Before all of that, before him, before the mistake, there was Althéa.
The October sun was just rising over the gates of Saint-Hermès High School, gilding the cobblestones with a timid light. The air smelled of yesterday's rain, damp paper, and the coffee teachers sipped from their plastic cups. Catarina walked slowly, a book clutched to her chest like a shield.
A new student. Again.
She had known many first days, turned faces, whispers stifled as she passed. The children of wealthy families always seemed to look alike: polite, beautiful, untouchable. But Catarina wasn't untouchable. She didn't want to be seen. She just wanted to pass.
The bell rang, cutting conversations short. Catarina looked up at the Terminale 2 classroom sign, took a deep breath, and entered. The hum of voices softened, almost curious.
"You're new?" asked a blonde girl, nonchalantly chewing gum.
Catarina nodded."Catarina."
"Althéa," the girl replied with a smile.
"You can sit here if you want."
She pointed to the seat next to her, at the back. Catarina hesitated for a second, then sat down. Althéa gave her a smile like a ray of sunlight too strong for the morning. She wore an oversized sweater, her bracelets jingled with every movement, and her perfume smelled like sweet flowers, at least to her.
Catarina thought: She probably talks a lot.
And she was right.
"So, where were you before?"
"Another school."
"Yeah, I figured," Althéa laughed. "But where exactly?"
"London," Catarina whispered.
"Wow, seriously? That's so cool. I've never left here. Well, I've traveled in my head, but that doesn't count."
Catarina gave a small smile. She wanted to say something clever, or at least funny, but her words often disappeared before leaving her lips. Althéa, on the other hand, spoke for both of them. And it was surprisingly comforting.
In the following days, they kept sitting side by side. They hadn't promised anything, hadn't "chosen" each other, but it was as if something silently tied them together. Catarina listened. Althéa filled the gaps. And in those silences, they understood each other better than anyone else.
One Tuesday afternoon, the sky had darkened, and the halls smelled of wet chalk. Catarina doodled absentmindedly in the margins of her notebook. Althéa, beside her, blinked rapidly, clearly bored by the philosophy class.
"You seem somewhere else," Catarina murmured without looking up.
"I'm always somewhere else," Althéa sighed. "But you too."
"Me?""You've got that look… like you're seeing something no one else can."
Catarina looked up, surprised by the accuracy of the statement.
"Maybe."
"I bet you've got a tragic story," Althéa added, doodling a heart on her page.
"Or just a normal life."
"No interesting person has a normal life," Althéa declared theatrically.
Catarina laughed softly. That laugh, it was the first one she'd had in a long time.
They started having lunch together. Under the tree at the back, away from the cafeteria noise, they shared chips, tiny secrets, and ridiculous theories about the people passing by.
"Look at him," Althéa said, pointing at a boy with her chin. "I'm sure he writes sad poems in the bathroom."
"You're awful."
"Realistic," she corrected with a wink.
Catarina studied her. There was a certain energy in the way Althéa existed: free, luminous, almost insolent.
One day, after school, the rain caught them. They ran to the bus stop, laughing under their soaked bags. The wind whipped their hair, the rain plastered their clothes, but nothing seemed serious.
"You're completely crazy!" Catarina shouted.
"And you're way too serious!"
"Maybe."
"That's why I like you," Althéa concluded. "You're like a walking mystery."
Catarina lowered her eyes, a little shaken. No one had ever said that to her without irony.
Weeks passed, and their bond grew without them noticing. They sent messages at two in the morning, screenshots of sad songs,
"Did you see the sky tonight?" They talked about everything and nothing. Imaginary loves, wild dreams.
"I want a love that scares me," Althéa said.
"Love always scares," Catarina replied.
"You talk like you've already loved."
"Not yet."
"Doesn't seem like it."
A long silence.
"Impossible."Althéa burst out laughing.
"Then like all the good things, I guess."
That night, after hanging up, Catarina felt her heart beat a little too fast.
One morning, they had to present on "Truth and Lies." Catarina quoted a line from Wilde. Althéa yawned, then added:
"Truth is what we're afraid to tell those we love."
"Not bad," Catarina replied.
"It's a gift. You can write it in your mystery notebook."
Catarina laughed again. And that day, she knew Althéa had become her best friend. No words, no promises. Just that quiet certainty, settling like a breath you forget to hold.
One Friday, after class, they stayed on the bench, watching the leaves fall.
"Do you think we choose the people we love?" Althéa asked suddenly.
"No."
"Me neither. That's the worst part."
Catarina looked up. Althéa smiled, but her eyes were sad.
"Is there someone?"
"Maybe," Althéa answered vaguely.
"And you?"
"Not yet."
"Are you sure?"
A silence. Then:
"Too sure, actually."
Althéa laughed, thinking of a lie. Catarina felt a shiver run up her spine. Their friendship was born in the spaces between things: between laughter, confessions, and unspoken words.
Althéa knew nothing of Catarina's life, not really. Not that she came from a wealthy and famous family. Not that her mother wrote songs under a pseudonym everyone knew. She only knew that Catarina loved black coffee, misty mornings, and poetry books. And that was enough.
Catarina, on her side, never asked about Althéa's home. She just said she lived "with her dad." He was often absent. But her eyes sparkled when she spoke of him, as if she owed him her light. And Catarina, without knowing why, loved that light.
One day, as the sky turned pink, Althéa said:
"You know, I feel like I knew you before."
"Before what?""Before everything. Before life."
Catarina stayed silent. Maybe she felt the same, without being able to explain it. As if their paths had already been traced, long before they stepped here. The wind blew hard, carrying their laughter. And in the reflection of the bus window, they almost looked like sisters.
They didn't yet know that this friendship was a tightrope over an abyss.They didn't yet know that, in the years to come, every burst of laughter would carry a shadow.
For now, there was only this: a meeting. Two lives brushing past each other without understanding why. Two souls drawn together, unaware of what they would awaken.
In the golden light of that late afternoon, Catarina simply thought that some people arrive in our lives as an answer we never asked for.