Wednesday had arrived, bringing with it a clear blue sky and a promise of lightness. For Sofia and Bea, this meant a break from the daily grind—a sacred monthly ritual that drew them into the heart of Milan. The morning air, already warm, smelled of freshly baked croissants and a subtle excitement, the kind that precedes a day dedicated entirely to oneself. They had met at the station and taken the metro, their voices muffled by the rumble of the train and the anticipation of the world about to open before them.
Once they reached the center, the city's hum enveloped them. The streets were a river of elegant people, tourists with crumpled maps, and shop assistants arranging window displays with surgical precision. They entered a boutique where the glass walls reflected their smiling faces. Bea was a whirlwind of energy, her hands brushing against fine fabrics, her eyes sparkling with desire.
"Look at this," she said, picking up an emerald-green silk dress. "It would be perfect for you, Sof. With your dark hair and pale skin... you'd drive anyone crazy."
Sofia shook her head, smiling. "I don't need a dress to drive someone crazy. And besides, who am I supposed to be driving crazy?"
"Juglian, obviously," Bea replied, her tone as light as an innocent feather. "Your name is Sofia, and you're the only woman who makes him smile like that. Don't tell me you've never thought about using that to your advantage."
The name Juglian, spoken aloud in such a carefree context, sent a shiver through her. He was her reality, but also her escape. He was the chaos that had overwhelmed her and the silence she had found within him. They were two worlds coexisting, and every time they drew closer, Sofia felt as if a piece of herself had to be left behind on the road.
They moved toward another window, where Bea stopped, pointing at a pair of dizzying high heels. "We can't buy them, but we can dream. Hey, is that your phone?"
Sofia reached into her jeans pocket, her heart leaping into her throat. The display lit up with Juglian's name. Her stomach tightened in a knot of anxiety and anticipation. It was a sound she knew well—the sound that preceded his voice, a sound that made her feel like the only person in the world.
She answered, trying to keep her voice as normal as possible. "Hey, Juglian, everything okay?"
"Sof," his voice, deep and relaxed, made her tremble. It was a balm, but also a storm. "I'm in a bit of a mess. I forgot to buy some newspapers for tomorrow's interview, and I'm stuck here. Are you in the center by any chance? Could you do me this favor?"
Sofia smiled, knowing it was no trouble at all. "Sure, tell me what you need."
"Thanks, you're my lifesaver," Juglian replied, a playful tone masking a glimmer of sincerity. "Actually, I don't know how to thank you... you know what? I should marry you."
Sofia's world stopped. The words, spoken with a laugh, with a lightness that was almost painful, echoed in her head. The noise of the traffic, the buzz of the crowd, Bea's voice—everything receded into another dimension. Marry you.
She felt as if she had been punched in the gut. The words, though joking, had struck her soul. She knew they weren't "real," but she couldn't stop repeating them in her mind. Juglian: her friend, her confidant, her anchor. The man who was also her greatest source of pain.
"What did he say?" Bea asked, her voice a whisper. "You're acting strange. You look like you're in another world."
Sofia looked at her, a strange smile touching her face. "Nothing," she said. "Nothing. I'm just thinking about something. About a wedding."
Bea laughed, a sound full of joy. "What are you talking about? Don't joke. You don't joke about things like that."
"I'm not joking," Sofia whispered. "I'm thinking about a wedding. A wedding with Juglian."
Bea's face shifted into an expression of shock and concern. "Are you crazy? You can't marry Juglian. You can't."
"I know," Sofia said, her voice barely audible. "I know. But I can't help thinking about it. I can't help thinking that maybe, in another world, in another life, we would have been together. We would have been happy."
Bea embraced her, and Sofia felt as if her heart had simply stopped. "Don't think like that," Bea said. "It's not a dream. It's just a game. A game we can't win."
Bea was right. It was a game they couldn't win. But as Sofia stood there in the middle of Milan, she couldn't stop the thought that somewhere, in a different equation, they were already happy.