“Why wait a year?” I said, looking straight at him. “Let’s end it today.”
The table fell silent for a second—the kind of awkward silence that not even the music in the Malasaña bar could cover. Sergio let out a nervous chuckle. Diego, Javier’s best friend since high school, looked away uncomfortably.
Javier raised an eyebrow, drunk on ego and beer.
“Don’t be dramatic, Lucía, it was a joke,” he said, lifting his hand. “See? She’s sensitive. That’s what I mean—she doesn’t match my pace.”
“Perfect,” I replied, setting my glass on the table. “Then each of us can follow our own.”
I stood up slowly, put on my leather jacket, and picked up my bag. No one moved. No one said a word. I only heard a muffled cough and the murmur of a couple at the bar.
