The emotional glow of the romantic movie lingered with them like a persistent perfume as Lysandra and Ruby returned to Thorne Mansion. The Tuesday afternoon sun was beginning to soften its intensity, and a gentle breeze rose from the sea, bringing with it the scent of salt and the promise of night. They had spent the rest of the afternoon in lighter conversation, exploring a few art galleries and enjoying artisanal ice cream near the lagoon, but the intensity of the cinematic emotions still floated between them.
Upon arriving at the mansion, however, an air of unexpected quiet greeted them. It wasn't the usual calm, but an absence. Agnes wasn't in the foyer with her welcoming smile, nor could the familiar bustle be heard from the kitchen.
On the hall table, a note written in Agnes's neat handwriting awaited Lysandra. With a knot of apprehension forming in her throat, Lysandra read it. Agnes's mother, in her small village पोलिसायची (in the interior of the peninsula), had fallen gravely ill. Nana had to leave urgently that very afternoon.
"Oh, no," Lysandra whispered, concern shadowing her face. The joy of the last few hours dissipated, replaced by genuine worry for the woman who had been a constant in her life, a second mother.
Ruby, seeing Lysandra's expression, drew closer. "What's wrong?"
"It's Nana," Lysandra explained, her voice tinged with sadness. "Her mother is very ill. She had to travel to her village." Immediately, she pulled out her phone. "I need to… I need to make sure she's alright, that she has everything she needs." She found Agnes's contact and, without hesitation, made a generous bank transfer, much more than Agnes would ever ask for. "A little extra money never hurts in these situations," she murmured, more to herself than to Ruby.
Agnes's departure, though understandable, left a void. Lysandra felt a bit adrift. It was then that her phone rang. It was Fernando.
"Little sister! How's the girls' day out going? Hope Ruby isn't corrupting you too much," he joked, though Lysandra could detect a tired note in his voice. "My meetings ran later than expected, but I'm on my way to the mansion now. I'm starving. Is there anything to eat, or has Nana already closed up shop for the day?"
"Fernando," Lysandra said, trying to make her voice sound cheerful. "Nana had to leave urgently. Her mother fell ill. But don't worry, Ruby and I were just thinking of ordering something from Uber Eats. Want to join?"
"Saved by technology! Of course. I'll be there in about twenty minutes. Order something hearty."
After hanging up with Fernando, Lysandra dialed Agnes's number.
"My child?" Agnes's voice on the other end sounded tired, but relieved to hear from her.
"Nana, I just read your note. How are you? How is your mom?"
"Oh, Lysandra, my old dear is delicate," Agnes replied with a sigh. "But I'm here with her now. Thank you for worrying so much, and for… well, for everything. You're an angel."
"It's nothing, Nana. You're the one who always takes care of us. Please, keep me informed. And if you need anything at all, anything, just call. I'm here for you, okay?"
"Thank you, my love. I love you very much. Give Fernandito a kiss for me."
They said goodbye, their hearts a little heavy. The house felt different without Agnes's warm, constant presence.
While they waited for Fernando and decided what to order for their late lunch/early dinner, sitting in the living room with the afternoon light filtering through the large windows, Lysandra found herself reliving fragments of the movie. The romantic scenes, the emotionally charged dialogue, came back to her with surprising clarity. She imagined herself in the protagonist's place, feeling that total surrender, that vulnerability, and that overwhelming joy of reciprocated love. What would it be like to feel that way? To allow herself to love with that intensity, without the barriers she herself had so carefully constructed? The longing she had felt in the cinema returned, more subtle but persistent.
Ruby, for her part, also seemed lost in her own thoughts, distractedly observing the garden as it grew darker. The movie had moved her more than she expected. And, almost inevitably, it had made her think of Fernando.
«Why isn't Fernando like that?» she wondered internally, a slight frown forming on her forehead. «He's passionate, yes, in his projects, in his ideas… even in our… connection. But the romanticism of those movies, those grand declarations, that constant tenderness… it's not his style. Is he just the typical Mexican macho who takes things for granted, who takes everything as if it were his, without needing embellishments or sweet words? A sort of modern conquistador who believes actions speak louder than a thousand poems?»
She remembered the way Fernando sometimes looked at her, with an intensity that made her pulse race, the possessive way he sometimes took her hand in public, as if marking an invisible territory. They were gestures of a self-assured man, confident in his attractiveness, his power. But they were rarely accompanied by those soul-melting words, those details that made movie heroines sigh.
«Was he raised that way?» her internal dialogue continued. «In a culture where a man's open expression of romantic tenderness is perhaps considered… a weakness? Or is he simply like that? As pragmatic in his emotions as he is in his constructions. He says he loves me, in his own way, I know. I feel it. But sometimes… sometimes one wishes for a little of that… cinematic poetry.»
She looked at Lysandra, who was gazing into the distance, probably also reliving a scene. She felt a wave of empathy for her. Both of them, in their own way, seemed to long for something that felt elusive.
The sound of Fernando's car arriving on the driveway pulled them both from their reveries. Real hunger was beginning to make itself felt, but also a different kind of hunger, a curiosity about the mysteries of the human heart, their own and others', which the afternoon (at the cinema) and life's circumstances had laid bare.