At that very moment, I was scolding myself mentally for fearing that the panic attacks and night terrors might return. I hadn't had them for over a year—or maybe two. And yet, now they seemed to be creeping back, and the thought of it terrified me. I forced myself to think more clearly, to look for a logical explanation that could justify what I was feeling. After turning it over in my mind again and again, I reached the only conclusion I could find: the accident and the stress I had gone through because of it. I couldn't imagine any other reason.
In that instant, I felt incredibly ashamed—not only because of what I was experiencing, but because I realized I had kept this a secret for so long. I had never talked to anyone about these episodes. Not even Paulina knew. I had always hidden them, as if they were something I should be ashamed of.
What Paulina did, however, was simply hug me—without asking uncomfortable questions or making comments about what was happening. She did it with a calmness and serenity that surprised me and filled me with gratitude. Despite everything, she only told me she would prepare dinner, leaving me space to be alone. The gesture was a relief. In that moment, I understood how sensitive and respectful she had been—not mentioning anything about it, not trying to dig deeper into details.
Dinner went by normally. We were watching television in her bedroom, each of us in our place, while we ate and enjoyed a series we had both shown interest in. Paulina, sitting on a chair next to the bed, kept smiling and making the occasional comment about what we were watching. Despite my discomfort, despite the turbulent thoughts in my mind, something inside me relaxed. I deeply appreciated the way she handled the situation, without pressuring me.
When we finished dinner, Paulina got up to wash the dishes. That was when I felt the dreaded urge to go to the bathroom—something I had anticipated since leaving the hospital, but had been afraid would happen. With the crutches beside me, I tried to get up, but the moment I attempted to stand, the pain in my dislocated shoulder stopped me immediately. I cursed my luck internally.
At that moment, Paulina hurried over and saw what I was trying to do.
"What are you doing?" she asked, concern evident in her voice as she watched my futile effort.
"I need to go to the bathroom," I replied, feeling a little uncomfortable with the situation.
"Why didn't you ask for help?" she asked, raising an eyebrow in surprise.
"It's a bit embarrassing," I murmured, ashamed. "Could you… take me to the bathroom? Please."
"And how do you plan on pulling your pants down if your shoulder is dislocated?" she reminded me, looking at my legs with a mix of disbelief and concern. "Besides, you can barely stand. Come on, I'll take you."
She helped me over to the wheelchair in the corner of the room and, with a gentle motion, sat me down in it. Then she wheeled me into the bathroom, which was surprisingly spacious. Once we were there, she helped me stand and positioned me in front of the toilet. I was about to pull my pants down when, suddenly, I felt even more embarrassed.
"Wait—wait, I'll do the rest," I said, stopping her, my face burning red.
Without hesitation, Paulina closed her eyes and smiled.
"You don't have to feel embarrassed. I'm a doctor—I've seen many people naked," she said, trying to reassure me. For her, there was nothing strange about the situation.
"For you it's easy, because you're a doctor," I replied, still uncomfortable. "But for me, it's not."
"That's why my eyes are already closed," she pointed out with a smile, keeping them shut.
I thanked her understanding with a small smile, though my embarrassment was still very much there.
After what felt like an eternity, I was back in bed, and Paulina began picking up the pajamas she had left scattered across it, looking for one for me.
"Choose the one you like best," she said calmly.
That was when I realized we had forgotten to take my things from the hotel.
"Oh—right. I forgot…" I said, glancing at the backpack on the nightstand, dusty from the accident. "Everything I brought is in that backpack."
"You don't have any other clothes?" she asked, surprised to see only a few items.
"Of course I do," I replied, as she began rummaging through my backpack.
She held up a shirt and a pair of pants, looking at them in confusion, not immediately realizing what she had done.
"I'm so sorry," she apologized, quickly putting the clothes back into the backpack.
"It's okay, really—it's fine," I replied, smiling to reassure her. Even though the moment had been awkward, I found a bit of humor in it. It didn't bother me at all.
Still, I couldn't help teasing her a little.
"Besides, you didn't need to buy me anything. That's my responsibility. I appreciate the gesture, but… I also appreciate that you didn't take out my underwear," I said jokingly, trying to ease the tension.
