A mobster says loves me

Celine Ortiz narrates. Six years ago.

From inside the classroom, closer to the wall than the rest of my classmates, I was, momentarily distracted by the drops of water that slipped on the wide and transparent glass of the window that morning; It was raining, and I didn't like rainy days, much less when I was away from home, because the streets I had to walk to get home would get puddled and sometimes I had to let my shoes get wet, plus the dew from the occasional drizzle could soak my clothes and I hated walking around with moisture on me. I think I was always more of a lover of clear skies and sunny days.

I sighed.

"Ortiz," the teacher said my last name, making me return to the present in the corresponding turn. "Could you explain to me your answer to question number two of topic four of today's class? she asked, looking at me with a pair of aquiline eyes from the blackboard, holding the chalk and eraser in both hands."

And as if he had addressed the rest of my classmates, they turned back to see me, all with their attention on me, waiting for me to come out of my quiet moment and say something, so I hesitated a bit and looked down at My open notebook had certainly distracted me for half a shift, because I hadn't even begun to copy topic four of that day's class. I swallowed, feeling a little embarrassed and then looked up, to see the teacher again, imagining that one day she would lose her patience with me and furiously throw the eraser at me, hitting it right on my forehead.

"I couldn't explain it, Professor," I said, taking what precautions I could not to turn red when my classmates started laughing at my lack of application in class.

She looked at me like someone looking at a vermin, like a stuffy, high-class lady; although possibly the salary that she received would not even be enough for a branded handbag and with great difficulty with said salary she could only buy the market of the month and pay her rent.

"Yes, I thought so," she murmured pointedly. "Try to keep your eyes on the board."

I didn't say anything, nor did I pout, I just avoided looking at my classmates, who surely would have a small mocking smile painted on their faces, but they would forget about it, that's how things were in that school; Luckily I wasn't the one being harassed, she was just one more invisible who was often caught unawares, but from there no more. So I set out to start copying what the teacher went on to explain on the board.

I was never the first in the class, but I was never the last either, I never failed a subject or a course, but my grades were a little low, not much, although they were no better than regular; I doubted that he would ever get a place in a good university. I only fulfilled my duty to attend and pass, until now nothing motivated me, I didn't even know what I wanted for my future or what career to undertake; I spent my life watching the seconds go by and what had to happen something. I think that as a child I did have dreams and goals, but once I entered adolescence something inside me turned off, making me a boring, ordinary young woman, perhaps one more insipid of the bunch. But that brought me peace of mind, and if I was calm, then it was fine.

Then came the time for departure and the thought of returning home; that day it only played half a class shift; I wanted it to be all the corresponding hours; It was better to be in a room, invisible and living with my only two friends, than, in my place of residence, under the watchful eye and strict surveillance of my parents.

"What are you going to do this afternoon?" Daniela asked, taking the opportunity to bend the upper edge of the skirt a little and thereby shorten it more.

"Any. Or-I don't know, as much as possible I'll finish the tasks that are for tomorrow," I said, keeping my eyes straight ahead along the corridor we were passing through, and my hands on the straps of my backpack.

"I already did them," Clara spoke to my other side in a friendly tone, holding a stack of books in her arms. "If you want I will lend you the material with which I helped myself."

I smiled slightly and nodded.

"I'd like to, thank you."

"By the way, my mother said that on Saturday we will have a family lunch day, with friends too," Clara spoke to me again. "She told me that it wouldn't be a bad idea for me to invite you, she told me to ask if you wanted to join us."

"And she didn't tell you anything about me?" Daniela asked from my other side, undoing the top buttons of her shirt, I imagine to show a little more cleavage. "Your mother seems to disown me."

Neither of us answered that, but it was clear that, being a conservative and religious family, Clara's parents did not have a very good idea of Daniela, who had a reputation for hanging out in inappropriate meetings with not very good boys. Reputation, plus the way they talk and dress could easily be grounds for some moral judgment. My parents sometimes also made some acid comments about it, but I just kept discreetly silent, for me the most important thing was the friendship that Daniela offered me, it was a bit slippery, perhaps, but that was her decision, not my decision. Mine and it would not have to affect me badly, I think that the values of sincerity, company and optimism were something to admire and that kept me in confidence with her.

