CHAPTER 2
My start in university life was full of mixed emotions. On the one hand, the shock of starting a new stage; on the other, the weight of a love from the past that I still carried with me, I could not get Emma out of my head, now I felt incomprehension for her actions, but at times that feeling was transformed into an irremediable hatred towards her, and everything that was related to her person, even animals, especially dogs.
Even so, I had promised myself that this new experience would be my chance to close that chapter and move forward.
I remember arriving early on the first day of school, hoping to find some peace of mind among the unfamiliar classrooms and new faces. In my first class, I sat in the back, distracted, trying not to think about what I had left behind. The professor, however, had other plans. He asked us to introduce ourselves and tell something about ourselves. When it was my turn, and nerves brushed against my skin, I improvised something simple, and, although my voice trembled a little, I felt a weight lifted off my shoulders. It was as if every word helped me rebuild a new version of myself.
That same day, on a break between classes, I met a group of classmates who were laughing and joking on a bench. For some reason, I was invited to join. Between laughter and conversations about our expectations, I felt something I hadn't experienced for a long time: lightness. For the first time in a long time, I wasn't thinking about the past but enjoying the present.
One of them made me think a lot. With his carefree way of looking at life, he taught me, without saying it directly, that clinging to something that is no longer there, only prevents us from moving forward. Little by little, between projects, laughter and nights of study, the weight that Emma exerted on me began to fade. The university, with all its new experiences, showed me that sometimes, the best way to heal is to build new memories.
During the holidays of my first year of college, I returned home with the excitement of reuniting with my parents and resuming a little of the family routine that I had missed so much. As soon as I arrived, I noticed something different in the atmosphere. It was as if the house was quieter than usual. After hugging and exchanging the first questions about college, my parents, with a serious expression, asked me to sit down.
It was then that I was told that Dante, the dog I had long cared for with Emma, had died a few weeks earlier. It wasn't his fault that he had a scaly owner, and he was always affectionate when he was around. The news hit me harder than I expected, not only because of his death but also because I learned that, in his final days, a collection had been made to try to pay for the cardiovascular operation that ended up taking him to the afterlife.
Emma was in charge of the collection, and went around the city knocking on all possible doors to get the money, I was upset when I found out about this, since they never asked me for support, and for me Dante was not a simple dog; He had been my companion on good and bad days, especially during the difficult times of adolescence.
My parents explained to me that they did not manage to reach the goal, and although they tried to take him to a public veterinarian, they could not do much, the disease that Dante had required more complex methods. At first, I felt a mixture of sadness and guilt that I hadn't been there in his final days. I spent a good part of that afternoon walking in circles, remembering how he always ran to me when I found him.
But there was something that didn't add up for me, with how stubborn Emma is, I couldn't believe that they didn't make it to the finish line. Was there something behind it?
That night, while we were having dinner, my parents, who knew of my relationship with Dante, commented that they gave a good sum of money to the cause, for which they also regretted the unpleasant end of the dog.
"Isn't it strange that they couldn't get the money?" I asked with a gesture of question.
"True, but we know Emma, she's a nice girl, I'm sure she did her best, although the dog wasn't in good condition, he was already old," my father said disinterestedly. "In short, it must have been difficult to carry the whole case."
For my parents there was nothing strange, but I was not convinced, maybe if I find out for myself, I could be calm.
Until now I had avoided having any contact with Emma, and I can confess that this helped me to be calmer. Perhaps, after almost a year, it would be time to break that barrier.
This gave me a burst of nostalgia; I decided to look at his profile on social networks. My fingers trembled when I picked up my mobile, there was a kind of seal on the nerves in my arms that prevented me from maneuvering calmly.
I sighed and gathered more strength; I still had her on my list of friends. The photos she published were still full of her essence: that bright smile that made her day, some nearby trips where she showed herself alone, along with small details that she liked so much.
As I swiped down, my heart sank with every memory that came up. I wanted to write to her, say something simple like: "Hello, how are you?" or even a banal comment on a photo. But every time I tried, my fingers froze. "What if he thinks I'm a nuisance? Or worse, that I'm still stuck in the past?"
Shame dominated me. I would close the app, but after a few minutes I would open it again, as if I were in a silent duel with my emotions. I spent a whole day like this, until I realized that what held me back the most was not the fear of rejection, but the idea of reliving what had already ended. Perhaps, the closure did not come from a conversation that never existed, but from stopping looking back and starting to live in the present.
I still remember his last words:
How come you are here? This is not what it seems.
For me everything was clear, there was no doubt, she was being skewered by that thug, while she made a gesture of enjoying it to the fullest. She even implied that she knew how I felt about her, and yet she didn't care, and she spread the legs of such a mean person.
I put the phone aside and went for a walk. It wasn't easy, but little by little I began to understand that I wasn't ready to meet her again, not even to send her a simple chat.
I decided to go out on the street, and I began to travel through the landscapes of the city that always brought me nostalgia, many times when I was a child I walked through those same places.
I saw people walking with their pets, and it reminded me of Dante. I couldn't help but take a few pictures of those scenes, and I stood reminiscing about the moments I spent with Dante: the times he stole food from the table, how he insisted on sleeping next to me, even if I scolded him, and that barking he always made when he wanted attention. Between tears and laughter, I understood that his absence would be painful, but that what he had left us was much greater: memories full of love and moments that I would always carry with me.
Although that memory was related to Emma, since she was an inseparable part of the dog, she could remember the dog with enthusiasm. From then on, I was sure that every time I returned home, even though Dante was no longer there to greet me with his usual enthusiasm, he would remind me that the love we gave him and that he returned to us was something eternal. And even though I missed him, knowing that he was happy with us gave me comfort.
I decided to get lost in the streets of the city, I arrived at a park, the place had been destined for topiary art in green laurels that represented various shapes, very pleasing to the eye.
There the children played, and the adults walked unhurriedly. I walked distractedly, with headphones on and a song that always made me think of the school days, those years when love was innocent and pure. Suddenly, I saw her. It was her.
She was sitting on a bench, with a book in her hands and the sunlight illuminating her face. His skin had that soft, porcelain-like heel, and his features were so refined that it looked like a Renaissance painting brought to life. Her hair fell in perfect waves, and her eyes, though distant, shone with a spark that I recognized instantly. That spark that had captivated me when we were children and that now awakened something much deeper: a love that I thought was asleep, but that was rekindled just by looking at it.