Paulina went silent, her face completely flushed, and she quickly turned around, covering her face with her hands.
"How embarrassing!" she murmured, giving me her back, utterly mortified.
I, who couldn't help enjoying her discomfort, teased her a little more—but only lightly, knowing it was the least I could do after she had run me over. My thoughts couldn't help being slightly mischievous.
"I like the white one," I told her, pointing to the pajama set that caught my eye, while she continued covering her face.
"Alright, then the white one it is," she replied, relieved to see I wasn't pushing any further. She placed the pajamas on the bed and began picking up the others, putting the remaining clothes away.
"I'll be back to help you change," she said before leaving with the clothes.
"Excuse me? Help me change?" I asked, completely taken aback.
"Yes—why, do you have a problem with that?" Paulina asked, finishing putting the pajamas away in a drawer.
"I can do it myself," I replied, stating the obvious. "I still have one good arm, you know," I added, trying to sound firm.
She looked at me with a faint smile, as if she were thinking before speaking.
"I thought you Latinas were very…" she paused for a moment, searching for the right word. "Spontaneous," she finally said.
My expression hardened for a second, and I couldn't help raising an eyebrow.
"Were you trying to say something else?" I asked, watching her closely.
Paulina froze, and after a brief silence, she started to laugh softly.
"Well, yes… because honestly, you do love to… show yourselves," she commented, making a playful face.
My eyes widened in surprise, and I leaned slightly toward her, caught between discomfort and amusement.
"Did you just call us exhibitionists?" I asked incredulously, trying not to laugh.
"I said spontaneous first," she defended herself quickly, a teasing smile on her face.
I couldn't help feeling a little offended, but I decided not to let the conversation make me too uncomfortable.
"Some might be like that, but I'm not," I replied with mild indignation.
Paulina raised her hands in surrender, trying to calm me.
"Alright, I won't argue anymore," she said, still smiling.
"But why do you have that idea about us? Not all of us are gigolos," I added, clearly offended by my own reaction.
"Seriously?" she replied, skeptical, looking at me with doubt on her face.
"I said not all of us," I insisted, crossing my arms—which made her laugh.
"Alright, different kind of Latina," she teased gently, closing her eyes. "Let's drop the subject."
I let out a tired sigh, knowing the discussion was going nowhere.
"I can do it," I said firmly, though my voice betrayed some exhaustion. "If I can't, I'll ask for help—I promise," I added more softly.
I sat on the edge of the bed, trying to take off my pants and underwear as quickly as possible. I was fully aware of the pain and how complicated the process was becoming. Despite my haste, I tried to be as careful as possible, knowing my dislocated shoulder made every movement harder.
Once I was undressed, I held the pajama top in my hand. When I tried to put it on, the pain in my shoulder was so intense that I couldn't continue. I had no choice but to ask Paulina for help.
"Paulina, could you help me?" I called out, glancing toward the door with mild concern.
Always attentive, she answered in her warm voice, though her eyes were still closed.
"Can I open my eyes?" she asked, without moving.
"You could not," I pleaded, uncomfortable.
"Alright, but it'll be difficult to dress you like this," she warned, her voice reflecting how complicated the situation was.
With a resigned sigh, I tried to guide her, taking her hands in mine and giving her the pajama top so she could help me put it on. But the pain in my shoulder prevented me from moving properly. Paulina couldn't help me correctly without seeing, and the discomfort only increased.
"Ouch!" I cried out when her hand accidentally brushed against my dislocated shoulder. The pain was so sharp it stole my breath for a moment.
Paulina reacted instantly, opening her eyes and looking at me with fear and concern written all over her face.
"Oh my God! Did I hurt you?" she asked, her voice full of anguish as she rushed closer to check on me.
The fear was unmistakable in her eyes, and her expression showed how afraid she was of having caused me more harm. Even though I wasn't truly injured, the intensity of her concern moved me. Still, what unsettled me most wasn't the physical pain—it was the embarrassment I felt in that moment.