"Your hair is very pretty today," I said, to dissipate the tension a bit.

She immediately tried to look at the strands of her freshly dyed blonde hair.

"Yes, I cut it." She combed it a little more with the fingers of one hand, it was limp and brushing her shoulders. "It's easier to maintain like this."

I nodded and turned to look at Clara's and smiled at her too, she always carried it loose, hers was curly and quite dark, it reached her waist. While mine was a little brown, wavy and not too long and not too short, just below the shoulders. Anyway, I wasn't a teenager who paid much attention to my hair style, there was something else for which I felt self-conscious and although I didn't want to spend a lot of time thinking about it, I couldn't help it when I got out of the shower and saw myself in the bathroom. Mirror.

We said goodbye and I got ready to go on foot to my home, which was an hour's walk away, without stopping somewhere and speeding up my pace it would be maybe forty-five minutes, and I didn't usually stay there to procrastinate in the street, since I would have plenty of time to do it at home.

That morning I did not answer Clara about her invitation, I would first have to check with my parents, however, I did take the book that she offered me so that I could get the answers from it for the next exam. On the other hand, I had to refuse once again to hang out with Daniela, the time she was proposing was almost at dusk, and if I didn't want to be killed when I got home, I shouldn't try to look foolishly at my friends. Parents.

Shower, lunch, snack, a broom at home and rest...

A call came to my phone shell and I saw that it was the phone number of Clara's mother, surely it was to remind me of her invitation.

But not.

"Hello, Celine," Clara's voice.

"Hello, is everything okay?" I asked, having heard his slightly suspicious voice.

"For me yes, for you I don't know."

I raised half of my body from the bed, remaining seated with the mobile next to my ear.

"What happened?"

"Well-about the homework for tomorrow, remember?" I nodded, even though she couldn't see me. "Well, the teacher said that he will not attend tomorrow because he had a family emergency, that he will receive the papers and other pending assignments tonight at his house."

"Other pending assignments?" I frowned a little, looking to the side and trying to remember. "But he only sent one, the one I was thinking of doing tonight to deliver tomorrow."

"Well, no, dear. Apart from that he also delivered two other classes for us to study at home and we will deliver everything ready today. That was this morning, as soon as you left, he caught up with us at the exit, I hadn't forgotten to let you know, it's because my parents' phone had no balance. I'm sorry."

"Okay," I accepted her apology softly, but distracted, imagining the great task that lay ahead. "But-"

"I'll send you the questions by message, you can keep the book today, there are all the answers."

"And what about you?"

"There's another copy of that one in my father's library." I sensed that she smiled, friendly, as he always did when he presented me with a solution.

"Oh God, no," I murmured, placing a hand on my forehead. "I don't know if he can finish all that today, he warned him very late, we also have other pending tasks with other teachers. And him house is on the other side of town. I practically have to cross it, it will take me three hours walking."

I was already beginning to imagine it.

"Cheer up, yes you can." I imagined that he balled her hand into a fist as a sign of strength. "Well, I left you. I'm going to do mine now."

"Okay thanks."

I ended the call and thought for maybe ten seconds where to start that. Then I jumped up and began to hastily take things out of my backpack and go to the living room of my house to get down to work at the dining room table, it was easier to work there. And especially when you were in a hurry.

"What's the matter?" My mother asked as she cut an onion on the other side of the same table.

I explained to her then, while she didn't even look at her because she was careful to put all things in order on my side of the table, ready to start as soon as possible.

Now, five hours have passed, with my eyes glued to sheets and sheets of paper that I wrote by hand, with questions, answers, covers, introduction, conclusion, bibliographies and even annexes. I felt exhausted, my joints already stiff and an immense desire to sleep.

