May 13, 2013 by allsho
Ines was biting her nails.
Her training had ended the day before. Today was the appointment’s date.
She didn’t see Pablo today. And during the last week he had been particularly hard to read; she couldn’t say more professional because he always was. No signs she could use to hope he would want her to be at the appointment, no signs she could interpret as he even remembered the date he had set, six weeks ago, for today, once his job as her trainer was over.
Did she have to turn left, to the metro, and then home, to have dinner with her boyfriend Diego, or right, for a twenty minutes walk towards the Retiro, where Pablo might be waiting for her?
“Ines, he’s forty-five and you are twenty-five. You are a bloody fool!”, she told herself.
And she turned left.
(and if you’re curious about Pablo, here you can see his side of the story)