The sun was already low when the landlord stood up from the couch, stretching his back with a sigh.
— I'll make some tea. — he said, as if merely commenting on the weather.
I nodded, but didn't answer. My head was still far too full.
He walked toward the kitchen, and the living room sank into that golden light that seems to appear only when the day is almost ending. The shadows were long, the edges of things softer. Everything felt quieter than it really was.
I drew in a long breath.
The stories he had told me were still rearranging themselves inside my mind. As if a single piece had been shifted and suddenly everything made more sense. Rafael holding his mother's hand. My father holding both of them without anyone knowing. Us living lives that brushed against each other long before I understood that there even was an "us."
I didn't know this… I didn't know any of this.
The landlord returned with two steaming cups. He sat down slowly, as if the moment itself had weight.
— I used little sugar. If you want more, there's some. — he said, handing me mine.
I nodded again, without much voice. He didn't seem to expect a detailed answer. Maybe he knew exactly what the silence meant.
— You know… — he said after a while, looking toward the window, where the sky was beginning to dim — sometimes we think we know people because we see who they are today. But no one starts right now.
— I know. — I murmured.
— Rafael… he learned far too early that losing hurts. And when a child learns that, they grow up trying to prevent every fall before it happens.
My eyes dropped to my own hands, still in my lap.
— He always seems like he's holding himself together. — I said. — Like any wrong step could make everything collapse.
— That's exactly it. — the landlord agreed without hesitation. — He's afraid to touch what matters. Afraid to break it, afraid to… hurt someone.
I felt my throat tighten, but I didn't cry.
— I don't want to be something that weighs on him. — I confessed softly.
He looked at me, not with pity, but with clarity.
— You don't weigh on him. — he said. — You haven't realized it yet, but… when he talks to you, he becomes that old version of himself again.
My heart jolted.
— He talks, he moves differently when you're around. As if he breathes better.
The front gate clattered in the distance.
The skin on my arms prickled before I even formed a thought.
The landlord didn't stand, didn't turn his face… he just kept looking at me.
— See? — he said gently. — Even the silence changes when he's arriving.
My fingers tightened around the cup more than I intended.
Steps on the porch, the strap of the backpack across his chest, the precise way he reached into his pocket for the keys — I already knew how to recognize it.
The landlord stood up, not to make a scene, not to create space, but simply because that's how things unfolded. He went to the kitchen to put something away, as if the world kept moving normally.
I stayed there on the couch, my heart beating far louder than necessary.
The door to the living room opened slowly.
Rafael walked in.
His hair a little tousled, the look of someone who had carried the whole day on his shoulders.
He stopped when he saw me on the sofa.
— You stayed here — he said, and it didn't sound like a statement. It sounded like relief.
I breathed.
— I stayed.
Rafael glanced quickly at the still-on TV, as if assessing the damage.
— He let you watch this? — he asked, curt.
I nodded, with a half-smile.
— He did.
Rafael pulled the corner of his mouth, almost a tired sarcasm.
— Hm, you're brave for staying here all afternoon.
The landlord laughed loudly from the kitchen upon hearing that.
— Brave is putting up with you complaining about my television, boy.
Rafael muttered something that sounded like I'm not complaining, though he was clearly complaining.
But then came the gesture.
Rafael picked up a pillow that had slipped to the floor and placed it behind my back, adjusting it with care. He didn't say anything, didn't look me in the eyes, but my heart tightened so quietly I didn't even feel it right away. Only afterward.
— I've taken up enough of the landlord's time today — I said, trying to sound casual. — I think I'll go upstairs for a bit.
Before I could move, the landlord reappeared in the living room, drying his hands on a towel.
— Oh, but the company was wonderful! I'd be happy if you stayed for dinner.
My chest warmed — that soft feeling of belonging arriving gently.
— I liked staying here too. — I said, looking at him first… then at Rafael. — I'll stay for dinner, yes.
Rafael looked away, but his shoulders relaxed. I saw it.
— Then you take me back to the kitnet later — I added, calm.
Rafael raised an eyebrow.
The landlord tapped the counter twice, cheerful.
— Done then! Tonight is beef stroganoff. If anyone doesn't like it, lie and pretend you do.
— Need help? — Rafael asked, without ceremony.
The landlord didn't even turn fully, just lifted his chin with a smirk.
— I've got it. — he replied. — Go keep Helena company. She's endured my stories enough for today.
Rafael grumbled something shapeless but obeyed.
We returned to the couch.He sat beside me — not too close, but close enough to be presence.
— How was university? — I asked, trying to make conversation without prying.
He shrugged.
— The same. — he said. — People talking too much, professor giving stuff no one will remember next week.
I let out a small laugh.
— I wish I were there complaining about that too.
— You will be. — Rafael said, simple, not trying to cheer me up. Just stating what he believed.
— My appointment is in two days. — I said, adjusting my leg. — I hope the doctor clears me from these crutches. I need to go back… I don't want to fall behind.
Rafael turned his face toward me.
— I'm going with you.
— You don't have to.
— I'm going. — he replied, picking up the TV remote.
Rafael flipped through the channels.
One. Two. Three. Twenty.
— Rafael — I complained. — You don't stop on any channel.
— None of them are good.
— If you don't stop, I'm choosing. — I warned.
He froze mid-movement, looked at the screen, then at me.
— You always pick something ridiculous.
— At least I pick something.
He hit the button.Stopped on some strange movie channel neither of us would probably watch.
— Is this good enough? — he asked, irritated only in tone, not gesture.
— It is. — I answered, hiding a smile.
The late-afternoon light had already turned into night.
Rafael leaned his shoulder against the sofa, and the space between us shrank without either of us moving.
I let it happen…
Not out of convenience, but because now I knew — now I understood. The small hands holding his mother's, the instinct to protect what he loved the only way he knew how. The weight of growing up knowing loss was possible.
In the kitchen, the landlord hummed an old tune while stirring pots.The sound was soft, but seemed to wrap everything in a quiet warmth.
And I realized that everything in me wanted to do the opposite of what the world had done to him. Not save, not fix, not heal scars that weren't mine.
Just be at the right frequency.