CHAPTER 1

(February 01.

2020.

Braga, Portugal. Quinta da Mafalaia).

Sandra thought I was a liar. Or maybe, on this strict occasion, everything I was telling her was a vile lie.

"You could say something," I said, after the silence that fell between us.

Sitting under that leafy tree that I loved, the beautiful shade of the Quinta da Mafalaia restaurant, I observed her oval face of light and soft brown skin.

She looked at me with astonishment and perhaps with something that reproached me.

"It would be good to have your opinion, Sandra, because I had sworn I wouldn't tell anyone about this," I told her. "Although, there're already people who know about it." I lowered my face a little embarrassed by that last piece of information.

I saw her swallow thickly. The story was something that could happen to many people, but not to me. These things should not happen to a mere mortal like me, who used to feel whole in the face of life. Telling something like this was not easy, I knew it wasn't.

"Well," she started to say, "I... I don't..." Yes, she was speechless. "Are you sure this all started when he was a... a child?" She wouldn't even let me answer. Sandra leaned forward and whispered energetically. "You're talking about a child. A little boy, a little boy, a youngster!"

I raised my eyebrows and she relaxed her body, understanding she was exaggerating. I might have made a thousand mistakes, but it wasn't "that" she ventured to think.

"But it can't be! You... The day I met him, he seemed empty, typical... immature, childish."

Staying still because I wanted to see in detail her reactions, and she didn't confuse mine above all, I emitted a small laugh with tinges of sadness. My best friend was wrong.

He was not typical. The protagonist of our conversation, the reason why I came to the Quinta to tell Sandra everything, was something very different.

"Trust me when I tell you what you thought he was until now maybe the opposite."

I sighed, uncovered the box of cigarettes I put on the table, and lit one.

Sandra looked at my cigarette, and for the first time in my life, I knew she was about to rip it out of my hands.

This is precisely what I was talking about, the effect some people have on others. Vices that break a chain of goodness caused by the anxiety of a story.

"What you are telling me is a bomb, it's such... intense."

"I know, and I came to tell you precisely because I can't hide it from you anymore." I sighed again, the weight on my shoulders pulsing for release.

She looked at the iron and wood table between us, and then stared at me, placing one of her hands on the only one I was holding free on my lap.

"I don't know exactly the reasons that forced you to keep quiet, but I understand that you didn't want to shout from the rooftops. I want you to pardon me."

"What? Why?"

She sighed, leaning back in her chair.

"Because I didn't notice, I never saw anything in your eyes. And I know you needed help, at least to get it off your chest, or to see things in perspective."

I smiled.

"I don't think I made myself clear." I kept smiling, a smile that now became compassionate since I had to understand that what I had told was not easy to digest. I'm convinced that the relief is not enough for me to overcome everything. "You're not the only one who found out about this, I came here to change that, not to cure my crazy heartbreak."

She couldn't help the sparkle in her eyes.

"Why didn't you tell me before? Why didn't you include me in that secret of yours? Who are those people who also know?"

After those questions that didn't generate immediate answers, Sandra emitted another one and that's when I straightened my back.

I went to that place to let it all out, the whole story I lived with "him," one of the best-kept secrets in my life, even though a small number of people knew about it.

"What are you going to do now?" was her question. And I didn't know what to say, I didn't know what the hell to do. I was at a loss.

I pulled my long black hair into a ponytail, took the last puff on my cigarette, and stubbed it out in one of the ashtrays Sandra's father set up at each of the tables in his restaurant.

I looked at her after a sigh.

"Do you have any coffee? I haven't finished telling you everything yet."

***

(11 years before.

2009.

North of Portugal).

I knew something strange was going on from the moment I was watched by "him". I knew it several years later, but I could never forget that expression so genuine, divine... horrifying.

It all started one day after I entered that house; I seem to remember that I stepped on that floor on October 4, 2009. I was only eighteen years old.

With a career in Education just starting and I wanted to abandon to focus on other things, my head was full of desires for the owner of that house.

I had no idea of the people I would meet there, apart from my boyfriend, of course; a young man four years older than me named Nikko Saravia, quite tall, with an attractiveness that threatened my emotional security, with a hair color that rivaled my long black hair.

Nikko was a law student at the University of Minho, home to my district, where we met. It should be noted that he and I didn't live in the same locality, although we lived in the same Council. My house was in the District of Braga, and he was in Viana do Castelo, at a distance of 62 kilometers by road, one hour and forty minutes by car. At the time I went to meet his parents' house, we had already been dating for six months.

Until now I had never set one step in the Saravias' home. I used to travel by bus to visit him, but I never stayed there. We attended plays, we went for walks through the streets and boulevards of Castelo... I confess that I loved traveling there.