Weeks passed, and autumn slowly faded under an increasingly pale sky. The cold crept through the high school hallways, and Catarina got used to it. She had stopped being "the new girl." She was just Cata, the one people often saw with Althéa. Two inseparable silhouettes moving through the days as if they had always walked side by side.
One morning, Althéa arrived late, cheeks red, a wild strand of hair in her eyes.
"I ran, I thought I was going to die!"
"You're five minutes late," Catarina smiled
."Yeah, but I almost lost my flawless reputation."
"What reputation?"
"The one for being dramatic."
Catarina burst out laughing, a real, genuine laugh that made two students turn their heads. Althéa stared at her for a moment, surprised, then said lightly:
"Keep that laugh. It suits you better than your ghostly look."
From that day, Catarina tried to laugh more often. She didn't force it, but Althéa made everything easier. She had that way of speaking that made the world a little more alive, a little less heavy. And when she talked about her dreams of becoming a photographer or living by the sea, Catarina felt pulled into a life she wished she could have.
One Saturday afternoon, they met at the old café in the city center. The windows were foggy, the tables sticky, the music too soft. They shared a brownie and two hot chocolates.
"You know what I love about you?" Althéa asked suddenly.
Catarina looked up, wary.
"Tell me."
"You seem like you come from another world."
"And that's a good thing?"
"For me, yes. Everyone here looks the same. You… I don't know. Something broken but beautiful."
Catarina stayed silent, heart tight. Broken but beautiful. She would never have said it that way, but maybe it was true.
"And you?" she murmured. "What are you hiding behind your smiles?"
"Nothing. Or everything. It's the same."
A silence fell between them, neither awkward nor comfortable, just real.
Winter arrived faster than they had expected. Classes dragged on, fatigue set in, but they always found a way to meet. Sometimes in the library, sometimes on the gym roof, their "secret refuge." They watched the city fall asleep, the lights turn on, the trains rushing far away.
"It looks like everyone has somewhere to go," Althéa murmured
."And us?"
"We go into each other," she replied laughing, then added more seriously: "Well… into each other's lives."
Catarina nodded. That was better, yes. But deep down, she understood what Althéa meant: that feeling of having found a safe place, a person to breathe with.
One evening, Catarina suggested she come over.
"Just to work on history homework, promise."
"Do you live far?"
"Not that far. But we'll go another day, my dad works late right now."
Catarina didn't insist. She respected that silence Althéa kept around her family, like a forbidden garden. She had one herself: her own home, her often-absent parents, her twin brother studying elsewhere, and that solitude that followed her like a faithful shadow.
So they stayed in a small park, going over their notes between bursts of laughter. The moon rose behind the bare trees, and Catarina thought maybe the world wasn't so empty, after all.
One night, at two a.m., a message vibrated on her phone.
Althéa:Are you asleep?
Catarina:Trying.
Althéa:I think I'm going crazy. I'm afraid of failing my life before it even begins.
Catarina:You're not failing it. You're living it.
Althéa:Yeah, but sometimes I don't feel it. Like I'm just… an extra in my own movie.
Catarina:I get it.
Althéa:Do you think it's possible to really exist? Like… not just breathe?
Catarina:Maybe, with the right person.
A minute passed. Then:
Althéa:Then stay there. I think you're that person, for me.
Catarina stared at the screen for a long time, heart trembling. She didn't answer immediately. Then she simply wrote:
Catarina:Me too, Théa.
And that night, under the blue light of the phone, something sealed, a silent, fragile, beautiful pact.
A few days later, during recess, Althéa grabbed Catarina's hand without warning.
"Come on, I want to show you something."
They ran across the empty courtyard to the old shelter, pigeons flying away at their arrival. Althéa pulled a black marker from her pocket.
"What are you doing?" Catarina asked.
"We leave our mark. Look."
She wrote on the wall, in clumsy letters:
"Before we knew."
Catarina stared, intrigued.
"Before we knew what?"
Althéa shrugged."Everything. What comes next. The things we might regret. The people we might love too much."
Catarina gave a small smile.
"Poetic."
"I know. It's my dramatic side."
They laughed. But years later, when Catarina would pass that wall again, the word "before" would resonate differently.
At the end of the term, they promised never to lose sight of each other, even if life pulled them apart. They didn't yet know the world would bring them closer than they could imagine, for better and for worse.
That evening, before parting, Althéa hugged Catarina tightly.
"You're the first person I truly feel like myself with," she whispered.
Catarina stayed still, moved. She had never loved anyone like that, not romantically, but with an essential, almost vital love. A love that warms before it burns.
And when she went home, heart still beating from that embrace, she didn't know that this moment would become a memory she would replay over and over, when everything fell apart. Because sometimes, the greatest tragedies begin with a single shared laugh between two girls who just think they've found each other.