The night was colder than usual when Tomás arrived at Sofía's building. He had walked without thinking, letting his feet lead him, without looking at his phone, without stopping to understand why.
He just knew he couldn't go home yet. Not with that emptiness scratching at his chest. Not with the image of Soledad, smiling at another, repeating in his head again and again like a scene he couldn't pause or erase.
He climbed the steps one by one. He knocked gently on the door, as if even that took effort. He didn't know if she would be awake, but something inside him—something that seemed to already recognize her as part of his home—pushed him there.
The door opened faster than he expected.
Sofía was without makeup, her hair loose, and a folded book in one hand. Her face softened when she saw him, though surprise tightened her lips for an instant.
"Tomás..."
He tried to smile, but couldn't. He just looked down.
"Can I stay for a while?"
Sofía didn't ask further. She just stepped aside to let him in.
The apartment was warm, bathed in a soft golden light. On the living room table was a half-finished cup of tea, Tomás's manuscript piled next to another notebook. A couple of pages were crossed out with red ink, others with pencil annotations. She had been writing.
"You made me soup last time," she said as she closed the door, as if trying to lighten the mood. "This time you have no excuse not to join me for something to eat."
"I'm not hungry," he murmured, barely audible.
She looked at him more closely. The dullness in his eyes, the tremor in his voice, the paleness beneath his skin. Everything screamed pain.
Sofía said nothing more. She walked to him and, with a simple gesture, put her arms around his back and hugged him. Not like a lover, nor like a teacher. She hugged him as one hugs someone who is breaking.
Tomás let his head fall onto her shoulder, and there, unseen by anyone, he allowed himself to close his eyes.
"You don't have to tell me anything," she whispered. "Just stay."
And he did.
They sat on the sofa, side by side. He with his gaze fixed on the floor, she with her legs bent, hugging her knees while sipping what was left of her tea. There was a delicate silence between them, like a blanket spread to protect from the cold.
"Does it hurt a lot?" she asked after a while, without looking at him.
Tomás nodded.
"I thought maybe... that it was something real. But it was all in my head."
"Are you sure about that?"
He didn't answer.
Sofía slowly got up and brought a blanket. She placed it over his shoulders without saying anything, then sat back down beside him. This time, closer.
"Do you remember what you said, the night you left me the finished manuscript?" she asked.
Tomás looked up, confused.
"You said you'd be there for me until I left," she continued. "I didn't know what you meant. I thought it was a figure of speech, a nice courtesy... until now."
He looked at her, his eyes shining with contained emotion.
"I don't know where to go, Sofía."
She ran a hand through his hair, with a gesture that was somewhat maternal, but also intimate, careful, like one dealing with an open wound.
"Then stay here. Tonight, and as many as you need."
For a moment, neither of them spoke. The clock struck midnight. In the distance, the last bursts of the festival could still be heard, faint, like memories that couldn't quite reach that room.
Tomás rested his head on Sofía's shoulder. He said nothing, but he breathed more calmly. As if only in that space could he feel safe again.
She let him be.
Hours passed like this, without talking about what had happened, without need for explanations. When he finally fell asleep on her shoulder, Sofía looked at him in silence.
She remembered the kiss on his forehead. She remembered his promise. And she realized that it was no longer a promise just for her: it was a promise for both of them.
It was no longer just about Tomás giving her reasons to keep writing, to eat, to smile. It was that now, for the first time in years, someone had chosen to stay, even when she didn't ask them to.
And because of that, although she knew that all of this would also end one day, that night she felt less alone than ever.
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The morning light filtered softly through the gray curtains of the apartment. The city wasn't fully awake yet, and only the distant hum of traffic began to set the rhythm of the new day.
Tomás opened his eyes in the dim light, disoriented for a moment. It took him a few seconds to remember where he was, but as soon as he turned his face and saw her, everything came back.
Sofía slept beside him, wrapped in the sheets like a child curled up against the world. Her disheveled hair covered part of her face, and her steady breathing calmly raised the blanket that covered her to her shoulders. She slept in a fetal position, as if her body wanted to protect itself from something invisible.
Tomás smiled, very slightly. For an instant, he felt a soft laugh wanting to escape his chest, but he swallowed it. He didn't want to wake her. She looked so peaceful… so different from the Sofía who usually had sharp words even upon waking.
He carefully sat up, sliding out of bed without a sound. He picked up his coat from the back of the chair and the keys she always left on the dresser. He left the apartment, went down the stairs in silence, and stepped out onto the street, where the morning air still held traces of the previous night's festival.
He walked a few blocks to the corner bakery. He bought freshly baked bread, fruits, and a couple of sweets he had noticed she liked. Also coffee, because she couldn't function without a hot cup in the morning. He returned unhurriedly, letting the cold air clear his mind a bit.
