Chapter 3 – That Which Wasn't Love
The last day of January arrived like a silent wave, pushing the shards of a summer that would never return onto the sand. Los Angeles, bathed in cold sun and dry winds, seemed farther away from Boston with each passing hour. On the Dunphy and Silva street, everything was the same as always but inside, things were changing.
For Haley, that morning began with a tightness in her chest.
It wasn't exactly sadness. It wasn't jealousy either. It was a strange feeling, like when you watch a movie and realize that part of you belongs to the plot, but another knows that the main character is leaving—and you can't follow him.
Gustavo would be leaving the next day.
She still remembered the day she met him. The way he spoke French naturally, the way he read economic reports like someone devouring a novel, and that attentive gaze—that saw more than people said.
And now, she found herself wondering: what if all this was more than friendship?
Was it love? Was she in love?
At the Silva house, Gustavo was carefully organizing his books, separating those he would take to Harvard and those he would leave behind. His mother came in and out of the room with little lists: a power adapter, an extra scarf, the book Jay had lent him, his immigration documents.
"You'll forget something, I'm sure," she said, more nervous than he was.
"And then you send it to me. Okay," Gustavo replied, with that same calm tone that made Carla think, sometimes, that her son was a wise old man reincarnated.
"Do you want to say goodbye to Haley today?" Leandro asked, entering the room with a box of thermal socks.
"Yes, I do. She texted earlier, but I asked to spend some time together later. Just the two of us."
It was late afternoon when Haley appeared at the Silva house's door. She was wearing a light, flowery dress, despite the wind, and carrying a bag of warm cookies.
"I did this. I mean, I tried to do it. Alex helped me a little. Okay, actually she did half of it, but I...
"Hailey, it's worth the effort. And the gesture," Gustavo said, smiling as he picked them up.
"Can we go for a walk?"
"Sure. Let's go."
They walked aimlessly through the neighborhood, following a sidewalk that led to the nearby park. The sky was painted in orange and pink tones, with soft clouds dissolving on the horizon. It seemed like the kind of late afternoon that should never end.
"Are you anxious?" Haley asked, breaking the silence.
"A little. But it's a good kind of anxious. Like... when you're about to skydive."
"I've never done that."
"Me neither. But I imagine it's like that."
She laughed, and he laughed too. The laughter between them was always easy.
"You know, I've been thinking a lot these days," she began, biting her lip. "About us."
Gustavo looked at her carefully.
"And…?"
"I think… maybe I like you," he confessed, looking at the floor, as if stepping on the words would make them less intense.
He stopped. The wind blew between them, ruffling her hair and lifting the hem of her dress a little.
"Haley…"
"Calm down. I said 'think.' I don't know. It's all confusing. I just feel like I'm going to miss you a lot. Really. Like a part of me is leaving with you."
Gustavo took a step forward. He approached her slowly. His eyes searched hers, trying to understand what was there.
Haley, perhaps without thinking, perhaps thinking too much, closed her eyes and moved closer.
The kiss came. Soft. Quick. A touch of lips that didn't quite know what it was looking for. Or what it expected to find.
When they moved away, it was Gustavo who spoke first.
"Haley..."
She still kept her eyes closed for a moment, as if she were waiting to hear an answer to a question that hadn't even been asked.
"I didn't feel what I thought I would," she said, opening her eyes.
"Neither did I."
There was silence. But it wasn't an uncomfortable silence. It was a... understanding silence.
"Strange, right?" she asked, with a sad half-smile.
"A little. But I think it's because... we're not that." — Gustavo spoke with the sincerity of someone who knows how to name feelings clearly. — We're something different. Rarer, maybe.
"Like... best friends?"
"Like siblings that life chose to bring together."
She sat on the nearest park bench and pulled him by the hand. He sat next to her, and she rested her head on his shoulder.
— You know what's crazy? — she said. — I'm relieved.
— Me too.
— Because now I know. I wasn't in love. I was... trying to hold on to what you represent. And I thought romance was the way to go.
— But it's not. And that's okay.
She smiled, still resting her head on his shoulder.
— Thank you for not making this awkward.
— It would never be.
