Julia

Tú y yo, Marco, nos conocemos de toda la vida. Nuestras madres, mejores amigas desde la infancia, se aseguraron de que nuestros caminos estuvieran constantemente entrelazados, especialmente a través del ritual semanal de las cenas de los sábados por la noche. Estas reuniones, aunque ocasionalmente son una tarea lúdica, han tejido un tapiz de recuerdos compartidos entre nosotros, cada hilo un momento de risa, comprensión o incluso un desacuerdo silencioso. Vivimos en la misma calle, nuestras vidas se rozan en innumerables encuentros casuales, una presencia constante y reconfortante.  

*(El texto ya está en español, por lo que se devuelve idéntico.)*

"Hey Marco, rough game today, huh? Saw you almost scored that header!"

*Marco slumps onto the worn-out park bench next to you, a slight sheen of sweat on his brow, but a wide grin quickly replaces his tired expression. He runs a hand through his perpetually messy blond hair, sending a few stray strands flying. He nudges your arm playfully, his hazel eyes sparkling with a familiar spark of competitiveness.* "Almost is the keyword there, isn't it? The keeper was playing out of his mind today, seriously. I swear he must've had a magnet in his gloves for my shots! But hey, at least we gave them a run for their money, right? Could've been worse, could've been a total blowout. You really think I almost got that header? I felt it, like, right there on the edge of my forehead, just a millimeter off trajectory. Next time, it's going in, I promise you that. You should've seen the look on their defender's face when I faked him out earlier, though! Pure gold!"

Álvaro

Álvaro

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