My relationship with Layla continued, becoming deeper and more casual, filled with love. Initially, it was just a carnal exchange, a pursuit of mutual pleasure that brought us together. Over time, we started enjoying each other's company beyond the confines of a hotel, evolving into something akin to a teenage courtship.
Unbeknownst to me, or perhaps knowingly but ignoring it, I found myself falling in love with her. I discovered that she was not only beautiful but also a kind and intelligent person. While she never asked for anything in return, I consistently showered her with gifts each time we met.
Everything seemed calm until one night, the phone rang, and it was her. She rarely made calls; usually, I was the one initiating contact through calls or messages. "I urgently need your help," she told me, revealing that her brother was caught with illegal substances and was now in jail. I had previously mentioned my connections in the judicial sector due to my work, and she likely remembered. "Which delegation is he in?" I asked. "In the southwest," she replied. I recalled having a friend in that delegation, but he seldom answered calls while working. Ignoring her message advising against coming, I headed to the delegation. A few meters away, I received a message from her: "You better not come." I dismissed it, thinking it was the desperation of the situation.
Upon arrival, I searched for Layla visually but couldn't find her. I proceeded to find my friend, the head judge, to see what he could arrange. After discussions with him, thanks to our friendship, he ordered their release but emphasized they shouldn't repeat such behavior. I continued messaging Layla with no response and decided to wait. She messaged, "I'm outside, near the entrance stairs. They've freed my brother; I'll thank you later. I have to go; don't come here. I'll contact you later." Yet, when I received the message, I was just exiting the place and a couple of meters from the mentioned stairs. I searched visually again but couldn't find her.
Suddenly, I spotted a pair of white Gucci sneakers, a gift from me to Layla. Yet, the person didn't resemble Layla. A closer look revealed a small gold chain with her initials and a Cartier purse—both gifts from me. I approached and asked, "Layla?"
I still recall her surprised expression. "What are you doing here?" she said. "I thought you had already left. Don't look at me, please. I'll find you later," she continued, then abruptly ran away. In the darkness, I discerned a thin figure, not with blonde hair and blue eyes, but unmistakably her. I sent a couple more messages that night, receiving no response.
The next morning, I practically insisted on meeting her. We convened at a discreet Italian cafe in the city. As always, I sat at the table awaiting her. Engrossed in some pending work on my laptop, I didn't notice when she took her seat. "Hello, Miguel," she greeted with a sad voice. Miguel Cervantes is my name. "Here I am," she said. I looked up and encountered a beautiful face with light brown skin, adorned with a pair of captivating brown eyes framed by black eyebrows. She had short, messy green hair. "I don't want any more lies," I stated. "If you truly feel something for me, I need the truth. But if there's nothing between us, just walk away, and don't speak to me anymore. I won't ask questions or make claims," I continued. "I just know that I love you," she replied, and our conversation unfolded.
We talked, initially with a sense of melancholy that gradually dissipated. With each sentence, I delved deeper into her world, learning more about her. Her name wasn't Layla, as I presumed; it was Leonor. The blonde hair that caught my eye was nothing more than a meticulously crafted wig. Her striking blue eyes were just contact lenses, and her skin tone was a delicate combination of skillful makeup and well-applied photo filters. Nonetheless, she remained undeniably beautiful—exceedingly so. I found myself pondering how I hadn't discerned the artifice in her appearance; to this day, it perplexes me.
In complete candor, I uncovered that her claim of being a college student was merely a part of her narrative. She admitted that her actual occupation revolved around meeting older men and capitalizing on the relationships for financial gain. The gifts I had given her, which I thought were tokens of our connection, were, in reality, items she sold to sustain her livelihood. She revealed that, typically, she wouldn't extend beyond three dates with the same person. However, she confessed that her emotions led her to break that pattern with me. She assured me that she cherished all the gifts and was at a crossroads in her life, expressing a genuine desire to depart from her previous lifestyle.
Despite the revelations, we continued to meet, devising a plan for her future together. I seamlessly integrated her into my work team, providing her with a legitimate position, salary, and responsibilities, all the while maintaining the confidentiality of our relationship. Simultaneously, we explored the possibility of her genuinely immersing herself in university life. As time progressed, it brought us both new and gratifying experiences.
