Helen had settled into her mother's house. After leaving Renato's apartment, she had decided that the best course of action was to vanish for a few days, at least until he had departed.
She was in her old room, rummaging through the drawers for the first planner she used when she began working at her office, and laughed to see her own handwriting so misaligned. Fondly, she stroked the delicate pages and remembered how foolish she had felt in front of that handsome and stylish man who navigated her office with such confidence. After the interview, she was so nervous about having landed the job that she couldn't jot down a single word of what he was saying; she was lost in his lips. That's when she took her pen and inexplicably ended up sketching a dragonfly; moments later, she snapped out of her reverie, realizing she had not been paying attention at all—she had gotten lost in his clear eyes which suddenly stared directly into hers.
"Miss, do you understand what I'm telling you?" he asked, popping her bubble.
"Yes, perfectly," she lied, feeling her cheeks burn.
"All right, go make that call, I can't waste any more time. It's urgent."
"Yes."
Realizing she was in deep trouble once out of the office—not knowing whom to call or what to say—she gathered her courage and knocked on the door.
"Come in."
"Sorry," she said, eyes downcast.
"What's the matter?" He looked up from his computer, arching his perfect eyebrow.
"I must confess, I didn't take any notes. I don't know who I'm supposed to call, let alone what to say."
"You must be joking!" he exploded with anger, slamming the desk. "I spoke for twenty minutes and all you did was nod. What on earth were you writing in your notebook?"
"Just a doodle," she admitted, clutching her notebook.
"Well then, Miss Doodle, connect me with Mr. Smith at once. His phone number is in the company planner on your desk. Now, can you dial a number or is that asking too much?" he asked, irritated. "I'll sort this issue myself."
"I'll call him now," she replied sheepishly, and as she prepared to leave, he added,
"I believe you'll resign very soon; it will be a new personal record—you're incompetent, so I hope you have the money you owe me."
"It won't happen again; I'm just nervous."
"Well then, have some calming tea, maybe linden, something for the nerves, but get a hold of yourself and start working. Stop daydreaming."
"It won't happen again," she repeated, stunned by his accurate portrayal—it was precisely how she felt.
In her downtime, when she settled at her work station, she opened the notebook and completed the doodle with a crescent moon and smiled. It was perfect, ideal to be embodied in a painting, a mural, or perhaps a tattoo, if she ever braved the needles.
Helen left the building that day and went straight to a herbalist shop, buying several types of tea—apparently, her financial stability hung by a thread, and she was now indebted to her boss.
Immersed in these memories, she fell asleep and dreamt of him confessing his love, living together in a beautiful cabin in the woods with lovely children. But it was just a dream that would never become reality, and the sounds of knocking on her door awakened her.
"Sweetheart, it's late," her mother called insistently. "Time for breakfast."
"I'm getting up; it's Sunday."
"Helen, tell me what's wrong, why did you suddenly quit your job and come home in the middle of the night? Did someone harm you? Was it your boss?"
"Mom, it's nothing. I just got tired of being his secretary; tomorrow I'd have to fly to Germany and wouldn't see you for six months."
"Is he mad?" her mother exclaimed, startled. "You have a family, you can't just go off like that for work."
"That's why I resigned; he wouldn't take no for an answer."
"You did the right thing, sweetheart," her mother hugged her and kissed her forehead. "We'll find you another job."
"I have an interview tomorrow; I hope they hire me, and if not, don't worry, I have savings, and we'll make it through."
"What about your apartment?"
"I'm considering renting it out if I don't find a job; that would sustain us for a while, and meanwhile, I'll stay with you."
"That's an excellent idea."
"Now, let me sleep for one more hour; it's been three long years since I've rested."
"Okay, my child, sleep all you need. I love you," she whispered, her brow furrowed.
"I love you too," Helen turned over and fell asleep at once.
Helen's mother watched her daughter, knowing her child's face well—those lines under her eyes only formed when she had cried too much, which could only mean she had opened her heart to that man, and he had rejected her.
Helen woke up past noon, went to the bathroom for a shower, and as water ran down her body, she caressed her tattoo, remembering how the day before Renato had gently kissed her skin. She shuddered and instinctively ran her hands over her body, but the effect was not the same—his touch had transported her to a place beyond compare. Their bodies and souls had merged in a whirlwind of sensations she now longed to feel again, but she knew it was impossible; she would never see him again.
She knelt in the shower, clung to herself, and cried out loud, releasing her soul's anguish. She needed him and loved him so deeply that it hurt terribly—if only Renato weren't so cowardly, she was ready to teach him to love.
"Sweetie, are you alright?" her mother was worried, hearing her daughter's cries and fearing the worst. "Open the door."
"I'm fine," she replied through her tears. "I want to be alone."
"Helen, don't cry, everything will be okay, I know you're in love with that man, but he doesn't deserve your tears. You're beautiful, and you'll fall in love again soon."
"Mom, please, don't say anything. I just want to cry and get this out. He's leaving and I'll never see him again."
"Alright, sweetheart, cry as much as you need."
After the shower, Helen emerged in a bathrobe, finding her mother waiting in her room, simply embracing her like when she was a child and tucking her into bed. With great love, she stroked Helen's back until she fell asleep again.
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