She was a doctor. She had seen many people in similar situations, undoubtedly far worse than mine. But my discomfort didn't come from the pain; what truly embarrassed me were the scars on my back—scars that Paulina had finally seen. They were the result of years of things I didn't want to remember, of dark moments I had always buried deep within myself.
In her gaze, I found no judgment, no surprise. Her eyes showed only concern, and her face filled with fear at the pain my shoulder was causing me. Still, when her eyes traced my back, I felt her glance briefly settle on the scars—ones I could no longer hide. I tensed, waiting for some sign of shock or disgust.
But it never came.
Her eyes, though filled with worry for my pain, didn't change. She didn't judge me.
That made me feel even more vulnerable. I felt as though Paulina must have noticed it, that she had seen far more than I ever wanted to show. Yet, with a gentle gesture, she simply focused on making sure my shoulder wasn't worse, that the injury hadn't become more serious.
I felt a little more relieved, though the discomfort lingered. I was so used to hiding those marks, to concealing my story, that I had never imagined someone so close could see them without it being under my control. But Paulina, in her role as both a professional and a friend, saw only my physical pain—not my past.
In the end, once she reassured me that the damage hadn't been severe, I felt somewhat calmer. Still, the emotional weight I carried on my shoulders remained there, waiting to be confronted in one way or another.
----------------------------------
I didn't understand why she had screamed in such an exaggerated way. For a moment, I feared I might have hurt her shoulder even more. The shock was so intense that I opened my eyes abruptly and snapped back to myself. I approached her cautiously to make sure she was alright.
Then I froze.
Her torso was completely exposed in front of me. Her shoulders were broad and rounded, yet they hadn't lost their femininity. Her collarbone stood out firmly, her biceps were defined—sculpted in an impressive way. But what truly left me speechless was her chest: it wasn't large, but it held a rounded shape that harmonized perfectly with the rest of her body. And then there was her abdomen… her abdomen, displaying a relief of firm, well-defined muscles. Each contour was perfectly shaped, as if carved by an artist with surgical precision.
I don't know how long I stood there staring at her. I didn't tire of it. What surprised me most was that until now, I hadn't noticed her physique at all. How had I overlooked it so many times?
I remembered all the occasions when I had observed her closely—perhaps even in a way that could be considered perverse. She always wore loose clothing: oversized shirts, wide blouses, pants that concealed her figure. Now, with this new perspective, my mind began to wander, imagining whether her lower body was as well trained as her upper one. The thought sent an unfamiliar warmth to my face and stirred a shameful sense of anticipation. For a moment, I even had to restrain the drool threatening to escape my mouth.
I shook my head to dispel those inappropriate thoughts and focused on checking her shoulder. My face remained expressionless, but anyone who knew me well would recognize that expression—it appeared whenever I felt anxious or nervous.
With great care, I took her shirt and gently slid it over her back. That was when I noticed something that momentarily distracted me: small marks scattered across her skin. At first, I thought they were acne scars from her teenage years, but on closer inspection, they looked more like tiny freckles. And I admit it—I never imagined something like that could seem so attractive to me. Her marks were strangely sexy.
"All done," I said, stepping away from her with great effort. "Next time, I'll put the shirt on you. I won't risk hurting that shoulder again."
"Alright… and thank you," she sighed.
"You don't have to thank me. After all, I'm the one who caused all this in the first place," I replied, moving my hands nervously.
"I'm saying it because you were considerate," she paused, as if unsure whether to continue, "for not saying anything about the scars on my back."
"Oh! I see," I nodded. "But believe it or not, it's more common than you think. If you'd allow me, I could help you make them fade. Although, to be honest, they look like freckles."
"I've been told that before," she said with a slightly awkward smile.
I tried not to dwell on her comment, but my mind clung to it stubbornly. If someone else had said it before, it meant they had seen her without a shirt—or maybe even without clothes. That thought ignited a spark of anger inside me, one that slowly began to grow. I couldn't help wondering who had seen her like that, and under what circumstances.
The following days passed quickly. We got to know each other better, and every moment with her was unpredictable. With Shanti, there was never room for boredom. She always found a way to surprise me with her antics. Sometimes she asked questions so random they left me speechless.