I ordered everything, piling up my notebooks on one side, pencils and erasers on the other side and more apart the book, on one side of three folders with a different assignment each. I then walked to the refrigerator to go get a glass of water because in all that time I hadn't even gotten up from my chair to go, even if I went to the bathroom for a moment.

"For god's sake!" I exclaimed when I saw that it was already getting dark, the sun had already set from the day, there were only a few reflections left on the horizon.

"What has you so upset?" I was more surprised by my father speaking behind me.

I turned quickly and looked at him at the other end of the kitchen room, he had just arrived, surely he would have already closed the cellar, it was about time; but I hadn't even noticed that it was getting late for me.

"It's already night," I said, more worried than I could show. "And I need to turn in my homework today. The professor has had an emergency for tomorrow and on top of that he asked us to get work done." I looked towards the table, towards the folders. "I barely finished them all" I turned again towards the transparent glass window that was overlooking the street, next to the refrigerator. "And he lives on the other side of town," I breathed out, bringing a hand to my forehead.

"Well," I heard my father mutter. "In this area of the city there are no taxis at this time, so there is no other option than to resort to one of those errand men who circulate around on motorcycles. I have the phone number of the company that works with it. I will request the service of one."

I did not hinder him, of course I would have preferred a car, because my family and I had always thought that motorcycles were less safe, but I had no other choice. I then ran to my bedroom to put on other clothes; wearing mismatched pants and a baggy shirt, with simple Converse on my feet.

I walked out of there fixing a high tail bow in my hair.

"He's already down there, waiting for you," my father said, leaning out the window that was next to the fridge.

"So fast?" It came out to me to say, while he took from the table the folders that he had to deliver.

"I requested expedited service," he turned to look at me. "Now go and don't spend too much time talking to someone, turn in and come back. You know I don't like you walking around at night."

"Yes, dad," I nodded and walked towards the dining room exit, heading towards the stairs that would take me to the ground floor.

My footsteps echoed on the wood of each link, but I trotted, listening to my mother warn me to be careful going down.

I walked past the warehouse where we lived and where my father worked daily, a supply for the community that needed products for auto mechanics; I was in a hurry, in such a hurry that with one hand I quickly lowered the door handle, went out and closed it, holding the folders in the other arm and not realizing to myself who the motorist was.

Until I had to walk quickly towards him, noticing that he was waiting for me with a hoof extended towards me.

It was that time, it was during that sunset that I first looked at Joshua Park. The man who would kick the calm with which I was spending my adolescence, who would send my emotional stability to hell and who would enjoy drinking every tear that my eyes could shed because of him.

Highlighting that he possessed a demonic privilege, a devastating attraction that could take the breath away of any young lady, and I was no exception, while right there he looked at me, serious and indifferent, waiting for me to receive the helmet he was offering me.

Despite the fact that this time I only looked at him with a pair of eyes with very slight Asian features and an athletic demeanor, he caught my attention. I couldn't look at more of her face at the moment, because he had him helmet on, but I memorized the only thing that I could see of him.

He didn't seem to be a bad guy anyway, besides he was riding one of the motorcycles of that company that transported shipments and made deliveries in the city, so he didn't need to wear a vest to identify him, it was enough Seeing the model of the black motorcycle and one should already take for granted what they used it for and what the pilot did.

"Are you going to take it or not?" an adult, punctual and manly voice tore me out of my musings.

"Ah-yeah." I took another step towards him after taking my gaze away from his eyes.

I took the helmet as best I could and clumsily put it on my head because my hands were full with the folders, while he started the motorcycle and when I felt ready I went up, just as clumsily, to the part that corresponded to me.

But what was he thinking?

With one hand I grabbed some place on the bike that was left behind me and with the other I clutched the folders to my chest, turning up to see the window, where my father was still watching us through the glass.

The motorcycle started and I kept my mouth shut, the helmet that I had put on was a little simpler than the one that the man in front of me was carrying, I remained pensive, imagining that an event could occur on the road in which you will need a helmet.