The next morning, the Silva house had an airport feel.
Carla was finishing preparing a lunchbox of sandwiches for the trip. Leandro was checking his documents for at least the third time.
Gustavo, already wearing a coat and carrying his suitcase, was looking out the window, waiting for Haley. She came running, wearing a gray sweatshirt, ripped jeans, and a pair of worn-out sneakers.
In her arms, she was carrying a red folder. "You forgot this. I mean, you didn't forget, but... I made it for you."
Gustavo took the folder.
Inside, there were dozens of colorful pages. Photos of the two of them, magazine clippings, handwritten phrases, silly drawings. On the first page, it was written:
"To the most amazing guy I've ever met. From your almost-sister, Haley."
He smiled, moved. "Haley, this is...."
"A ridiculous gift, I know."
"It's perfect."
She took a deep breath. "Go ahead, Gustavo. It's going to be everything you were born to be."
"I'll be back. And you'll have discovered who you are by then. I'm sure of it."
— Do we write to each other?
— Every day.
They hugged. A long, tight hug. A hug that said everything words couldn't.
And then, he got into the car with his parents.
Through the window, he saw Haley waving. Not sadly, but proudly. Like someone who sees a rocket take off — and knows that the sky is just the beginning.
On the way to the airport, Gustavo opened the folder again. On the last page, there was a folded letter. He opened it and read:
"Gustavo,
I kissed you thinking it was love, and I discovered it was even better than that.
You are my person.
You will shine.
– H."
He smiled.
Because yes, he knew. And she knew too.
Love is not always what we think. Sometimes, it is something stronger. More constant. And more eternal.
Chapter 4 – First Year, First Battles
February 2011. Cambridge, Massachusetts.
The air was cold. Cold in a way that penetrated under his coat and infiltrated his skin like thin needles. It was unlike any cold Gustavo had ever felt in São Paulo or even on the cooler nights in Los Angeles. Winter in Cambridge didn't ask for permission — it came in, settled in, and dominated everything.
The Harvard Law School campus was majestic. Imposing, with neoclassical buildings, white columns that seemed to hold up the sky, and ancient doors that held centuries of knowledge. The smell of books, strong coffee, and stress hung in the air.
Gustavo stood in front of Langdell Hall, the heart of the law library. His backpack was heavy on his shoulders, his fingers slightly numb from the cold. His eyes scanned the surroundings as if trying to memorize every detail.
— Welcome to the battlefield — he muttered to himself, adjusting his glasses.
The first week was overwhelming.
Classes started early and ended late. Professors used the Socratic method, throwing unexpected questions and expecting sharp answers. There was no room for hesitation.
In the first Contracts class, the professor — a thin, gray-haired man with piercing eyes named Professor Whitman — threw the first question as if he were firing an arrow.
— Mr. Silva, would you please summarize the facts in Hawkins v. McGee?
Gustavo swallowed hard. He knew the case. He had read and reread it the night before. But the professor's voice had a weight that made his brain waver.
— Yes, professor. Hawkins v. McGee is a case about a surgical procedure where the plaintiff expected a "perfect hand" as a result of the surgery, but the outcome was significantly different. The case centers on expected damages...
— Very good. Now, what kind of remedy was awarded?
— Expectation damages, sir — he replied, more firmly.
— And what does that teach us about the purpose of contract law?
Gustavo took a deep breath.
— That's not to punish, but to put the injured party in the position they would have been in had the contract been fulfilled.
The professor paused and nodded slightly.
— Correct. Nicely articulated.
That night, exhausted, he locked himself in the small dorm room, surrounded by piles of books. He sent a message to his parents.
Gustavo: "First day survived. I wasn't humiliated in Contracts class. I think that's a victory."
Carla (mother): "My son shining at Harvard. I love you! Take it easy, eat right."
Leandro (father): "Proud of you, champion. See you in the books in a few years lol."
He smiled, his chest warm despite the cold.
Then he opened up to Haley.
Haley: "Did you survive the attack by the Socrates professors?"
Gustavo: "With minimal damage. I almost feel like I'm in court."
Haley: "I knew you'd rock. Send me pictures of the campus!"
