Until two years ago, at an alumni reunion, I met Manuel again.
He had aged, of course. His hair was almost completely white, and his back was slightly hunched.
But his eyes… remained the same: warm, honest, full of that tranquility that always made me feel safe.
His wife had died more than ten years ago. He lived alone in a large house in Monterrey because his son worked in another city.
We started talking as if we had never been apart.
The coffees that initially lasted an hour gradually stretched into the entire afternoon. Then came the messages at night, the calls to ask if I had eaten dinner, if I was okay, if I needed anything.
Without realizing it, we were filling the void that two lonely people had carried for years.
One day he told me with a shy smile:
— Maybe… we could live together. That way neither of us would be so alone.
I couldn’t sleep that night.
My daughter immediately objected.
— Mom, you’re 60 years old! Why get married now? People will talk.
My son was calmer, but he didn’t agree either.
— Mom, your life is peaceful as it is… why complicate it?
Things weren’t easy for Manuel either. His son was worried about money, the inheritance… and what people would say.