The aroma of the buffalo meat, surprisingly tender and with a smoky, exotic flavor, filled the air around their table, and the troubadour, oblivious to the emotional complexities he wove with his songs, continued his repertoire of boleros. Lysandra listened to Ruby, fascinated by the story of her encounter with Fernando, trying to fit the pieces of this new family puzzle together, while Ruby, in turn, seemed to be weighing how much more to reveal about that connection she herself admitted was hard to define.
It was in that instant, as Lysandra took a sip of her fresh hibiscus water and Ruby paused thoughtfully, that the restaurant's ambiance seemed to subtly shift, as if a new current of air had entered, bringing with it a different energy.
A group of four or five young people, mostly dressed in the casual elegance of professionals on a day off, walked into the restaurant, laughing and chatting animasi. Among them, one man stood out, moving with a contained, almost stealthy grace, despite his apparent youth. He was tall, athletically built but not ostentatiously so, with dark, slightly wavy hair combed back, revealing a broad forehead and chiseled features that possessed a classic, almost severe beauty. His eyes, a dark, indefinable color from a distance, seemed to absorb the light around them. It was Damien.
The group was led to a table not far from Lysandra and Ruby's, close enough for fragments of their conversation to reach them, but far enough to maintain relative privacy. As they settled, one of Damien's friends, a jovial-looking young man, clapped him on the back.
"Seriously, Damien, I still can't believe yesterday. That open-heart surgery… hours! And the patient is stable as if nothing happened. You have the hands of a saint, or a magician, or both!"
Another added, "How do you do it, man? Some secret pact with the gods of medicine?"
Damien, who had taken a seat facing the entrance, offered a polite smile, a gesture that momentarily softened the intensity of his countenance. "Just teamwork and a bit of luck," he replied, his voice deep and calm, though Lysandra didn't quite catch it clearly. But his attention, his real focus, wasn't on his friends' praises.
Just as he looked up, his eyes met Lysandra's.
For Lysandra, it was a fleeting moment, one more anonymous face among many in a public place. An attractive man, certainly, with a penetrating gaze, but her mind was occupied with Ruby, with Fernando, with the echoes from the chest. She registered the glance and dismissed it, turning her attention back to her conversation with Ruby, who was about to resume her story.
But for Damien, that instant was like an electric shock, a perfectly tuned note amidst the noise of the world. He was struck, not just by Lysandra's ethereal beauty—her porcelain skin, the contrast with her night-dark hair, and those eyes… those incredible violet eyes that seemed to hold entire universes—but by something more, an intangible quality, an aura of mystery and depth that drew him in with a magnetic and instantaneous force. His friends continued to talk, but their words became a distant murmur.
«Who is that young woman?» Damien thought, his smile fading to an expression of intense concentration as he discreetly observed her. «I've never seen anyone like her. What's her name? That elegance, that posture… What family does she belong to here in Cancún?» He had arrived in the city recently, sent by the medical organization he worked for to establish a new specialized unit. Everything was new to him: the city, the tropical heat, the customs, the people. And this woman was the most fascinating novelty of all. «Alright, Damien,» he told himself, a calculating glint appearing in his dark eyes, «it seems the monotony of setting up the new equipment is over. He decided to get to work and start by 'reading' her, to unravel the mystery that emanated from her like a subtle, intoxicating perfume.»
Lysandra, completely unaware of the silent scrutiny she was under, continued her conversation with Ruby, trying to better understand the dynamic of her relationship with Fernando.
But Ruby, with her sharp perception and her habit of observing the world with an attention that often went unnoticed by others, soon spotted the newcomer's insistent gaze. She saw how Damien's dark eyes returned again and again to Lysandra, with a mixture of surprise, admiration, and an intensity that went beyond simple aesthetic appreciation. A faint, almost imperceptible smile curved Ruby's lips.
She leaned slightly towards Lysandra, gently interrupting her own narrative. Her voice was a conspiratorial whisper, her green eyes sparkling with mischievous amusement.
"Lysandra, my dear," she murmured, with a slight nod towards Damien's table. "Not to interrupt my fascinating story of Chinese mix-ups and grandmothers reincarnated as cows, but I believe… I believe you've just acquired a rather insistent admirer. And if I'm not mistaken," she added, her smile widening, "one who looks as if he's seen an angel or a very, very interesting ghost."
Lysandra frowned, confused by the interruption and Ruby's tone. Admirer? What was she talking about? The need to know more about this new, unexpected attention, and about the mysterious woman who now smiled at her with complicity, hung in the air, as palpable as the aroma of coffee and the unfulfilled promises of the troubadour's songs.