I swallowed, feeling afraid, on motorcycles it was always more unsafe to go somewhere, accidents were common, the sudden irruption of a car, a bad maneuver that crashed the vehicle against a wall or at least common, that it caught fire, that it caught me, anything could happen.

I was then distracted by the strong shape of his black leather jacket, this man looked like he was from a youth magazine and his perfume... to earn a living, perhaps just doing errands on a motorbike, he was wearing one that would have to be very expensive, because you could recognize by smell.

We stopped at two traffic lights, we crossed streets, we turned corners and I looked at the lights of the city from a different perspective than the window of my own room, everything was more beautiful in the center of Sevilla, a city in Spain, my country.

Maybe we only lasted forty or fifty minutes on the road, but my hand was already numb, the one with which I was holding onto the back of the motorcycle, like an old woman scared of risk.

We stopped at the end of a street, just at the intersection with another, we would already be quite far from my home, when it stabilized with its feet on the ground and turned its face to one side.

"Your father told me that he was in this area of the city," he said again, his voice velvety, even though he was drowning inside his helmet. "But he did not specify the street."

True, my father, although he half knew my class schedule and the teachers that corresponded to me for each subject to study, he did not know exactly where they lived, he only had an idea. So I understood that we had been marching without the pilot knowing where in the city he should take me.

"Sure," I replied, and then I told him the address.

The time since then happened quickly, at least to get to my teacher's house, who lived in a more or less good area of the city; because it should be noted that I always lived in a very poor and criminal neighborhood of Seville.

Current moment.

Now I am not seventeen years old like that afternoon when I saw Joshua Park for the first time, I am twenty-three and I am very close to graduating as an investigative police officer, everyone says that I am young for this, but I already have several expeditions in my experience, added to my professional history, although my participation had not been specifically excellent, but it did stand out among my peers. Among these we can count the successful persecution of murderers, sellers of illicit substances, extortionists and the rescue of a kidnapping that, if I remember correctly, ended up forcing me to shoot in the head one of those who had that girl, In self defense, of course.

I drank more coffee from my personal cup in that police headquarters, I remember that before I didn't even like the smell of drinks like this, but she was basically a girl, she was very young. And I suppose that since then many things have changed, some in my physical state, many in a psychological level and the place of residence. Because I am no longer part of the population that remains in the Three Neighborhoods of Sevilla, well, Madrid is now the city that watches my adult life develop.

"Hi, pretty," the voice of someone I don't have to see to identify says to me.

Meanwhile, I continue with my eyes on a game of wits that I have on my mobile, while I have my back reclining in my seat, next to the monitor, waiting for the system to process a file that I am downloading to the PC.

I remained silent and brought the porcelain cup back to my lips, sipping a little more of that strong, dark coffee with little sugar.

"I-brought you coffee," he speaks in the past tense and I barely raise my eyelashes, rolling my eyes to see him, there, standing next to me, with two cardboard cups; he then looks at my coffee pot. "I didn't know you had one of those, since when do you have your own coffee maker?"

"You knew that and you would stop seeing my face at all times and for a moment you would look at the things that we have around us," I said unaffected.

"You don't have to be mean," he says patiently, trying to be nice, I guess. He looks down at one of the glasses and then he offers it to me. "I asked for you one with plenty of milk and sugar."

He stopped looking at him and I rolled my eyes a little lower, taking in the brown color of the long glass that he kept holding out to me.

"Whenever I have bought prepared coffee, in your presence, you have seen how I prefer it. Why then do you do this?"

"Sometimes it's good to try new things," he shrugs, and seeing that I'm not willing to take his offer, he withdraws his hand.

I turn back to my mobile screen.

"I like the routine better." I say to him.

Then he again takes the confidence to get closer, place the glass of coffee on my desk and grab another chair that was nearby, dragging it to place it half a meter from me and turn it around to sit astride it.

"I like the way you are."

I raise my eyebrows without enthusiasm, not even bothering to look up to give him my full attention.

