There was a different color there—an orange glow—washing over trees, leaves, even bushes. Among them, small blue flowers grew crooked and weak, interrupting an order that was too perfect.
Cinthia stopped at the corner and hid behind the wall, watching the inside of the park.
"Wait until he arrives first. Watch. Take a minute before you appear. Let him see you walking toward him. He won't be able to do anything about it."
And that was exactly what happened.
Oliver appeared among the park lights, walking with a calm smile. He sat on a bench so naturally that Cinthia's throat went dry.
It was time.
She clenched the dress between her fingers, took a deep breath, and stepped out of her hiding place. She was ready to approach him.
At first, he was lost in his own thoughts, suspended in that void where time stretches. Then he heard footsteps. Oliver looked up.
A few meters away, small, precise feet advanced, as if each step measured the air before touching the ground. The blue dress brushed just above the knees; a bow marked a waist so slender it seemed improbable. Her hands were clasped behind her back, a pale blouse emphasizing her fragility. Her smile, uncertain, held itself together as best it could. Small, perfect curls framed blue eyes that did not ask permission to exist.
An improbable beauty was approaching him.
He knew he was considered attractive, but this undid him effortlessly. His chest tightened; something like modesty set his skin alight. It was the first time he felt truly intimidated.
"Woah…"
It slipped out as a murmur, unintended. He lowered his gaze as soon as she sat beside him.
She swallowed carefully, afraid the sound would betray her and make her embarrassment visible.
"Is something wrong?" she asked, her voice dragging without meaning to.
"N-no… I—" he laughed, barely a breath of sound. Nervous. Unarmed.
"W-well…"
He added nothing else. Silence fell between them—a silence that seemed to have shape.
"Never take the initiative. Don't lower your head. Don't imitate him. It's his turn to gather courage. You just let yourself be carried."
Just as Lía had said, it had to be Oliver who broke the stillness. And he did.
"To be honest… I wasn't expecting something like this."
"Something like this?"
He didn't explain what he meant. He only turned his gaze aside: her dress, her figure, the way the light settled in the folds. He didn't dare lift his eyes to hers. Shame weighed more than any intention.
"I don't have to tell you…" He let out a brief laugh, almost a whine.
"Mmm?" She tilted her head. Innocence wasn't a gesture—it was her natural state.
He gathered courage and finally looked at her, though his breath fractured into a thin thread.
"Well… this is different from usual… you know."
"Yes… you're quieter than normal."
"It's because we're alone for the first time. Before, there were always a bunch of people butting in, saying stupid things."
"Is that why you asked me to come here? At this hour?"
"When you're alone… you can really talk."
Only then did she become aware of the place. The silence. The darkness forming in the distance. The black sky. There were no sounds but his low voice. No presences but the two of them.
She remembered what Lía had warned her about. She remembered she was disobeying.
"Isn't this wrong?"
"It is. We shouldn't be here," he replied with a disconcerting lightness, almost smiling.
Her alarm was mild, warm. Silence filled everything again. So did nerves. But she decided to continue.
"So what did we come here to do?"
She knew exactly why they were there.
"Well… I don't think you have no idea," he murmured, lowering his gaze, trying to hide the blush.
"U-uh… a little… I think…"
He laughed. Sweet. He feigned confidence with a naturalness that almost convinced.
"I like you, Cinthia."
The sentence came out clearly, firmly, as if born from a carefully restrained impulse. As if he had been gathering courage for days.
She knew that moment would come, but it still took her by ambush. She didn't answer. She couldn't.
"I know perfectly well I shouldn't tell you this… 'Students of Nigella are strictly forbidden from any kind of romantic insinuation between them.'"
He repeated the rule without changing his tone. The words slid out.
"And has anyone… ever broken those rules?" she asked.
"I don't know. I've never heard of anything like that… in my entire life," he said. The phrase lingered, as if searching for a memory it couldn't quite reach.
"I still don't know much about this place. I'm relatively new," she murmured.
"And what do you think… of everything?" Oliver asked. His gaze fixed on a formless point, as if waiting for something there to answer for him.
"I'm afraid. Breaking a rule… must have consequences, right?"
"That… nobody knows," he murmured, almost to himself.
"Even so…"
Silence returned, thicker. It settled between them like a fog that wouldn't fully clear. Cinthia alternated her gaze between the ground and Oliver's hands, trembling with a strange nervousness, as if they belonged to someone else.
It seemed he wouldn't say anything more. She didn't notice at first. Perhaps it was her turn to move forward, to close the distance. So she stopped trembling. Took a breath. Placed her hand over his.
"L-let's be the first, then…"
The phrase hung there, faint but brave. Oliver finally lifted his gaze. She didn't look away like she did at school. They held each other there, fixed, as if that fragile steadiness were a promise. It was a test for both of them: to remain without retreating.
