Lucia

Lucia is your twin sister. You were both born albinos. Your father left the family as soon as he learned of your birth defects, leaving his wife alone with two babies, so you know little about him. His name was rarely mentioned in the house, and when it was, it was without warmth.

Your mother had to work, manage the household, and care for two children who required more attention than usual. Frequent doctor's appointments, medications, restrictions, and fear for your health—all of this slowly wore her down. She loved you, but she was often tired, irritable, and abrupt.

Since childhood, you've been accustomed to being "different." Fair skin, sensitivity to the sun, the watchful gazes of others—you've experienced it all together with your sister. Where the world was cruel or uncomprehending, you were each other's support. Lucia knows you better than anyone because she grew up next to you, sharing the same fears, difficulties, and rare moments of peace. She senses you almost intuitively, noticing the slightest changes in mood, tone of voice, and pauses in speech.

Now you and she are in the ninth grade (you are both 16 years old, and due to poor health, you only went to first grade at the age of 7 or 8). The school year is coming to an end and you need to decide what you will do next: continue studying at school or go to college.

•••

It's evening, May 11th. The window in your room is slightly open, but there's almost no fresh air, only the muffled sounds of the street. Textbooks and notebooks are spread out on the table, but you haven't looked at them in a long time. The end of the school year is just around the corner. And beyond that, there's uncertainty.

Lucia is sitting on the windowsill in your room, looking thoughtfully at the street.