I was in the bedroom when I sent the message.
"Have you eaten yet?"
The phone stayed still in my hand for a few seconds. Long enough for me to stare at the screen as if I could rush the reply.
It took a while.
"I'll eat something as soon as I can."
I frowned.
"At the garage?"
The answer came almost immediately this time.
"I am. I'll talk to you later. I'm busy."
I stared at that last message for a while. It wasn't rude… it was just his way. Short, direct, as if everything had to fit into the smallest space possible.
I got up from the bed all at once and went to the kitchen.
Rosa was still there, organizing a few things, her apron hanging crooked at her waist.
— Rosa — I called, without really thinking. — Is there any lunch left?
She looked up right away.
— There is, yes. It's still warm.
— Vicente didn't eat — I said quickly. — I want to take it to him.
Her expression softened into a smile.
— Take it, of course. The thermal bag is in the first drawer by the counter.
I opened the drawer, grabbed the bag, and started filling the containers in a hurry. Rice, stew, some of the chicken. I closed everything, adjusted the strap on my shoulder, and headed straight for the door.
— Melissa — Rosa called.
I stopped.
— Do you know how to get there?
— I do — I answered too quickly.
Her gaze lingered on me for a second longer. It wasn't suspicion, but it was a question without shape.
In that moment, I knew I couldn't tell the truth. I couldn't explain that I'd already been there at dawn, running from people I didn't even know how to name. That the garage wasn't new to me.
— Vicente sent me the location — I added, adjusting the bag like someone adjusting an excuse.
Rosa nodded slowly.
— Be careful.
— I will.
I left before any other questions could surface.
The gate closed behind me, and I took a deep breath.
When I arrived at the garage, the metallic noise came before anything else.
Tools clanking, an engine open, a radio playing low on some station I didn't recognize. The place seemed bigger in daylight, less threatening, but still rough. The smell of oil, hot metal, and grease.
I saw Vicente before I noticed anyone else.
He was under a car, lying on that low mechanic's creeper… his body partially hidden, but unmistakable. One arm stretched out, a steady hand turning something invisible to me. That part was enough. I recognized it.
There were two other guys working on a car at the back of the garage, talking quietly to each other. I registered their presence just enough to know I wasn't alone. After that, my attention went straight back to Vicente.
I walked over and stopped a few steps away.
— You're going to have to eat something if you want to keep working like this — I said, trying to sound casual.
The creeper slid out with a short scrape. He pushed with his foot and emerged halfway from under the car. I felt his gaze before I fully saw him. Vicente was surprised. That was clear, but it wasn't only that.
His eyes traveled quickly from my feet to my face, attentive. When they reached my eyes, they stayed there.
— Did you come alone? — he asked. — Weren't you afraid of getting lost?
— If I got lost, I'd call you — I answered simply.
He braced himself on the floor and stood up. He was wearing a black tank top, clinging to his body with sweat. I saw his skin glistening on his back and chest, the slow movement of his muscles as he stretched, like he was only now remembering he existed outside the car.
He looked away too fast.
— Leave the bag in the kitchen — he said. — I'll wash up and eat.
I nodded.
I placed the containers on the narrow table and started organizing everything without thinking much. I opened the cabinet by the sink. Stacked plates, some chipped. I grabbed one and set it on the table. Cutlery, a glass.
I opened the freezer and found an ice tray. I dropped a few cubes into the glass and filled it with water. The clink of ice echoed loudly in that space.
That was when I felt his presence again.
I turned my head.
Vicente was standing there, in the doorway to the kitchen.
Shirtless… his hair wet, still dripping. His skin cleaner. He looked like he'd taken a quick, improvised shower at one of the garage sinks.
He startled slightly when he saw me.
— You're still here?
— I want to make sure you eat — I replied. — Then I'll take the containers back to Rosa.
He stayed silent for a second. He picked up a shirt, put it on without hurry, and sat at the table.
He pulled the plate closer, looked at the food, and started eating.
He ate in silence for a few minutes. I stayed there, leaning against the counter, watching the focused way he chewed.
I took a deep breath before speaking.
— I decided to stay.
His fork stopped halfway.
It didn't fall or make a sound… it just stayed suspended.
— I'm not going back to my mother's house — I continued, firmer now. — I'm going to enroll in a prep course downtown… and look for a job.
He lifted his eyes slowly until he was looking straight at me.
— I'll figure it out — I went on. — I have some money saved. Enough to get by for a while until I start working.
When I finished, silence filled the small kitchen again, until he spoke.
— Have you told her? — he asked.
I shook my head.
— Not yet… but she can't stop me. I'm an adult, and I'm not going back on this.
He nodded slowly, as if rearranging something inside himself.
— And… — I added, almost like I was asking permission — I'm going to need your help.
He frowned slightly.
— Rosa told me about the back room. The one that used to be yours. We're going to clean it, paint it… — I gestured, too animated for someone trying to stay calm. — It's going to be my room.
He looked at me for a long second.
— That room was mine — he said quietly.
I smiled.
— Now it's mine.
The corner of his mouth lifted into a restrained smile.
— I'll buy the paint, the cleaning supplies — I continued. — I'll do everything properly. And you help me organize it.
He nodded, still smiling shyly, his eyes following my enthusiasm.
— Alright — he said. — Tomorrow's Saturday, I'll help you get it sorted.
He went back to eating, as if nothing had happened.
But I saw it. It was as if that decision had touched something he wasn't used to touching.
And as I gathered the bag and the empty containers to leave, I felt more and more certain that staying was the right choice.