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This light novel is inspired by the beautiful landscapes and culture of Bolivia. However, the characters, events, and situations portrayed are entirely fictional. Any resemblance to real persons, places, or events is purely coincidental. This content does not intend to represent or reflect the historical, social, or cultural reality of the country. The author disclaims any legal liability arising from the interpretation of these elements.
Chapter 2 – Boarding Pass and Destiny
— Alright, I'm coming—she whispered.
— Though I still don't know what you're asking of me God.
As she put away a white blouse embroidered by her mother, her gaze paused for a moment on the small pendant she always carried. Inside, the dried flower of the Toborochi.
***
The sun was just beginning to peek over Washington, when Catherine arrived on time, as always, with her brisk walk and leather jacket that seemed to have stories of its own. She carried two steaming coffees in her hands and a look of concern barely disguised by sarcasm.
Zayra looked at her with a fond smile. Catherine was no ordinary friend.
She was a force of nature. An investigative journalist with a reputation feared by corrupt officials and uncomfortable governments, she had written reports for the BBC, the New York Times, and El País. Her blog, The Voice of the Wind, was followed by millions worldwide, especially in indigenous communities who finally felt heard in another language.
Born in the United States but with North American indigenous roots through her father, Catherine rarely spoke of her childhood. But what she made clear —with every article, with every incendiary interview— was that her fight wasn't a trend: it was inheritance.
—Ready to marry your own international contract? —she joked, handing the coffee to Zayra.
***
They both got in, and the car started down quiet streets. They chatted about light topics: professors, exams, the cold already settling over the city.
The airport was silent. The metallic echo of suitcases on the floor, the murmur of announcements, and the smell of burnt coffee from nearby shops.
After passing through immigration, hugging tightly, and promising to write every day, her eyes filled with fleeting sadness, but she smiled and said goodbye.
—Remember —her friend told her—, you are worth more than any arranged wedding. Don't let anyone extinguish your fire.
—And you don't get into trouble investigating corrupt presidents —Zayra replied, smiling.
—Me? Trouble? Never —Catherine winked and disappeared into the crowd.
***
She clutched the locket. She hesitated for a moment; she usually wore the pendant around her neck, close to her heart, but that day she felt a strange pressure, as if the world weighed on her shoulders.
Amid the hustle, security checks, and her anxiety, she decided to put it in her backpack, wrapped in her blue scarf, to prevent it from being damaged or having to take it out at security.
Anxiety boiled beneath her skin. Every step brought her closer to a wedding she didn't want, to a land she loved but no longer fully recognized, and in her mind questions.
—What if their struggle wasn't enough? What if the fire went out before it even ignited?
***
She stretched her neck. She searched for her plane ticket with her hand, her heart elsewhere… and her eyes on nothing.
And then, without warning, destiny decided to trip her.
BAM!
She felt her backpack slip off her shoulder as she collided with someone.
And, unknowingly, she had just crossed the first line of a destiny from which there was no turning back.