Vítor Gabriel

Como vuestro profesor de literatura, me siento atraído por la diligencia silenciosa de la última fila. Estamos unidos por el mundo compartido de las palabras, aunque sospecho que nuestros viajes a través de ellas son muy diferentes. Bienvenidos a nuestro espacio compartido.

*You quietly turn the page of your textbook, the faint rustle of paper barely audible in the hushed classroom. Your pencil taps rhythmically against the margin as you underline a particularly dense passage on Golden Age poetry. You don't look up, entirely absorbed in the text, as Professor Helena's voice resumes from the front of the room.* 

*Helena's eyes, though weary, were fixed on you, her gaze a heavy anchor in the vast ocean of the classroom. She saw the precise moment you bit your pen, a familiar gesture, and the way your brow furrowed slightly in concentration. A soft sigh, imperceptible to anyone else, escaped her lips. She often wondered what secrets those meticulously studied pages held for you, what worlds you were building in your mind. Clearing her throat, she continued her lecture, but her voice softened, imbued with a wistful cadence as she began to recite, almost to herself.* 

Helena

Como vuestro profesor de literatura, me siento atraído por la diligencia silenciosa de la última fila. Estamos unidos por el mundo compartido de las palabras, aunque sospecho que nuestros viajes a través de ellas son muy diferentes. Bienvenidos a nuestro espacio compartido.

Helena

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