Chapter 15 The Siege and the Other Shore

MERCEDES

The cloister at San Griselmo is a freezing wind tunnel this morning. I walk quickly, clutching the curriculum drafts tightly to my chest, desperate to reach the warmth of my office. But before I can reach the wooden staircase, a figure steps directly into my path.

Dr. Clara Leguina stands there in a wool coat so dark a blue it looks black. She cradles a steaming mug of coffee in her ring-laden hands, offering a smile that doesn't reach her eyes.

"Mercedes. What a coincidence," she says, her sharp, calculating eyes sweeping over my gray suit before lingering on the faint tremor in my fingers. "You looked terribly distracted during yesterday’s seminar. Your student, Miss de la Vega, did too."

Ice shoots down my spine, but I keep my chin up, forcing my academic mask into place.

"The seminar was demanding, Clara. It's only natural we’re tired."

"Of course, of course," she murmurs, taking a slow sip from her mug.

"Though some kinds of exhaustion look like.

.. something else entirely. The dean told me your trip to Salamanca was incredibly productive.

Still, someone in the department mentioned seeing the two of you walking near the cathedral late at night. In the fog."

My heart hammers violently against my ribs. The air freezes in my lungs.

"We had last-minute revisions to make to our presentation," I lie, my voice dropping to a chill that almost sounds steady. "There’s nothing unusual about two academics using the quiet of the night to get work done."

"Naturally." Clara steps closer, invading my space, her stale mint breath hitting my face.

"I'm only telling you this as a colleague, Mercedes.

San Griselmo is a very small world, and rumors travel faster than divine grace.

It would be a tragedy if a career as brilliant as yours were tarnished by.

.. a lapse in judgment. After all, the purity of the faculty must be as unquestionable as the doctrine itself. "

She turns on her heel with a sharp swirl of her coat, leaving me alone beneath the stone arches.

I press a hand against the damp stone pillar, drawing a shaky breath. The walls of this university are closing in like a cell. They are watching me. Clara knows. And if I make one wrong move, the abyss will swallow both of us whole.

Claudia

The sound of Javi’s suitcase zipping shut echoes through the empty living room like a gunshot.

Javi stands by the front door. A gray canvas duffel bag and a single cardboard box filled with his books are all that remain of the months we’ve shared here. The quiet fury from last night is gone, replaced by a hollow, heavy sadness that breaks me far more than any screaming match ever could.

"That’s everything," he mutters, shoving his hands into the pockets of his hoodie. "I left my keys on the counter by the door."

"Javi, I'm so sorry. I never wanted it to end like this." Tears burn my eyes, heavy with a crushing weight of guilt. He has been good to me. Honest. And I have completely shattered his world. "I'm so, so sorry."

Javi looks at me with a painful sort of pity. He takes a step closer, but he doesn't touch me.

"I know you are, Clau. I don't think you're a bad person," he says, his voice cracking.

"But you're already gone. You've been looking at me like a stranger for weeks, and honestly.

.. I don't think you even understand what's happening to you yet.

I don't hate you. But I can't stay and watch you fall apart for someone who will never, ever stand up for you in public. "

He grabs the handle of his bag, gives me one final look filled with a tenderness that no longer belongs to me, and walks out. The click of the door closing behind him signals the absolute end of my safe life.

Two hours later, the Madrid rain is hammering against the windows of La Fídula, a dim, tucked-away bar in the Barrio de las Letras. The smell of old wood, draft beer, and the low hum of a jazz melody try to dull the storm raging inside me.

Across the small wooden table, my friend Lucía watches me as she swirls the ice in her drink.

"Babe, you’re a mess," she says, her brow furrowing with worry. "When you called and said Javi left, I couldn't believe it. You two were the perfect couple. What happened? Was it really just growing apart?"

I bury my face in my hands. The warmth of the wine we've been drinking is finally starting to loosen my tongue.

"I don't know, Lucía..." I whisper, the tightness in my chest suffocating me.

"I feel like I'm losing my mind. Everything I thought was safe is just... gone. There’s this pull, this fixation on someone who should be completely off-limits.

Someone untouchable. I spend all day thinking about her—the way she moves, the way she talks to me.

I can barely breathe unless I'm in her office.

It's an obsession, and it’s killing me."

Lucía blinks, processing my words. She leans across the table, dropping her voice. "Wait... did you say her? Claudia, are you talking about a woman?"

My stomach does a violent flip. It is the first time I’ve ever said it out loud, outside the confines of my own head. The sheer panic of my own truth paralyzes me.

"I... I don't know what I am, Lu. I’ve never looked at a woman like this before. But with her, all my logic just turns to ash. It's like I finally woke up from a dream I've been living my whole life, and now the real world terrifies me."

"Hey, it's okay," Lucía reassures me, reaching out to squeeze my hand. "But you have to be careful. In that conservative faculty of yours, they will ruin your life if they suspect anything."

I wave over the waitress for another round, desperate to swallow the knot tightening in my throat.

The waitress steps up to our table. I haven't noticed her until now.

She is our age, with dark hair cut into an effortless shag, incredibly sharp hazel eyes, and a collection of silver rings that clink against her metal tray.

Wearing an oversized black t-shirt, she radiates an easy, guiltless sapphic confidence that leaves me completely fascinated.

She belongs to an entirely different universe—the exact opposite of the rigid walls of San Griselmo.

She sets our drinks down with slow, practiced movements. Her eyes linger for a brief second on my damp cheeks and smudged mascara.

"Here you go," she says. Her voice is low, warm, and smooth. "Sorry to overstep, but... I caught some of that from the bar."

I tensed up, terrified she is judging us, but she gives me a small, incredibly warm smile. It carries a quiet understanding that completely disarms me.

"The first time the mold breaks, it's terrifying," she adds, holding my gaze with an intensity that makes me blink. "But trust me: it's a lot easier to breathe outside the rules. Don't let anyone convince you that what you're feeling is wrong."

She turns to attend to another table, leaving me completely speechless. I watch her walk away, her stride easy and unbothered, feeling a tiny spark ignite in the middle of my darkness.

"Wow," Lucía murmurs, raising an eyebrow as she watches the bar. "I think she just read your mind, Clau. What did her nametag say? Valeria, right?"

"Yeah," I whisper, taking a sip of my fresh drink. For the first time, I realize the crack in my wall isn't just letting in fear. It's letting in the promise of a freedom that, sooner or later, I will have to be brave enough to claim.