Gustavo: "I'll send them to you tomorrow. It's snowing so hard it looks like Narnia."
The next few days went by at a frantic pace.
There was Torts, Civil Procedure, Criminal Law, and the infamous Legal Research and Writing. Gustavo spent hours in the library, reading cases, highlighting paragraphs, scribbling summaries. His desk began to fill with Post-its, highlighters, empty coffee cups, and water bottles.
On the second weekend, he attended the first meeting of the Harvard Law Latinx Association, where he met Lucía Hernández, a second-year student who was born in Mexico and focused on civil rights.
— So you're the Brazilian prodigy everyone's talking about — she said, smiling sympathetically.
— I don't know about "prodigy," but I am Brazilian — he replied, laughing.
— I'm happy to see more Latinos here. It's rare. Harvard is still… complicated.
— I came to help change that.
She squeezed his hand firmly.
— Then let's fight together.
The weeks turned into a tiring but energizing routine. Each day seemed like a marathon, but Gustavo kept focused. He knew that the first year — the famous 1L — was the hardest. Not only because of the subjects, but because of the psychological pressure.
The competition was hidden, but constant. Everyone there was the best where they came from. Now, each one had to prove that they deserved to be there.
But Gustavo had something that many didn't: he knew exactly why he was there.
It wasn't for status. It wasn't to prove anything to anyone. It was because he wanted to understand the system, change it from the inside, and then apply that knowledge in the real world on the streets, as a law enforcement officer.
On a particularly cold March night, Gustavo sat with his laptop open for a video call with Haley.
The screen lit up her tired face, but her eyes lit up when the connection stabilized and she appeared with a wide smile.
"Hi, future international lawyer."
"Hi, future internet star. How are things going over there?"
"I got a intern at a clothing store. I'm learning about inventory, window displays, and stuff like that. Who knows, maybe I'll open my own brand one day.
— I knew you'd find yourself — he said sincerely. — And how's the family?
— Alex is now in the school newspaper and wrote an article about the reform of the education system. Luke... well, Luke is trying to build a robot that cleans the house, but he ended up burning the microwave yesterday.
Gustavo laughed out loud.
— Never changes.
— And you? Are you putting up with the cold?
— More or less. There are days when I even miss the heat of São Paulo. But you know... it's worth it.
— I miss you — Haley said, more seriously.
— I miss you too. But I'm saving everything that's happening here to tell you in person one day.
— Promise?
— I promise.
In the middle of the semester, Gustavo was invited to a private lecture with a Supreme Court justice who was visiting Harvard. During the event, he asked a question so well formulated about jurisprudence and penal proportionality that it caught the attention of several professors.
"Do you think about pursuing an academic career?" asked Professor Whitman after the lecture.
"Not exactly. I want to apply the law. Be a police officer. Maybe a prosecutor in the future."
"Curious. Few people think about that path."
"I think about it because I see the law as a tool. But to use it well, you need to know it inside out."
The professor nodded thoughtfully.
"You're on to something interesting. Keep it up."
As the semester drew to a close, Gustavo began to feel less like an outsider at Harvard. The sleepless nights, the endless cases, the heated discussions in class—all of this was now part of his routine.
Still, there were nights when loneliness struck. It was at these times that he would call his parents, hear his mother's voice telling him to eat properly, or hear Haley complain that her store manager was "a little bit Hitler, a little bit Regina George."
And in these moments, he remembered where he came from. And why he was there. On the last day of classes of the semester, after handing in his final legal research memo, Gustavo walked to the Charles River, the river that runs through Cambridge. The waters were covered in ice, but the sky was clear. The sun reflected off the snowflakes, creating an almost magical scene.
He called Haley. "I'm facing the river. It's all frozen. But it's beautiful."
"Are you thinking about Brazil?"
"A little. But I'm also thinking about you. About everything that's happened since I got here."
"And what do you think?"
He took a deep breath. "That it was hard. Intense. But... it's the beginning of what I've always dreamed of."
— And now that the first round is over?
— Now I rest. And then I'll get back to fighting.
— I'll be here, Gustavo. Always.
— I know, Haley. And that makes all the difference.
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