"Uh," I mutter. "I understand, I like it too. What coincidences, right?" I say in a bored tone on purpose.

"You know that no matter how much you deny me your attention, I won't be willing to give up, right?" He says, looking at me.

I feel his eyes on me like two cold slugs, but I keep paying more attention to the question that I can't answer in the game of wits that my mobile screen shows me.

"And what do you expect me to do about it?" I speak again with boredom.

With my peripheral vision I dimly notice how she shrugs and shifts in place of her.

"It wouldn't be bad for you to agree to go out-"

"No," I interrupt him without changing my tone or taking my eyes off my own business.

"Why?"

"Because I don't have time for those things, I already told you," I answered more wearily than ever.

I turn my attention away from the mobile screen to turn to see the monitor screen and then I take the mouse to click a few times and save the recently downloaded document in my personal files.

"You always say you don't have time," he began to remember like an insistent, complaining little boy. "I remember hearing the same thing the last five times I've asked you out. Even when we have a day off that matches our schedule."

"If I were you, I had dignity. I mean, out of respect for myself. If you already know that they will say no to you, then don't be a pain in the ass."

"You'll see, Celine. Someday you will tell me yes. I promise you," he says as if taking it for granted. "You will invite me, even if it is to have a little of what your coffee pot makes. I will not lose hope."

I do not stop to see the silly smile that I would surely have, because I am immersed in questions and answers about the game on my mobile and apart from that in the content that the document that I had just downloaded may have, placing another one at the start of the download and deciding to wait a little longer.

"My coffee pot is mine, you buy yours," I tell him, just as an attempt to scare him away.

But this one looked like a zombie, pushy as he could only be.

"What things do you download?"

"Books that I was ordered to," I lie.

"Can I order you books too?"

At that moment I turn to look at him, once again looking at his sapphire blue eyes with a childish shine, which look at me from under his thick eyelashes, under thick black eyebrows.

"Could you give me a moment alone?" I ask, still trying to be nice. "I need to focus and you're out there hovering around me."

This time he does seem to be bothered, but really, my patience is usually short. I then notice a new presence in the office and I immediately roll my eyes towards the entrance, seeing that someone has stopped under the threshold and is looking towards us.

I snort a very short laugh and lacking in its fullness of sense of humor, I look away from the blonde who is holding some folders in her hands and I keep paying attention to the game.

"Looks like somebody are finding you," I muttered sarcastically.

I notice that he turns towards the place and after becoming more uncomfortable, he stands up and calmly walks away from me, walking towards the door, towards the woman that we all knew there was giving him signals to pay more attention to her, of the no professional.

Yes, some blonde always trying to screw up my time and at the same time free me from what doesn't suit me. I already have a history with blondes and they almost always end up leaving me with a bad taste, a bad mood and a desire that I could have had the superpower to snap my fingers and make them disappear.

But the positive thing is that she took it with her, now I have more privacy to return to what required privacy, I turn back to the screen to see that the second document, because it is lighter, downloaded more quickly. Well, these two will be enough for me, I'll have reading for two or three nights, during which I have to stay on special duty at the barracks.

I open the first one and I find a lot of protocol lines, in which they describe the university institution and prosecutor's offices in which the holders who created the report work, among other mentions that I read quickly, because I want to start digging deeper into a subject that has been circling my head like crows, since I started in this world of weapons and black uniforms.

I manipulate the mouse and go down to the next page, reading introductories, until I get to his name. To the name of the most wanted man currently in all of Spain.

Joshua Park. A renowned mobster, leader of extortionist gangs, white-collar thieves who used to operate on the low profile. But not far from the knowledge of police institutions and official criminal investigation bodies; among which was me, waiting for the moment to cross the line and go for that son of a bitch.

Six years ago.

"Hello?" I said aloud that time, when night had just fallen.

I rang the bell for the fourth time, repeated. Then I dropped my hand, still holding the folders under my arm and trying to see into my teacher's property, through the cracks in the white fence; but beyond what you could see was a closed varnished wooden door and the internal lights off, just the outside bulb, which was facing the porch, was the one that was working at that moment.