"If an orphan gets adopted, but then they're returned to the orphanage… what last name would they have?" she asked out of nowhere one day.
I stared at her, not knowing how to respond. Who in their right mind would think of something like that? Only Miss Shanti. And although her question was strange, I couldn't help laughing. Being by her side was definitely becoming a unique and unforgettable experience.
Not everything was made up of senseless questions. Sometimes, Shanti also asked things that genuinely made you think. Like the time she suddenly asked me:
"If human beings weren't so cowardly or narrow-minded, do you think we would've already evolved enough to colonize other planets? Or would we still be here, trapped in our own rigidity and obsession with calculations, like robots?"
I had to admit it was an interesting question. For a moment, I found myself reflecting on it. It was strange how, between her quirks and absent-minded moments, she could throw out such profound ideas.
Spending time with Shanti had taught me something important: she always managed to make me smile. Or something happened to her that ensured there was never a dull day. For instance, two days ago she fell asleep on the couch. When she suddenly woke up, she completely forgot her legs were in casts—so she tried to stand up… and ended up falling to the floor.
That day, I was quite worried. And not just because it happened once, but because it happened twice on the same day. Also, four days ago, I made her some tea. She became so absorbed in watching television that she forgot she was holding the cup… and dropped it on the floor. How can you forget you're holding something? What level of distraction does it take for something like that to happen?
I was starting to believe that Shanti was, without a doubt, the most absent-minded person I had ever met. Three days ago, she was watching a football match, and when her team scored, she got so excited that she jumped up… completely forgetting that her legs were in casts. Of course, she fell again. How was it possible for her to forget her own condition over and over?
However, not everything was accidents and carelessness. I had made significant progress with her. Little by little, Shanti began to lose her shyness. Before, she wouldn't even let me help her get dressed, but now she allowed me to put on her pants and blouse without protesting too much.
There was still a very clear boundary, though: she wouldn't let me open my eyes while she was bathing. I found it ironic, because every time I helped her out of the shower, I ended up more soaked than she did.
I also discovered that she knew a bit about cooking. With her guidance, I managed to prepare three traditional dishes from her country. By following her instructions to the letter, the food turned out delicious. In fact, I earned a perfect score from my most demanding judge: Shanti herself.
I continued learning more about her tastes and her personality. She told me she was a very active person, that she worked out five times a week. She loved reading, especially fiction books. I was astonished when she confessed that she had read the entire Percy Jackson saga in barely two weeks. She was addicted to those books—so much so that she stayed up until dawn reading. Without a doubt, an obsessive reader.
As for music, she claimed she listened to everything. At first, I didn't believe her. I thought it was impossible for someone to genuinely enjoy every genre. But when I checked her phone, she left me speechless. She had songs in every style imaginable—pop, rock, jazz, metal, classical music… even reggaeton and folk.
I also discovered, almost by accident, that she had an innate talent for business. A few days ago, she closed a deal that, from what I overheard, would bring her a very good reward. I was impressed by her skill and the confidence with which she spoke while negotiating.
When it came to movies, she loved horror, comedy, romance, and animation. And although it didn't seem like it at first glance, she turned out to be far more sensitive than I had imagined. Sometimes she cried during sad movies, regardless of the genre. I was surprised when I saw her cry while watching Tinkerbell and the Beast of Neverland. I couldn't help but feel my heart tighten as I watched her wipe away her tears while the beast returned to hibernate in his cave. I never imagined she had such an emotional side.
Another thing I discovered—or rather, stumbled upon by accident—was her guilty pleasure. Apparently, she liked reading stories that were a bit on the steamy side. I found out one day when she fell asleep with her phone in her hand. I picked it up to place it on the table so it wouldn't fall, but the screen was still on, and I caught a glimpse of what she was reading. My ears burned with embarrassment when I realized the content. How could she read things like that without blushing?
I also noticed something more concerning: I had never seen her communicate with her family. Since she arrived here, I hadn't seen her make video calls or send text messages to any relatives. It was as if she had no one. I wondered if there was a reason behind it… but I still didn't dare ask her directly.