Fluttering. Distant. A brush of wings that seemed to come from nowhere. It didn't matter. Nothing mattered. Just closing her eyes, letting the world fade to make room for a first kiss.
Another flutter. Closer. Sharper. They ignored it. The entire night could fall and not move them from that instant.
But something changed. A brief tug, a sudden absence. She leaned into the contact she expected, sinking into the darkness behind her eyelids—until the lack of weight in her arms forced her to open them.
There was no one there.
The space in front of her was empty, intact. Not a crunch of leaves, not a step betraying escape. Only the night, extended and still.
She blinked once. Twice. Several times. Turned her head to both sides, disbelieving.
She was alone. In the middle of the park. In an open field where he could not have hidden.
She sat up slowly. The warmth of the moment still vibrated on her skin; exposure fell over her like a bucket of cold water. She searched again, uselessly, for the trace of a shadow.
She didn't call his name. She didn't dare break another rule. The silence had a shape too precise.
She took out her laptop. Checked messages. Nothing. She sent one.
"Where are you?"
She waited.
The screen remained still. The user vanished.
She walked aimlessly. Without calling him. She searched patiently for a clue that didn't exist. The path stretched without her measuring it; her mind was elsewhere, trapped in the absurd need to give logical meaning to what had happened.
Then she heard footsteps. Fast. Short. Like someone trying to disappear before being seen.
From the lower part of the city, a figure emerged. It stopped upon recognizing her. It was Rudy. Their gazes collided at a distance—still, incredulous. He shouldn't have been there. No one should come from that side.
Rudy altered his course without a word. Turned onto another street, avoiding her with a naturalness that didn't fit the situation. His expression was the same as at school: sealed, impenetrable. And just like that, without explanation, he disappeared into the shadows.
Cinthia returned home without finding answers. Only silence. Through the night, until dawn.
It seemed she hadn't slept at all; her pace was slow as she walked. Heavy eyelids, blinded by daylight—yet that recent dimness seemed to grant her a strange dignity. The streets were the same, the same route to Nigella.
Despite what had happened the night before, she couldn't betray logic. There had to be an explanation. That was why she walked on with the absurd hope of finding Oliver among the crowd dissolving before her eyes. She scanned from side to side. He wasn't in the entrance courtyard. She decided to go into the corridors. He would surely be there.
She wouldn't accept excuses. She had rehearsed every word. But the search was useless. He wasn't there.
After several empty corridors left behind, luck struck—one of those kinds of luck that arrives with a jolt in your breath. Lía and Roy were talking in a corner, like two people who still believe tenderness can protect them from the world. Cinthia approached without hesitation.
"Hey…" Her voice came out broken, almost urgent.
Both noticed the exhaustion on her face. They raised an eyebrow, uneasy. Lía was the first to step closer.
"What happened, Cinthia? You're—"
"Haven't you seen Oliver? I've been looking for him like crazy—" she cut in. She turned to Roy, irritated. "Your little friend had better have a good excuse for what he did yesterday!"
They didn't answer. Their brows, now higher, revealed genuine confusion. Cinthia was too busy trying to catch her breath to notice their expressions. She went on without letting them speak.
"You won't believe what he did, Lía. He's a jerk. He left me alone—me! Can you believe it?"
She was still panting. There was something childish in her complaint, a wounded vanity slipping through like an involuntary reflex.
"Hey, Cinthia…" Roy said softly, but she interrupted him again.
"Don't defend him. I'm sure he already told you. What he did! So I'll pay him back the same way—tell him he's dead to me, and that I never want to see him again."
That last sentence carried a truer vibration, as if a real crack had finally surfaced. But her anger still outweighed any pain. She wasn't prepared for Roy's response.
"Who is Oliver?"
The disbelief was immediate. It was obvious, she thought, that they were mocking her.
"I'm not in the mood for jokes, idiot…"
Lía finished demolishing her certainty.
"Cinthia… who is Oliver? What are you talking about?"
Disappointment fell all at once.
"You too? You even helped me yesterday. You helped me get ready!"
The corridor wasn't silent; it murmured, as if the place itself wanted to stay out of it.
"Yes… I know… but you never told me why you wanted to look pretty," Lía replied, in that gentle voice used to keep something from breaking completely.
Cinthia had no patience left.
"Oliver! I'm talking about Oliver… the usual one." She turned to Roy. "He's your best friend! You're always with him!"
Lía and Roy were overwhelmed by her fury. There was worry in their eyes, a kind of unease that couldn't be hidden.
Roy tried to steady her with words.
"Calm down, Cinthia. We truly don't know what you're talking about. I don't know anyone by that name."
Cinthia saw a sincerity in his eyes she didn't want to admit. Fury mixed with confusion. And something else: a silent guilt, almost imperceptible. Perhaps she was beginning to believe she really was losing her sanity. She had no words left. She looked away, toward a point neither of them could see.
Rudy was watching her from the end of the corridor, motionless.