I turned to the motorcyclist, who at some point had gotten off his motorcycle and was now only leaning on it, with one foot in front of the other and his arms crossed over his chest, with that inexpressive and indifferent gesture that always characterized him, looking at me.

I was mesmerized by that fixed, dark, slightly Asian-shaped gaze that was watching me; I don't know when he had taken off his helmet, now all of him was a bright enough glow for what my poor adolescent mind could bear, his lips were properly full, his nose neither too big nor too small, just a nose that It wasn't pretty or ugly, but it matched his fairly androgynous face. I also looked at his hair, at that time it looked quite dark, but the light left by the nearest streetlights made some chocolate-colored reflections flash from it, I supposed then that it would be him real color, possibly more noticeable in daylight.

"Is it the first time you get on a motorcycle?" He asked quietly, seriously, without blinking.

Him, with his power to snap me back to reality. I blinked. But he remained unperturbed.

I looked down to the side.

"No." I looked at him again.

"How long ago was the last time?" he inquired.

Wow, he had a very beautiful voice, enveloping, soft, but at the same time serious and very manly. I began to remember where I had heard a similar voice before, and I knew that it was never, it was the first time-well, I think I had heard one that resembled it, but it was only once and a long time ago, on a radio program of romantic themes, the announcer had a voice more or less like that, but not the same as his. His was perfect.

"You do not want to answer?" He asked, him voice turning to knock me back to the present.

"Uh-no-I mean," I blinked. "Yes." I looked away, already his gaze was disturbing me, he had barely blinked once while he was looking at me. "I-I think it was-when I was four years old. My uncle used to walk me," I agreed. "Yes."

He didn't even nod, didn't raise his eyebrows or move his lips for what seemed like an eternity, he just looked at me.

"I understand," he murmured neutrally.

"Yes," I said again, looking this time towards the street busy with some vehicles, only to not meet his eyes for a while.

"What do I understand?" He said again and I turned around.

"Huh?" I said.

"Are you always distracted?" He asked and I also wondered the same thing.

But I quickly looked for an excuse not to look like a fool.

"It's not that." I shrugged slightly and blinked at the street behind him. "It's just-the cars that went by didn't let me hear what you were saying."

"I said I understood," I assumed he repeated.

I kept looking at him, noticing the small shadows that took place on one side of his face from the perspective of the light from the closest streetlights that managed to partially illuminate him.

"Understand what?"

I muttered, looking at the eye that could be seen, the shadow covering the other, while I continued to be completely exposed to the light of the streetlight on my forehead.

"The reason why you spent all the way making me watch that you didn't fall, you keep your body very tense and sometimes unbalanced."

I blinked and stared at him, wondering if the pilot could really feel that, even if whoever was behind him hadn't or was having any contact with him.

"I'm not very used to it."

"I know," was what he said, before nodding minimally.

I didn't say anything else and all embarrassed for having given the first impression of me the reason so that I can easily seem stupid, I turned around and raised my hand again towards a high place on that wall, to be able to ring the bell again .

"Unless he's inside, passed out or possibly dead, I think the house is without any living presence. It's not worth insisting."

I turned towards him.

"Sure," I agreed, lowering my gaze reflexively. "If you already need us to go, well, let's go."

I got to thinking that I had no hope of passing those last tests anyway, because he hadn't been able to turn in those written assignments on time; Perhaps the teacher said the specific time in which to send him such an assignment, but Clara would have thought of mentioning it to me.

"I'm not saying it for myself, I can be here all night," he spoke again, with that calmness that sometimes made me feel unnecessarily upset, even though I probably wasn't. "I say this for you and your time. It's already time for dinner and it's getting cold. How long do you plan to wait?"

Well, I hadn't really thought about that either.

