Chapter Seven: Confusion.

After a week of knowing practically nothing about Patricia, the weekend looked boring. The girl had managed to make sure he didn't forget her; although Patricia didn't go unnoticed by Enric for obvious reasons, besides the intuition that seemed to alert him to her presence. On Friday, Don Aitor had told him to have all the notes ready for Monday, so he would have the whole weekend busy with extra work at home.

On Saturday, he took all the papers and went back to Retiro Park. That park, full of benches, was perfect for spending the day if the weather didn't ruin it, and luckily the weather was on his side that weekend. The portfolio, a handful of sheets of paper, several yellow note pages, and even some doodles penciled in the margins of each volume of the novels made up his notes. Maybe it was little, or maybe it was a lot, but he had barely forty hours to organize that chaos.

He even doubted whether to place the lead role as female or male because it was very balanced, and he searched through his notes for a slight idea that would make him lean one way or the other. And then there was the location for the outdoor scenes—where could he set it?

He got so nervous that he had to leave everything on the bench where he was sitting and stand up to contemplate it, take distance to observe it with perspective, and that had never happened to him before. It was two in the afternoon and he still had nothing. He took the sandwich he had brought and gathered all the notes before starting to eat it. As he chewed, he looked at the cover of the first novel, a beautiful drawing of a valley split in two by a trench and above it wings emerging from the center of the cover. He thought it would be a good idea to take one last look at the characters.

Around four in the afternoon, he had finished reading it. But just before closing it, he found a pair of women's boots in front of him and knew whose they were:

—Patricia!

—Working on a Saturday? —the girl took the book and flipped through it—. This isn't work.

Enric slightly frowned, clutched the book to his chest, and asked:

—Do you read that kind of book?

—Oh, I already told you, I read everything that falls into these hands, but I only read this type of novel once, I'm not interested in the drawing in particular. I leave that to other people.

—And have you read this one? —Enric showed her the other two volumes—. If you want, I'll lend them to you.

Patricia gave him a loud kiss on the cheek in thanks and sat down to read on the same bench as Enric and his papers.

Suddenly calm, the ideas seemed to organize themselves before his eyes. He felt serene, full of peace, and the idea for the script clearer than ever. The story, even if it ended, had a conclusion that seemed to announce a "Maybe" instead of a "The End." Something Enric had learned from reading that story was that no matter how much you love someone, if you love sincerely, you don't need to be with that person. Even if he had to read that darn graphic novel five times like he already had.

—Very beautiful story, it's well narrated and easy to read. It could have been written perfectly without leaving anything out.

—I'm already done, but I'm surprised you are too, you read fast.

—The dust jacket says it's a prequel to another story by the author —she raised her eyebrows and looked closely at where it was written—. I'm going to look for it and when I've read it, I'll lend it to you.

They went for another walk in the park. At one point, Patricia asked Enric for the portfolio and started reading it. When she finished, Enric told her about his boss's offer and she, as spontaneous as ever, offered to sing the backing vocals for the soundtrack.

—I don't think it's up to me, but if the theme catches on, I can suggest you, though I can't promise anything.

Time flew like a cheetah chasing its prey on the savannah, and that day reached nine at night without them realizing. Their meeting routine was that at the end they always had to take the metro and reach the transfer point to then say goodbye in opposite directions, and that day was no different.

When he got home, Enric was hungry and got ready to have dinner. He sat on the windowsill and watched people pass by while reminiscing about Barcelona with longing. Mainly, he remembered sporadic moments lived with Soraya and looked toward the shelf where he kept the girl's diary.

The next day he wanted to do something different. He had already finished everything related to what he had to deliver on Monday and had Sunday completely free. Then he remembered what Patricia had said the previous week and decided to learn a bit about the hidden hobby of the late Soraya.

He returned home at one-thirty with a quarter-sized binder and several plastic envelopes with stamps inside. He organized everything and placed it on one of the shelves. He was slowly filling it up, and he felt proud.

Monday looked like it wanted to rain, he took the umbrella and coat and got to the metro without having to open the device. Between the metro exit and work, he did have to use it, the wind blew the raindrops fiercely and at the foot of the building's door where he worked, the ribs bent and the umbrella became useless.

—On days like this, a raincoat is better than an umbrella, Enric! —Nieves suggested as she took hers off.

—I'll keep that in mind, Nieves, thanks —Enric gave a resigned smirk and headed to the elevator door.

He got to his desk and typed up all his notes on the computer. There was the usual weekly meeting and before leaving the room, Don Aitor said:

—The authors of the novel will come around three in the afternoon to finalize the project details.

—But wasn't production going to supervise it?

—They won't if the authors of the original story don't like what you've done!

Enric felt like a wall had been placed in front of him that he had to jump over, and for a millisecond he wished he hadn't accepted that assignment.