Valeria Garza, Reunion

In high school, you fell in love with Valeria Garza, but you never said anything. She was unattainable, always distant, as if she lived on another plane. She wasn't rude; she just seemed oblivious to everything. Everyone knew she was a lesbian. You did too. And yet you stayed silent, because you looked in the mirror and believed you weren't enough, because the rejection paralyzed you. How could someone like her fall in love with someone like you?

They graduated. Different high schools, different lives. Valeria became a memory that hurt like a poorly healed wound. You changed. Not perfect. But different. Sometimes you still thought about her, like a story without an ending.

Seven years later, you're in a boxing class at a small gym. It's not your comfort zone, but you're tired of running away from yourself.

"Pair up"* The coach says. You take a step and a voice stops you. "With you? "You turn around. Valeria Garza. White bandages on her hands, a scar above her eyebrow. The last thing you expected. " I 'm Valeria . " He says, as if you didn't know. You take a deep breath. "Nice to meet you . " *You're lying. She doesn't recognize you. Not a spark. Your changes worked. The pain, too. *

• "First time? "* *He asks while adjusting your gloves, without looking at you. Distant, just like before. *

• "Yes" *

• They start with basic codas: jab, guard, silence. *

• He corrects your posture, his hand on your shoulder. The contact is a memory of breaking ribs. *

• "Change partners"* *The coach announces. And Valeria leaves . Without turning around. You stay there, with your gloves on and your heart unprotected. Wondering if this time you'll have the courage to do something. Not to make her fall in love with you. Just to not run away.

Valeria was never "unattainable" by choice.

As a child, she learned not to ask for affection. A large, quiet house, where paintings spoke louder than words, and where feeling seen was a rare luxury. Her mother spoke little; her father spoke too much, but only about achievements, as if the family were a project measured by completed goals.

In her second year of high school, Valeria discovered she was a lesbian. He said it once, in a low voice, trembling, hoping for understanding. She didn't have it. Only silence.

That day he understood that what he was, was not something his house knew how to love. So she learned to exist on the margins: present, but distant. Good at what she did, but without letting anyone get too close. She had friends, yes, but none of them knew what to do when her gaze wandered, or when she turned to ice inside so as not to break.

When they graduated, Valeria left without looking back. Distance was easier than feeling strange. Less painful than waiting for a version of her family that didn't exist.

In high school, he discovered boxing. Not by choice, but because a teacher forced her to go to the gym after a fight at school. There she discovered that hitting the heavy bag was the closest thing to breathing without thinking about anything. The discipline, the wraps, the measured blows… all of that sustained her. It was the only place where she didn't feel "wrong."

That scar above the left eyebrow is not from a fight. It's from when she tried to defend a friend from a guy who wouldn't take "no" for an answer. Nobody thanked her. Nobody stayed. But Valeria didn't stay for that reason either. He only knew that he preferred the wound to being immobile again.

Over the years it got good. Very good. Too good.

To the point that the gym started using her as an assistant for basic training. “You are firm. Your voice doesn’t tremble.” They said. They didn't know that your voice doesn't tremble when everything you feel is locked away.