With each passing day, I discovered more things about her—some surprising, others amusing, and some that made me feel a little more connected to Shanti. Without realizing it, she was becoming an important part of my daily life.
---------------------------
These days with Paulina have been unexpectedly calm— I could even say fun. At first, I was afraid of spending so much time with her, but as the days went by, I slowly began to trust her. We talked about what we liked, what we did in our free time, our hobbies, and little by little, I discovered things about her that truly surprised me.
I learned that she is an only child and that her parents are extremely protective of her. I understand it perfectly—being an only child must intensify that kind of protection. I also discovered that she is a genius in surgical medicine; she graduated at twenty-three, something that left me completely stunned. She is incredibly grounded for her age, unlike some people I know who are my age yet behave worse than teenagers.
I discovered her taste in music: she adores Adele, Taylor Swift, Harry Styles, and Lana Del Rey. But what surprised me the most was her obsession with Arctic Monkeys and Linkin Park. I would have never believed she liked those bands—or even knew some of their songs. We also share the same taste in movies: horror, comedy, and romance. However, unlike me, she also enjoys action and science fiction films.
She loves reading, but almost exclusively medical books, scientific journals, and specialized articles. She has never read a fiction or romance novel, which, to be honest, didn't surprise me too much. Even though she doesn't exercise regularly—only two or three times a week when she has time—her body is simply impressive.
One Tuesday afternoon, we were in the living room, each lost in our own world with our phones. I was reading, and she seemed to be watching videos when, suddenly, her voice pulled me out of my concentration.
"How would you define your perfect date?" she asked unexpectedly, lifting her gaze from her phone.
I set my phone aside and looked at her with curiosity.
"My perfect date?" I repeated thoughtfully. "Do you want the truth or the lie?"
"The truth, obviously," she replied, raising an eyebrow.
I let out a soft laugh before answering seriously.
"It would be going out in search of an adventure."
"What do you mean by that?" she asked, frowning slightly.
"It's like someone tells me, 'Let's go,' and I ask, 'Where?' and they simply answer, 'We'll see on the way.' And before we know it, we're at the beach, on a mountain, in some unknown place, trying new food or figuring out just how lost we are," I said enthusiastically. "So many adventures are missed when everything is planned."
"And what would be the lie?" she asked, curious.
"I usually say going to a nice restaurant or to the movies."
"And why?" she insisted.
"Because it's a quick and easy answer, and most of the time I either get bored of the conversation or don't have the time to explain the truth."
She smiled slightly and nodded.
"And now you have plenty of time," she commented teasingly.
"And because it's easy and comfortable to talk to you," I added, returning her smile.
I noticed her ears turning slightly red, which made me smile with a certain sense of pride.
"What would your perfect day with your partner be? And I always want the truth," I asked quickly.
I paused for a moment before answering, though not for long, because I knew exactly what my perfect day would be like.
"It's going to sound cliché, but my perfect day would have rain, a cloudy sky, and a lot of cold. That way we could cuddle under the blankets, drinking tea or coffee to keep warm while we watch a movie or a series… although we could also do other things," I replied without realizing the double meaning in my words. It was only when I noticed her mischievous smile that I understood what I had said. "I mean other things like talking or—"
I couldn't finish the sentence because I burst into laughter. Paulina, on the other hand, was red like a traffic light at rush hour.
"It's okay, it's okay," I said as I calmed down, wiping away a tear from laughing. "By the way, do you have a boyfriend or a girlfriend?"
"Well… neither of the two. At the moment, I don't have anyone," she replied naturally.
"And you?" she asked with curiosity.
"No, I don't either," she answered quickly, "but I hope to find her someday." Her eyes lit up with a smile I didn't quite know how to interpret.
"You know, now I'm curious," I said, watching her flinch slightly. "What's your ideal type?"
"You mean my ideal girlfriend?" She thought for a moment, as if organizing her thoughts. "She would have to be considerate, romantic, a little jealous, fun, intelligent, and only have eyes for me," she said, fixing her gaze on mine.
"So, she doesn't exist," I teased, though I couldn't hide a slight nervousness in my laugh.
"Of course she does. She must be out there somewhere," she said with a sigh, as if she truly believed her words.