"I-" I looked down again. I think I can wait a little longer, maybe the professor went out there and plans to return soon. It's just that-" I took the three folders together with both hands and carefully put them in view "I must deliver this, or my final grade for this subject will be in jeopardy. I can't afford that," I muttered, looking down as I imagined that I really failed.

I noticed that he stirred a little.

Finally.

I was almost beginning to believe that he would stay as a human statue.

A perfect statue that would pay tribute to the glam rock style.

He uncrossed him arms and straightened up a bit more, standing tall and looking to the side absently as she pushed back the lapels of his jacket and shoved him hands into the pockets of him whitish-blue jean.

From my perspective, I could see that even though the pants weren't very tight, that him legs were moderately thick, as if he were training, but I immediately looked away to look at him face, which now because of the position he had, the light did shine on him. All over his face, illuminating an attractiveness that left me wondering whether or not it was true that beauty can reach higher levels, so high as to border on divinity and the unreal, because there he was, being so ethereal and perhaps ghostly, that I was just an ugly woman trying to observe him while he didn't notice.

"Can you wait for me here?" he asked.

I was stunned.

"Are you going to-leave me alone" I looked around with a little fear, "here?"

"I won't go very far," he said quietly, glancing back at her jauntily. "I'll leave you the bike."

I looked at the motorcycle.

'As if I could do anything with that'. I thought. I didn't even know how to drive one, well-at least I knew how to do it with bicycles, I imagined it wouldn't be much different. Although he wasn't leaving me the key anyway.

I didn't answer anything, I just stared at him, when he, without intending to ask me for any permission, left calmly, along the same sidewalk we were on while I looked at his bearing. He was quite tall, at least a head taller than me, and I was five foot seven and his back was a little broad, almost even with the width of his hips.

I rolled my eyes at the bike again, he had left the helmet, while I continued carrying mine, I had forgotten to take it off and I felt the redness on my face from the shame of imagining how I must have looked all this time.

I just took it off, uncomfortable knowing that two hours had already passed and still no one left the teacher's house, it was starting to get cold and I looked at the screen of the phone shell that I had, neither of my parents had called me, it was weird, maybe they thought that I was about to come back home. I put the cell phone back in my pants pocket and a little hampered by having so many things in my hands, I went to put the helmet on one side of the other, no way, I wasn't going to leave it on the pavement.

But I got distracted by the size of the helmet he had left there, so tired of insisting so much on the entrance to my teacher's house, I decided to put the folders carefully aside on the motorcycle and take the helmet in my hands.

It weighed a little, more than the one I had carried, and it was noticeably bigger. I turned it around, looked at it from various positions, and finally became curious as to what it smelled like inside. To make his hair so beautiful, I supposed that this man would have to apply a lot of creams, no one would make a magically shiny, abundant and soft-looking mane without first going through a treatment for it; then I poked my face through the indicated hole, breathing in briefly, little by little, sniffing like a cat recognizing things.

And well, yes, it did smell something. A masculinity, but possibly it was a shampoo, although I wasn't sure, the aroma that was there was moderately different from the perfume that I could perceive on the way. So yes, possibly it was some hair soap or it could be some styling cream.

I stood there, like a fool, with my face sticking out of the largest opening in the helmet, closing my eyes and sniffing the inside carefully, closing my eyes to memorize that alluring scent, I was never going to forget it. I imagined that one day I could even pass over it, my hands over his hair to confirm whether or not it was as soft as it looked.

"What are you doing?" I heard him velvety voice ahead of me and almost at the same time thunder in the sky.

I immediately pulled my face out of the helmet and looked at him, stunned, watching his face still expressionless, as if he wasn't surprised by my attitude, but was expecting some response.

And if before I had felt a little ashamed for something, now I felt triple; he had found me doing with his helmet what an alley cat does with a garbage bag, my face nearly falling off in embarrassment. And I don't know what worried me more; what he might think of me or what the sky threatened to rain down on us; the second option might be just as bad as the first.

But he was still there, waiting for some answer from me, and I kept looking at him, like a scrawny stray cat caught in the headlights of a car in the middle of the road.