Until one day, upon leaving the library, he found me again.
"Always alone?" he asked, dropping the cigarette butt and crushing it under the sole of his boot.
"I prefer being alone to being in bad company," I replied, braver than I felt.
He chuckled softly.
"Touché. But it's not always bad to have company, you know?"
"What do you know about good company?"
He stepped closer. I could smell the smoke on his denim jacket, but also his cologne, a strong and sweet mix that I found strangely pleasant.
"More than you think, Philosopher."
And without warning, he put his hands in his pockets and walked away as if nothing had happened.
*****
That was the dynamic for the following weeks. Martín appeared when I least expected it. He spoke to me without warning, always with that relaxed attitud