"Maybe she's fictional," I continued teasing, enjoying the conversation.
"Then tell me—what's your ideal type?" she asked, crossing her arms and challenging me with her gaze.
"Oh! Mine definitely doesn't exist," I joked, instantly capturing her attention. "Well, I agree with everything you mentioned, but I'd add that she has to be someone who solves things, who makes me a priority, who has a strong character but is gentle with me. But more than anything, I want her to look at me the way a chubby child looks at a cake."
We both burst into laughter. Paulina smiled with a special sparkle in her eyes, as if my answer had amused her more than she expected.
After that conversation, we grew even closer. As the days passed, the feeling of butterflies in my stomach grew stronger. I constantly scolded myself, telling myself I shouldn't feel this way about her, because I knew she wasn't interested in me in the same way. And yet, despite being aware of these feelings, I kept letting myself hope. I repeated to myself that once everything was over, it would pass, just as it had before with other people.
But this time, something inside me told me it was different.
-----------------------
It has been a month and a week since I started taking care of Shanti. During this time, I've discovered and explored feelings I never imagined I could experience. The truth is, I am hopelessly in love with her. One could say I was drawn to her from the very first moment I saw her, but it was her essence that completely captivated me—her charisma, her joy, her overwhelming personality. And, to be even more honest, her body is simply perfect, leaving nothing to the imagination.
A week ago, I removed her immobilizer and she was able to exercise again, although only her upper body. Since then, every night I have to help rub her back, and it's slowly killing me. I'm the one who sees her after every workout session, the one who touches her skin, the one who helps her change. Sometimes, without understanding how, I let myself go and caress her arms and back more than I should. I scold myself for it, but I can't help it.
My actions and my thoughts are working against me. So I've made a decision: when I remove the cast from her legs and she regains more strength, I'll ask her out on a date. For now, that's my goal—my anchor to keep from losing my mind.
I know Shanti is bisexual, and she knows that I'm only attracted to women. I always believed I was bisexual as well, but with her I've discovered that there is absolutely no room in my heart for anyone who isn't a woman. Realizing it was unusual, especially when the erotic dreams about her began… all because I had bathed her. Never in my life had I felt so full of desire. Not even during my adolescence did I experience anything like this.
The first dream came out of nowhere. I was lying in bed when I felt someone climb on top of me, crawling closer. It was a clear night; moonlight filtered through the window, and I could see her perfectly. She was wearing a white blouse, and her arms, pressed by the sleeves, looked defined. Her abs were visible beneath the fabric.
I swallowed hard as she leaned toward my lips. She kissed me intensely, and without warning, her tongue sought mine. I didn't resist. We both fought for control until she disarmed me with a simple gesture: her hand resting on my thigh, leaving me frozen. I woke up startled, drenched in sweat.
I was burning. I went straight to the bathroom, trying to calm myself, but just remembering the way she kissed me with such passion and how her body pressed against mine made my temperature rise even more. All I wanted was for her to hold me the way she had in my dream.
Reluctantly, I stepped into the shower, hoping to cool down. I thought it wouldn't happen again—but I was so wrong. The next night, the dream returned. And not only that: with each passing night, they grew more intense.
One night, while I slept, the dream took an even more unsettling turn. This time, her mouth trailed down to my neck, sucking gently, while her hand continued to explore my body, stopping at my chest. Her tongue traced a path of desire across my skin, her breath wrapped around me, and then—
"Paulina, Paulina," I heard her voice calling my name. She was gently shaking me awake.
I opened my eyes abruptly, completely mortified. I had fallen asleep on the couch—and worst of all… I had been moaning while she watched me.
"Are you okay?" she asked, worried.
----------------------
"Y-yes," I replied nervously, standing up immediately. "I was just having a nightmare."
"Are you sure? You're sweating a lot," she insisted, frowning.
"Yes, I just… I'm going to change," I murmured, almost running out of the living room.
I couldn't believe what had just happened. I scolded myself mentally. I had never felt so embarrassed in my life. How was I supposed to look her in the face after this?