When he opened the door and returned to the apartment, everything was still in the same silence as before. Sofía was still asleep.
It was the first time he had stayed over. He had never done it before, and he was surprised to see that Sofía slept so deeply, as if rest had embraced her without reserve. He hadn't known she could sleep like that, so late, so defenseless.
He went to the kitchen, carefully organized everything, prepared the coffee just the way she liked it, toasted a couple of slices of bread, cut the fruit, and put everything on a tray. The aroma of coffee filled the apartment like a caress.
When he returned to the room, Sofía was still sleeping, just a little disheveled, with one leg out of the covers and her arm extended towards his side of the bed, as if searching for him in her sleep.
Tomás sat beside her, carefully lowered the tray, and called her softly:
"Sofía… it's morning."
She groaned softly, stirring as if her body refused to leave sleep.
"Five minutes…" she murmured.
"I brought you breakfast."
"What…?" She opened her eyes with effort, blinking. "You… made breakfast?"
Tomás nodded, holding the coffee cup in front of her like a ritual.
"And coffee."
Sofía sat up with difficulty, rubbed her face, and looked at the tray with still-narrowed eyes.
"You're trying to spoil me," she said, with a raspy voice and a lopsided smile.
"Maybe."
She accepted the cup, took a sip, and closed her eyes with a satisfied sigh.
"God… I needed that. If you do this two more times, you're going to have to move in here."
"I'd have to charge for full service," Tomás replied with a half-smile.
"Does that include massages?"
"Only if I have breakfast every day."
They laughed. It was a simple, intimate laugh. For the first time in weeks, Tomás didn't feel empty. Not entirely, at least.
They ate in silence, she still half-asleep, he with quiet movements, watching her with a mixture of tenderness and something he didn't dare to name.
When he finished collecting the tray, Sofía looked at him in silence, as if she didn't know what to say. She sat up a little more and held out her hand to him, as she always did when he was leaving.
Tomás took it, but this time he didn't lean in with his usual lightness. He moved closer and placed his lips on her forehead, and this time he stayed there for an extra second, firmly, as if sealing something. As if he needed to leave a mark that time couldn't erase.
Sofía closed her eyes, feeling the warmth of the contact, the firmness of that gesture. When he pulled away, he said nothing. Neither did she. No words were needed.
Tomás put on his coat, picked up his bag, and walked towards the door.
"Thank you," he said before leaving.
Sofía, still sitting in bed, just nodded. But when she saw him cross the threshold, when she heard the click of the door closing, she felt that his steps—even the softest ones—weighed more than they should.
As if with each one, he was taking a little something she had kept in the dark for too long.
And though she didn't say it, she wished he wouldn't leave.
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After leaving Sofía's apartment, Tomás didn't go home. He didn't feel like seeing his reflection in the mirror, nor sitting in his room surrounded by objects that would bring back thoughts he no longer wanted to have. No. He took the longest route, his coat still buttoned and his steps heavy, and headed straight to the Big Root, much earlier than his usual shift.
The city was still slowly stretching awake under the soft light of dawn. The night's chill still clung to the corners, as if winter resisted letting go completely. Upon arriving at the restaurant, the metal curtain was already halfway up. Laura had opened it minutes earlier and was surprised to see him arrive so early, his face tired, but his eyes determined.
"Are we starting already?" he asked with a half-smile.
"Since when do shifts start with the sun?" Laura replied, though her tone was more welcoming than teasing. "Your old boss is spoiling you."
"I volunteered," Tomás said, walking past her. "Today, I need to be here."
Alelí, in the back, was energetically sweeping the still-empty dining room. Don Giorgio, already in his apron, was peeling carrots in the kitchen, sitting down to rest his back a bit. His hands remained steady, but his breathing betrayed the effort. When he saw Tomás enter, he nodded silently and made a small space for him at the prep table.
Tomás washed his hands and began cutting vegetables, peeling potatoes, organizing trays. The physical work helped him. Each precise cut was like a thought left behind. Each hot pan, each full ladle, was a perfect distraction.
Because he had made a decision: he was going to forget.
Not Soledad. No. He couldn't forget her, and perhaps he didn't want to. It had been real, however brief. In her smiles, he had felt warmth, a spark of joy that had extinguished old shadows. But he had to forget the pain, the pang in his chest every time he remembered her hand held by another. The blunt blow of reality that had left him breathless under the fireworks. That part had to be left behind.
They had laughed together. They had shared afternoons at the coffee shop, walks through the city, confidences he had never spoken aloud to anyone else. He had been happy, even though that happiness now hurt him like a fresh wound. He shouldn't deny that. But he had to let it go.
