The heat of the past few days seemed to ease when Pedri showed up early at my door, already excited with a new idea:
"Wanna hike up the mountain today?" he asked, as if it were the most natural thing in the world.
I looked at him, still half-asleep, but agreed. I needed fresh air, needed to feel my body busy with something other than just thoughts. The mountain had always been a silent refuge, a place where the green seemed to hold time still.
We took water, fruit, a notebook, and pens—I never went anywhere without them. The trail began at the base, wide and lined with tall trees casting cool shadows. With every step, I felt my breath open, the weight in my body lighten. Pedri talked constantly, as always, telling exaggerated stories and laughing at his own jokes.
There was something about him that balanced my intensity. Sometimes, when I anticipated his response before he even spoke, or guessed his gestures without realizing it, I felt strange—as if I already knew every piece of the scene before it happened. That day, it happened more than once: I thought about offering him the water bottle seconds before he asked, and I smiled to myself when he raised his hand exactly the moment I had imagined.
"What are you laughing at?" he asked, suspicious.
"Nothing…" I replied quickly, looking away.
The climb led us to a natural lookout, from which we could see the whole city below, covered in a thin layer of mist. The city looked smaller from up there, almost fragile, as if it could fit in the palm of a hand. I sat on a rock and opened my notebook, scribbling lines that didn't immediately make sense.
While Pedri distracted himself trying to take funny photos, I heard footsteps behind us. A light, rhythmic sound that wasn't his. When I turned, there she was.
The girl.
Hair loose over her shoulders, a steady gaze that seemed to pierce through everything. She walked calmly, alone, as if she already knew the path well. The afternoon sun reflected in her eyes in a way that made me catch my breath for a second.
She said nothing as she passed. She just looked at me directly, lingering, as if measuring invisible distances between us. Then, she let slip a brief, almost imperceptible nod before continuing along the trail.
Pedri, distracted by his phone, didn't notice. But I did—something different, as if the world had tilted slightly during that silent exchange.
We returned later, when the sky was already tinged with orange. My body was tired and begged for rest, but my mind remained alert, uneasy. That night, alone in my room, I tried to focus on studying, on internship reports, anything that would pull me back to concrete reality.
But inevitably, I closed my eyes and returned to that moment on the trail. The intensity of her gaze. The casual nod. And the detail that wouldn't leave my mind: for a moment, I felt as if her eyes hadn't just looked at me… but had noticed the necklace around my neck.
I fell asleep with that feeling lodged in me. And, in the silent early hours, I dreamed again of the voice that seemed to come from far away.