I went into the bathroom and undressed quickly to take a cold shower. I splashed my face several times, trying to erase the image of her mouth, of her hands exploring my skin, from my mind. But it was useless. Every time I closed my eyes, I imagined it all over again. I felt the drops falling over my body, and they felt like her hands roaming over me. I couldn't keep going like this.
I changed hurriedly and went to the kitchen to prepare dinner. Shanti was still on the couch, watching a movie. I walked past her without looking and started making some sandwiches.
"I'm going to make some sandwiches for dinner. Do you want anything else?" I asked.
She turned her head as much as she could.
"Yes, that sounds good. Thank you," she said, without taking her eyes off the screen.
"Tea or coffee?" I asked again.
"Whatever you want," she replied indifferently.
I made coffee, since the night was cold. When I finished, I handed her her plate and her mug. She took a bite and frowned.
"It's really good! This sandwich tastes different. Did you add something new?"
"It's the same one I always make for you," I replied, looking at her curiously.
"That's true, it's the same ingredients…" she said thoughtfully. "Then this time, you made it with love."
Her eyes locked onto mine, and I nervously looked away.
"Y-you should finish eating," I said, feeling my cheeks burn.
How could she say things like that without feeling embarrassed? Or at least without getting nervous?
-------------------------
The heat of embarrassment spread across my face, and I could feel my cheeks burning. Somehow, it eased me a little that Paulina seemed more interested in that sandwich than in what she had just said. Lucky bastard, I thought, imagining that sandwich so close to Paulina's lips, unable to stop the sting of jealousy that tightened in my chest.
After dinner, I grabbed my crutches and headed to the gym Paulina had in her penthouse, while she retreated to her office to continue working. Always so busy, so determined in everything she did—but I… I couldn't stop thinking about her. She was like a constant shadow, always lurking, always present.
I began my arm routine, just as I always did. However, something was different this time. I couldn't get Paulina out of my head. Thought after thought crowded my mind, as if they were slowly suffocating me. Damn it, I scolded myself. Why did I have to like her so much? Why did this situation feel like torture? I couldn't do anything about it, and worst of all, I felt incapable of changing how I felt. It was a constant back-and-forth of emotions, and I had no control over any of it.
Paulina was so beautiful. Her smile—so captivating and warm—was simply… intoxicating. And it didn't help at all that she was sweet and sensitive, even though at times, when it came to her work, she could be explosive, like a storm breaking without warning. Despite those moments, no one could deny how wonderful she was. In my thoughts, I wondered how I had reached this point, how I had fallen in love with her, knowing she would probably never look at me that way.
I clearly remembered what had happened four days earlier, when she received an emergency call. There had been a serious problem at the hospital, and her reaction was a reflection of her passion for her work. She was so furious that her shouts echoed throughout the penthouse. She was so hysterical that I had to remain silent, not daring to intervene. She cursed and muttered, trying to calm herself, but she couldn't. It was somewhat terrifying to witness—but it also made me realize how deeply she cared about the people around her.
"Shanti," Paulina called, pulling me out of my thoughts. "How long have you been here?"
She walked into the gym with her hair in a high ponytail, wearing a cropped blouse, shorts, and those glasses that made her look so sexy, so unreachable.
"Not very long," I replied nervously, unsure of how to act around her.
"You should have called me to help you," she complained, crossing her arms and frowning. I smiled shyly, feeling a little embarrassed.
"I know you have work, and besides, I can move a bit more now," I excused myself, but the concern on her face was unmistakable.
"Even so, you should have called me," she scolded gently. "I ordered sushi for dinner since it's so late," she added as she headed toward the kitchen.
"Sushi?" I asked, startled. "I don't think it's that late," I murmured, but my argument quickly fell apart when she checked her watch.
"It's 10 p.m.," she said, her tone serious but worried.
"Really?" I replied, almost incredulous. "I got here at six in the afternoon. That much time can't have passed."
"You've been here for four hours. Excessive exercise can cause an injury," she said, glaring at me. "Are you crazy?" she scolded, and the tone of her voice made me feel even more guilty.
"I didn't notice the time," I muttered, embarrassed, my face turning a deep shade of red.
