The ringing in my ears gradually subsides as I blink away the haze, the world around me slowly coming back into focus. The feeling of Marcel’s hand on my shoulder is a distraction, and after a moment, I find it in me to look up at him, seeing him standing beside me, a glint of concern in his eyes despite the stoic mask he attempts to wear. It’s only then that I register the wet tears on my cheeks, growing colder as the cold wind blows.
Embarrassed, I quickly bring my hand up to my face, concealed by the sleeve of my sweater. I wipe my face, ducking my head in a futile attempt to hide the evidence of my regret. I can’t let anyone else see me this way—vulnerable, weak.
Especially Guillermo.
It’s as though he was waiting for the perfect cue, hearing the sound of slow, deliberate clapping
