The story of how Ruby and Fernando met, with its blend of technological serendipity and her brother's characteristic persistence, left Lysandra with a genuine smile. It was an anecdote that humanized the enigmatic Ruby and, at the same time, painted a touching portrait of Fernando. The troubadour in the restaurant continued to play melodies of love and heartbreak, and the aroma of the buffalo meat, which the waiter had just placed on their table with a bow—a generous portion, golden on the outside and promising tenderness on the inside—was beginning to mix with the scent of the tropical flowers on the patio.
"Wow," Lysandra said, observing Ruby with new appreciation. "So a mix-up on a Chinese social media platform brought you here, sharing a buffalo breakfast in Cancún. Life certainly has curious ways of weaving its threads." She paused, taking a sip of her watermelon agua fresca. It was time, she thought, to try to build a bridge, to offer a small piece of her own emotional territory in the hope that Ruby might feel inclined to cross it.
"I suppose relationships that begin in such… unexpected ways often turn out to be the most interesting," she continued, her tone becoming slightly more thoughtful, though her violet eyes maintained a certain analytical distance, that invisible but palpable barrier that always surrounded her when things got too personal. "I, for one," she sighed slightly, as if resigning herself to an uncomfortable truth, "haven't had as much luck with beginnings… or endings, for that matter."
"Here we go," Lysandra thought, watching Ruby's reaction. "A bit of my own calculated vulnerability. If I show her I'm not a completely closed book, perhaps she'll let her guard down a bit regarding Fernando."
"My life has always been very… focused," she continued, choosing her words carefully, as if appraising a delicate object. "My work, my research… they're very consuming. And the truth," a faint, wry smile curved her lips, "doesn't always leave much room for the complexities of personal relationships. I've had… close calls, of course." She gestured vaguely with her hand. "Failed loves, some would call them. Though I prefer to think of them as… unfinished field studies."
Even as she said it, Lysandra felt the familiar retraction, the subtle emotional shielding that automatically kicked in. She spoke of "loves," but her tone was almost academic, stripped of the passion or pain such experiences usually bring for most. It was her way of maintaining control, of not allowing the echoes of her own disappointments—or those of others, which she felt so keenly—to overwhelm her.
"Feel the barrier," she told herself, almost as an internal challenge. "But perhaps she also feels the underlying sincerity. We've all had disappointments, haven't we? It's common ground."
Ruby cut a small piece of the buffalo meat Lysandra had served her, tasting it with an expression of cautious curiosity that quickly turned to pleasant surprise. "This is… surprisingly good," she admitted, before returning her full attention to Lysandra. She was listening with serene intensity, her green eyes fixed on her, not judging, simply absorbing.
"I understand about 'unfinished field studies,'" Ruby finally said, her voice soft but with a tinge of understanding. "Sometimes human connections are the hardest artifacts to decipher, don't you think? Full of layers, hidden meanings, clumsy restorations."
"She's playing my game," Lysandra thought, a mixture of satisfaction and renewed wariness. "But she's still not talking about Fernando. Only generalities."
"Exactly," Lysandra agreed. "And in my case, perhaps… perhaps I have a tendency to be overly analytical. To observe from a distance rather than immerse myself. It's safer, I suppose. It prevents… emotional interference from clouding professional judgment." The last sentence was almost an echo of her own past justifications, a half-truth masking the deeper fear of vulnerability that her gift exacerbated. She wondered if Ruby, with her apparent wisdom about life and its mysteries, could read between the lines.
"What will she make of this?" Lysandra wondered internally, taking a bite of her own food, savoring the tender texture and smoky flavor of the meat, but with her keenest senses fixed on Ruby. "Will she see my attempt to appear open, or just the invisible cage I've built around myself? And will she dare speak of that obvious connection with Fernando, now that I've shared a shred of my own… limitations?"
Ruby chewed slowly, thoughtfully. The troubadour had begun a new song, this time a more upbeat bolero, but Lysandra's words seemed to have created a bubble of introspection around their table.
"Interesting," Ruby thought, observing Lysandra. "She opens up, but only to a certain point. Like a flower showing a few petals but jealously guarding its heart. 'Unfinished field studies.' A graceful way of admitting a fear of failure or pain. And that barrier… it's almost tangible. I've felt it ever since I met her. But there's something else, a wounded honesty beneath that composure. She wants me to talk about Fernando. I know it. But what can I say that she'll understand, when I don't have all the words myself?"
The meal continued for a few moments in a comfortable but charged silence. Lysandra waited, watched. Ruby seemed to be fighting an internal battle, her beautiful features alternating between serenity and a fleeting shadow of doubt. Lysandra's need to understand, to unravel the enigma of Ruby and her brother, intensified, but she knew that pressing it would be counterproductive. She could only wait, and wonder what secrets lay behind those green eyes as deep as the Caribbean Sea that surrounded them.