Chapter Four: This Is My Pain (#10)

A Call for Reconciliation

As evening fell, Tomás decided not to go to the hospital the next day. Although it was part of his weekly routine, he preferred not to, thinking that if Delia, Professor Krikket's daughter, had decided to visit him, that reunion deserved all the intimacy possible. Interrupting it would be disrespectful. He knew it from experience: there were moments in life that needed to be lived without witnesses, without third parties to dilute their intensity.

He turned on his desk lamp, reviewed the manuscript once more, sliding his fingers over the already corrected pages. The deadline for the Élan publishing house contest was approaching, and although he had almost everything ready, something inside him kept him restless, like a splinter lodged in his thoughts.

He couldn't ignore the feeling. Perhaps it was guilt. Not for what he had done, but for how he had said it. Soledad didn't deserve his coldness of the past few days. Although he didn't dare to say it openly, he had felt hurt. But that was no reason to treat her distantly. He kept telling himself they were friends, that she always made that clear, and no matter how much that weighed on him, he had to respect it.

Instead of writing a message — as he usually did — he picked up the phone and dialed. He did it quickly, like someone who jumps into water without overthinking. The phone rang a couple of times until Soledad's voice filled the receiver.

"Tomás? I certainly wasn't expecting this. What happened? Did you miss me?"

He smiled, leaning against the window frame, looking at the fog-soaked night.

"Of course... I wanted to hear your voice."

"Oh... that's nice," she laughed, nervously, as if she hadn't expected that answer at all. "I still feel a bit guilty. What can I do to make it up to you?"

"Don't worry about it, it's in the past now," he tried to move past it, to leave that conversation behind. "I actually wanted to invite you to lunch tomorrow. Do you have time?"

"Of course. Pick me up at the hair salon. It's about time I fixed that hair of yours," she teased sweetly.

"Are you sure?"

"Of course, it won't take me long with you. I'll be waiting for you. Come early."

"What time works for you? You know I usually get up before the sun."

"Ten o'clock," she said, without hesitation.

"I'll be there."

There was a brief silence on the other end. Soledad hesitated a few seconds before speaking.

"Thanks for calling... you always anticipate what I want. Actually, I was thinking of calling you, but I didn't dare."

"You didn't dare to call me?"

"Hey... I get embarrassed sometimes too. Especially if it's my fault," she added in a low voice.

Tomás laughed, relieved, as if an internal tension had finally loosened.

"No worries. Let's put it in the past, alright?"

"Sounds perfect. Thanks for calling," she repeated with a softness that moved him.

"See you," he said, and hung up.

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The next morning, the fog still floated among the trees and rooftops when Tomás arrived at the hair salon. The blue sign with white letters that read "Sole Beauty Salon" flickered faintly, as if it too was lazily waking up.

He entered. A couple of clients were waiting, flipping through magazines. Soledad stood, washing an elderly woman's hair with such natural kindness that Tomás felt as if he were seeing her in another world. When she saw him, she looked up and smiled as if not a single day passed without her seeing him.

"Just in time!" she said, her hands tangled in the woman's soapy hair. "Give me ten minutes and you're mine."

Tomás sat in one of the chairs in front of the mirror. He watched his reflection while listening to Soledad chat with the client, joke, advise her on a lighter cut. It wasn't a luxurious place, but it had warmth, the kind of warmth one finds in places where people truly want to be.

When she finished with the client, Soledad gestured for him to sit in front of the shampoo bowl.

"Come on, your mane isn't going to untangle itself."

Tomás let her work. He closed his eyes as she wet his hair. Her fingers ran over his scalp with a mix of strength and tenderness. At one point, he thought he might fall asleep right there.

"You're very tense," she murmured.

"Lately everything makes me tense."

"That's because you live cooped up inside yourself," she replied in an amused tone.

"And you still talk like you're a psychologist."

"I like to diagnose," she laughed.

Once the cut was finished—quick, clean, with a slight touch at the front that made him look older, or more awake—they went to a small empanada shop at the end of the street for lunch. They sat by the window, and the steam from the tea they ordered fogged the glass.

"Are you going to tell me what you did this week or do I have to beg?" Soledad asked as she broke her empanada in half.

"Lots of studying and work, yes, I'm at another job, it's crazy really," he admitted, shrugging.

"And is it worth it?"

"For now, it is," he murmured, without looking directly at her.

She was silent for a few seconds, observing him with one of those almost invisible smiles that was more a caress than a gesture.

"I like that you fight for something. You're always moving forward, no matter what."

Tomás looked away, towards the outside, where the sky was still covered in fog.

"And what do you fight for, Soledad?"

She bit her lip and looked down at her cup.

"Me... not to disappoint myself, I guess."

The words hung in the air. They didn't need to add anything more.

They ate peacefully, without mentioning relationships, or what had happened, or what they hadn't said. Soledad talked about work, about her grandmother who sent her very long voice messages, about a cat that wasn't hers but slept at the entrance of the shop every night. And Tomás listened to her with that half-smile of his that he didn't always show, as if he was afraid of seeming too happy.

When they finished, Soledad looked at him conspiratorially.

"Hey... this was a good lunch."

"Yeah?"

"Yes. Next time, it's my treat, okay?"

"Perfect," he replied, without hesitation.

They paid and left the shop. The fog, at last, was beginning to dissipate.