She was about to continue scolding me when the doorbell rang. Paulina quickly went to get the sushi. I took my crutches and headed to the kitchen, unable to stop thinking about her words.
"Why don't you listen to me? I told you to call me, Shanti," she scolded me again as she came back in.
"I'm sorry. I don't like being a burden," I replied, exhausted, as I sat down on the chair. My head was full of tangled thoughts and emotions.
Paulina fell silent as she served the sushi onto the plates, while I stared at the contents of mine with a strange mix of revulsion and resignation. I had never liked sushi. In fact, I hated it. Its odd taste and strange texture were unbearable to me—but seeing how angry Paulina still was, I had no choice but to eat it.
My original plan was to swallow it in one bite, just like I had done the first time I ever tried sushi. But the moment it touched my tongue, everything seemed to fall apart in my mouth, and I couldn't fight the urge to spit it out. Still, I forced myself to eat it slowly. Every bite was torture, a kind of quiet martyrdom. I nearly finished two bottles of water in the process—and that was after only four rolls.
"Do you want more?" she asked, watching me curiously.
"No, thank you," I replied, shaking my head. "I'm full," I added, making sure she didn't notice how disgusted I felt.
I finally finished eating, using every ounce of strength I had not to throw it all up. I was sweating from the effort—not just from the exercise, but from everything I was feeling. I needed a shower, yet the thought of Paulina's hands always made me nervous, even though I had grown used to her closeness.
The shower was quick. Afterward, exhausted, I went straight to my bed. It had been raining all day, and the nighttime storm was only getting worse—thunder and lightning shaking the city. The sound of the storm was deafening, and in the middle of the night, I heard a scream coming from Paulina's room.
I sat up in bed, startled, grabbed my crutches, and prepared to go to her room. But I stopped halfway when I saw a silhouette running toward my bedroom. Before I could react, she slipped under my blankets.
"Are you okay?" I asked, searching beneath the sheets, hearing her shaky, frightened breathing.
"I'm sorry," she apologized, emerging from her hiding place under the covers. "Can I stay with you tonight?" she asked, visibly terrified.
At that moment, another bolt of lightning cracked through the sky, and Paulina let out a small cry, gripping my hand tightly.
"Yes, of course," I replied without thinking, feeling her fingers squeeze mine.
Another flash of lightning lit up the room, and I felt Paulina's nails dig into my hand. I had to stifle a cry of pain from the impact. The storm didn't stop, but at least the thunder grew more distant. The rain continued to lash against the windows, though it was no longer the only sound filling the room.
"If you want, we can watch something to distract ourselves from the noise," I suggested, trying to calm her.
She remained under the blankets, still holding my hand, but after a while she emerged, looking at me with pure fear in her eyes.
"I've always been afraid of lightning and rain," she began. "My parents were never very present when I was little, and when it rained like this, I wouldn't sleep all night. I was scared," she said, then tucked herself back against my ribs.
"I have my fears too," I confessed, gently stroking her hair. "When I was little, I lost my mother, and since then I've never really felt safe anywhere."
She fell silent for a moment, processing what I had told her. My intention in sharing my story was to let her know she wasn't alone in her fears. We all carry insecurities, scars we don't always talk about.
In a sudden movement, Paulina climbed onto my lap, facing me. Her hands cupped my face, and without warning, she kissed me. Her lips were so soft, so enveloping, and her scent intoxicated me instantly. I froze, unsure how to react, until she pulled away and I heard her breath catch from the kiss.
"I'm sorry, I don't know what came over me," she apologized, trying to climb down, but I grabbed her by the thighs and stopped her.
I caressed her face gently, and this time, I was the one who kissed her, savoring every second, unwilling to pull away. I needed to know what she was thinking—but I also wanted to be closer to her.
I pulled back slowly, opening my eyes with a nervous smile. She looked surprised, confused, yet she didn't seem to think about it for long. She answered me with a deeper, more intense kiss.
My hands began to move beneath her blouse, exploring every inch of her skin. I pulled her closer, gripping her waist with both hands, and her body pressed against mine so naturally that I could no longer tell whether the fear was still there—or if we had already left it behind.