a Ana Cartelle
“the saddest thing is to be
a minute to someone,
when you’ve made them your
eternity.”
― Sanober Khan
Ana met Vladimir on a quiet afternoon near the Complutense University of Madrid, where she studied journalism and dreamed of telling stories that mattered. He was different—calm, observant, with a slight accent that made every word sound carefully chosen.
“¿De dónde eres?” she asked, smiling.
“De muchos sitios… but right now, I am just here,” he replied softly.
They began to meet often in Madrid, wandering through Retiro Park and sharing secrets that felt real, even if incomplete. Ana tried to show him the simple joys of her city.
“Tienes que probar esto,” she insisted one evening at Plaza Mayor, handing him a warm bocadillo. “Es un bocadillo de calamares. Es muy típico.”
He smiled faintly. “If you like it, I like it.”
Another day, over tortilla española in a small bar in La Latina, she laughed.
“Esto es lo mejor de España.”
He looked at her instead of the plate. “No… I think this is,” he said, pointing gently at her.
But sometimes, Ana felt lost in him. In Temple of Debod, watching the sunset, she whispered:
“¿Me quieres?”
He paused too long. “I… care about you.”
The answer lingered like a shadow.
One night, he surprised her. “Come with me to Moscow,” he said. “Let me show you my world.”
In Moscow, everything felt like a dream. They walked through Red Square, where the lights reflected in her eyes.
“Es precioso,” she said.
“It is not as beautiful as you think,” he replied quietly.
At Saint Basil’s Cathedral, she laughed, spinning like a child.
“¿Por qué eres tan serio?”
“Because I know how things end,” he answered.
Still, that night they wandered through Gorky Park, hand in hand, as if nothing else existed.
“Quédate conmigo,” she whispered.
“I wish I could,” he said.
The next morning, he was gone. No message. No trace.
Back in Madrid, Ana tried to forget, but confusion consumed her. Had he loved her? Had any of it been real? Days later, while watching the news, her heart stopped. His face appeared on the screen.
“Vladimir… agente ruso… muerto en una operación secreta.”
She felt the world collapse.
“No… no puede ser…”
In that moment, everything became clear. The distance in his eyes. The silence. The unanswered “I love you.” She had never been part of his life—only part of a mission, a fragment of a mysterious puzzle.
“He never loved me,” she whispered in English, as if the truth hurt less that way.
Ana stood alone in her apartment, the taste of tortilla española and distant Moscow nights still haunting her memory. She closed her eyes and wrote a poem:
“No volveré a enamorarme.”
I loved a man made of shadows and lies,
un hombre sin patria, sin verdad, sin final.
He held my hand but never my heart,
me habló de amor… sin saber amar.
In silent streets, I lost my way,
entre palabras que no quiso decir.
He left at dawn, without goodbye,
como un suspiro que no quiere vivir.
Now I remain, with echoes and pain,
con un recuerdo que no puedo olvidar.
For I was never the one he chose…
solo una historia que tuvo que usar.
Razón: Silueta con voz de mujer responde al nombre de la colaboración literaria mensual que la profesora del Grado en periodismo semipresencial, Ruth Amarilis Cotto Benítez, efectuará en Vuélcate. Se trata de una serie de relatos cortos que empoderen a las mujeres.
El logo de su colaboración ha sido cedido por el pintor Alejandro Conde. Se trata de su obra titulada Mujer con sombrero. Y este mismo pintor colabora con otras obras cedidas para ilustrar específicamente algunos relatos de la autora.
Temática: Amor.
Profesor: Ruth Amarilis Cotto.
Especialización: Filología Inglesa. Dpto. Ciencias Sociales (UEMC).
