Chapter Four: This Is My Pain (#2)

When he got up, the sun hadn't yet risen above the horizon. His alarm hadn't even gone off. He turned on his desk lamp, and a warm light spread over his manuscript notebook, still open, covered in ink corrections, underlines in different colors, and small bookmarks peeking out between the pages like open wounds. He closed his eyes for an instant, trying to gather his thoughts, organize the day's tasks, and contain the anxiety that knotted his chest.

Outside, the sky was beginning to lighten. It was covered by a diffuse layer of thin clouds, scattered as if an invisible finger had dragged them across a damp canvas. The air still held the echo of the previous night's rain, fresh, smelling of wet earth. At least he wouldn't have to carry his umbrella, he thought. It seemed the storm, for today, had retreated.

When he was ready, he checked his phone one last time to confirm the time and left without a sound.

He walked in silence, as he had so many times before, with that calm but firm step of someone who prefers not to rush so as not to think too much. He hoped, with a fragile but persistent faith, that the rumors would finally begin to fade. In reality, he begged for it. It had been a tough period, and for weeks he had had to feign a calm he didn't feel. He had endured twisted glances, veiled words, heavy silences. He had acted like a monk, like a martyr, like someone who had resigned himself to walking on hot coals in the hope that they would eventually stop burning.

Adolescent imagination, he told himself, is an uncontrollable beast. The ability to distort reality based on a single image, a stolen scene, a half-truth, was astonishing. The lack of limits, the hunger for scandal, the pleasure of having something to talk about... all conspired to turn any story into a poisonous fable. And he, without knowing how, had ended up at the center of one of them.

The path to school had such a gentle slope that it was hard to notice exactly when it began to incline. It was the kind of hill one doesn't perceive until one's body starts to ache. Midway, Tomás stopped. Not out of tiredness, but out of habit. He looked back. The puddles from the recent downpour still reflected part of the sky, and the first lights of dawn painted an orange blush on the clouds, like a face stretching after a restless night.

He took a deep breath. The air was clean and cold. And, for a moment, it seemed that not everything was wrong. Just for a moment.

He resumed walking. When he reached the top of the hill overlooking the main entrance of the school, the first thing he distinguished was the silhouette of Anaís entering the building. Her walk was elegant, confident, as always. A step behind her, Samuel followed like a self-satisfied shadow. Both carried a folder under their arm, an unmistakable sign that they were now collaborating as class representatives. That didn't surprise him. When power is distributed, it is rarely received by those who deserve it.

Tomás slowed his pace, instinctively. Something inside him resisted going in. His steps stopped in front of the slightly ajar classroom door. There was no one else in the hallway. Just the two of them, inside, arranging papers, believing themselves safe from the world. From his world. And precisely because of that, they began to talk.

Samuel's voice came first, that somewhat forced voice he used when he wanted to sound confident.

"There, you see? No one did anything. Even if they find out how it all started, it doesn't matter anymore. The damage is done."

Anaís didn't respond immediately. There was a silence interrupted only by the sound of paper being placed on a desk.

"I don't know..." she finally said, her voice barely a murmur. "I don't feel good about this, Samuel. It was your idea, but I... I never thought it would go this far. It was just an impulse. You said it would just be a way to protect us, to... balance things."

"And it was," he replied quickly, as if he had the answers already prepared. "Look how things are now. No one messes with us, and you finally have what you deserve."

"And what am I supposed to have?" she retorted, and in her tone there was a hint of weariness. "A reputation? A relationship that started with a lie? Do you really think this is what I want?"

"Aren't we doing well?" Samuel approached, his tone softer. "You and I, we're something now. Isn't that enough?"

Tomás felt something tighten in his chest. He wanted to go in, to burst into the conversation, to drop words like a stone breaking glass. But something stopped him. It wasn't fear. It was a kind of bitter understanding. It didn't matter anymore. He couldn't go back and undo what had been said, whispered, sown. It no longer mattered who had said what.

Because the truth, like a polluted river, had already run too far.

He retraced his steps, in silence, with the tired gait of someone who decides to give up for a day. The morning air was still warm from the sun that was just beginning to fully appear, and although it wasn't cold, Tomás bundled up a little in his jacket, as if something invisible was scratching his skin.

He crossed the empty courtyard. The wet leaves clung to the cement like memories that cannot be swept away. He headed to one of the farthest benches, the one against the side wall of the school that was rarely occupied by anyone. He sat there, put his backpack aside, and rested his elbows on his knees, his gaze lost on a formless point in front of him.

The murmur of the wind through the trees, the first footsteps of other students beginning to arrive, the distant chime of a bell in the background... everything seemed to merge into the same white noise, as if life wanted to lull him into his resignation.