Bella's face fleetingly crossed his memory. Another loss. Another void left behind. Sometimes he thought his life was a succession of unprepared goodbyes, a line of shadows still walking behind him. Soledad wasn't the first, and he knew with bitter certainty that she wouldn't be the last either.
Don Giorgio, after finishing the vegetable prep and laboriously cleaning the cutting board, set the knife aside and rubbed his back with a tired gesture.
"I think I'll call it an early day today, kid. Your shift starts in a few hours, but I see you've arrived with the energy of an earthquake," he joked with a lopsided smile.
"Go easy, boss. I've got everything here," Tomás replied, without raising his voice much, but with a firmness that satisfied the old cook.
Don Giorgio took off his apron, handed it to Tomás, and nodded before leaving, leaning slightly against the hallway wall so as not to show how truly tired he was.
The day continued, and the restaurant gradually filled up. Smiling people, families with children, young couples sharing dishes and bites. Everything progressed as it should. Tomás took control of the kitchen without hesitation. He prepared each dish with precision, attended to requests patiently, and resolved mishaps as if he had been there for years. The pressure of the work allowed him to pause the internal noise.
He wasn't forgetting her. He was just trying to forget the pain. Because, as Professor Krikket had told him, some wounds heal only with time. And now, in the heart of the Big Root kitchen, amidst the steam, the hot oil, and the orders coming and going, Tomás was slowly beginning to find some relief.
In his own way, as Don Giorgio had once said: "Someone has to stand firm, when everything seems uncertain."
And now it was his turn.
Even if it hurt. Even if everything inside him trembled.
He had to stand firm.
The Big Root closed its doors later than usual that night. The crowd that typically vanished after dusk had lingered longer than expected, and every table in the place had been occupied at least twice. Laughter, the constant murmur of overlapping conversations, and the sound of dishes being served set a cheerful rhythm that filled the entire space. Spring was in the air, and for the first time in weeks, the restaurant had experienced a truly good day.
Laura, her hair pulled back haphazardly, took off her stained apron with a smile she couldn't quite erase. She leaned against the counter, looked up, and saw Tomás gathering kitchen utensils, moving with his usual agility, as if he weren't exhausted, as if that dull gleam in his eyes didn't betray something broken.
"Did you see that?" she said, with energy she could barely contain. "We didn't have a single empty spot since noon! I don't remember the last time I saw it like this."
Tomás looked up and offered a weak but genuine smile.
"It's been a good day. One of those that makes all the effort worthwhile."
Laura nodded enthusiastically.
"And my dad..." she lowered her voice a bit, as if sharing a secret. "I think he's really starting to trust you to be in charge. When he left today, he didn't stand guarding the door like always. He just... left. With that 'everything's under control' look on his face."
Tomás placed the cutlery in the bucket of hot water, wiped his hands on a cloth, and walked over to her.
"I'm glad he thinks that way. And I'm even gladder that you can breathe a little."
"Don't make me cry, I'm so happy," she laughed, pressing a hand to her chest. "Today, for a moment, I felt like everything was going to be okay. That this... this, can go back to how it was before."
Tomás looked at her in silence for a second. That warmth in her words, the sincere sparkle in her eyes... it made him remember why being in that place had meant so much to him.
"Should we get some coffee?" Laura suggested, walking towards the machine.
"Sure," he replied, his voice serene, almost grateful.
They sat together at one of the corner tables, with the lights already dim and the place calm. She poured his cup with automatic movements and sat across from him, crossing her legs as if she could finally rest without a burden.
"Thank you, Tomás. For staying. For coming early today. For everything."
Tomás looked down at the steaming coffee. The aroma brought him momentary peace. He didn't want to overshadow that moment. He didn't want her to notice the lump in his throat, nor the emptiness in his chest that was still there, intact, throbbing like a fresh wound.
"Thank you, for letting me be a part of this," he replied without looking up.
Laura watched him in silence for a few seconds.
"Today I saw people leave the place happy," she said. "I saw children laughing, couples taking photos with their dishes, a lady even asked to take home the carrot cake recipe... and I thought that maybe, just maybe, we're going to get through this."
Tomás looked up and held her gaze for a few moments. He smiled softly, with contained affection, with a tenderness he didn't know he could still offer.
"You deserve it, Laura. All of this. And more."
She looked down slightly, perhaps to hide the blush that had risen to her cheeks.
"You're very kind when you want to be."
"Sometimes I try," he replied, and for the first time all day, the coffee tasted a little sweeter.
They both stayed there, in silence. Not an awkward one, but one they shared without the need for more words. Outside, the night was beginning to cool, but inside, the warmth of that moment gave them a small respite.
And though Tomás's heart still carried a wound that wouldn't heal easily, at that Big Root table, he could smile without faking it too much.