And yet, he wasn't sad. At least not in the way one usually is when their heart is broken or they are betrayed. It was a different kind of sadness, more serene, more complete. As if it had been brewing inside him for days, weeks. A type of sadness that no longer hurt, because it had become part of his structure.

"Anaís doesn't matter anymore," he thought. "Not even Samuel. None of that matters anymore."

Because he had learned that people who hurt you rarely stop to look at what they left behind. He had learned that rumors were like fires: they started with a spark and no one stopped them until everything was scorched. And he had also learned, with painful clarity, that in school hallways, ideas are not always discussed, but rather hierarchies, power, fear, and envy.

He looked at the sky. The wind slowly broke up the clouds, and the day began to take shape. He took a deep breath. One more day.

The day unfolded with a tiresome slowness, as if the world revolved with a certain accumulated weight, one that only Tomás seemed to feel. He walked to his classroom with contained steps, aware of every glance, every murmur that still floated like ashes from a fire no one dared to fully extinguish. He entered without greeting, as had become customary, and took his usual seat by the window, where the outside world seemed less hurtful.

Sofía was already in front of the class when he looked up. She stood tall, poised, elegant in her usual sobriety. Her hair was pulled back, her expression serene, her voice firm. One could have believed that nothing had happened, that the previous night never existed, that her words—so painful, so raw—were never uttered. She seemed to have returned to her center, to that version of herself that never breaks. Tomás thought, for a moment, that he admired her for that. And at the same time, that he was unable to comprehend how she could be so effective at erasing the traces of her emotions.

He avoided looking directly at her. Not because he didn't want to—in fact, a part of him was dying to—but because he knew it would be good for her. That's what she had asked for. Not to look at her. Just to write. To remember that she was his teacher. Not to forget his place.

So he did.

He took his notebook and wrote throughout the class, with silent fervor. He wrote everything down, even what he already knew, even what he didn't need to record. His gaze never met hers, not even once. And although he succeeded, although he clung to self-control like a castaway to a plank in the middle of the sea, something in him resented it, as if submerging him to the bottom of a lake. As if, by obeying her request, he also agreed to disappear.

When the bell rang for lunchtime, Tomás sighed with relief. He closed his notebook, shoved it into his backpack with more force than necessary, and left without waiting for anyone. It was Sunny who caught up with him halfway down the hallway, as usual, with a wide smile and that walk that seemed to defy the chaos of the world.

"Aren't you going to have lunch with me?" she asked, putting her arm on his shoulder as if he were a child who needed a push.

Tomás smiled wearily, but agreed. They were about to reach the courtyard when his phone vibrated in his pocket. He immediately took it out. It was an unknown number.

He answered, hesitantly. Sunny stopped beside him, attentive to his reaction.

"Tomás Lambert?" a cordial, feminine voice asked on the other end of the line.

"Yes, speaking."

"We're calling from Big Root restaurant. You left your information a few weeks ago. We wanted to know if you're still interested in the kitchen assistant position. We have an opening and you could start this week, if that works for you."

Tomás blinked, incredulous. The voice seemed more real when it repeated his name a second time. Sunny raised an eyebrow, curious.

"Yes, of course... yes, I'm very interested," Tomás replied, his heart now beating strongly.

"Perfect, can you come in tomorrow afternoon for a quick interview and to sign some documents?"

"Of course, I'll be there."

They said goodbye politely. Tomás slowly lowered the phone, as if he still wasn't sure if the call had happened or not. He put it in his pocket with an almost clumsy movement.

"Was it the restaurant?" Sunny asked, her eyes wide.

Tomás nodded. The smile that began to form on his face was one of the most sincere he'd had in weeks.

"They called you! I knew it!" she exclaimed, giving him an affectionate punch on the arm. "I told you they'd call you! You're too good for no one to hire you."

He shrugged, still with the expression of someone who didn't quite believe it.

"At least something's going right," he murmured, not wanting to reveal too much.

"Not just something! This is a big deal! When do you start?"

"Tomorrow afternoon I have to go sign papers, but I guess I start immediately."

"We'll celebrate with burgers, then. You can't say no."

"If you're buying..."

"How opportunistic!" she laughed, tossing her hair back. "No, I'm buying. You deserve it."

They walked to the dining hall together, and for the first time in a long time, Tomás felt his body didn't feel so heavy. As if something—even if small—had aligned in his favor. And although the rumors still circulated, and eyes still followed him from the corners, that moment of shared happiness with Sunny was enough to give him something he had begun to forget: the hope that things could change.