Published: 2025-11-05

Her name was Daniela, she moved to New Town around a year ago. She was around 40 years old, I wouldn’t know exactly because I never asked her, and how could I? I get nervous around beautiful women, and Daniela was the most beautiful woman I had ever seen. Her hair was as black as the night; I always imagined it smelled like coconut. Her pale, wrinkleless face was the envy of other women, and her buttery smooth skin was the touch that added insult to injury. Her guitar-shaped body made her look like a goddess among mere mortals. With no husband and no children, it was no surprise she remained that beautiful. I had to admit, I was attracted to a woman twice my age; I was maybe even in love.

Of course, I wasn’t the only one who fell under Daniela’s spell; every living man — and many women, for that matter — dreamed of getting to know her better. Attraction… It’s human nature after all.

Beauty, however, was only one of her virtues. She behaved in a distinguished manner, with politeness and grace, and with said refined attitude she rejected advancements from the gentlemen — and ladies — that tried to court her. I never saw another woman like her in my life.

It was a Sunday morning that we first spoke. I could never forget that day. I sat in the same pew I had sat in since I was a kid, waiting for the priest to start his sermon. I was never much of a religious person, but after years of being dragged there by my mother, it had become part of my routine. The stars must have aligned perfectly that day or something, because no sooner had my mother stood up to go to the restroom than she appeared.

“Can I sit here?” She asked.

Without even lifting my head, my lips were starting to move. I was ready to declare the seat as taken, but I raised my head, and there she was, radiant as the sun, wearing all white. Her figure seemed to somehow shine through the humble dress, and her hat was like a loud statement: “This is a woman you see, not a girl.”

“I’m sorry, I guess it is occupied.” She said.

“Not at all. Please do.”

She obliged. And there I was, sitting next to Daniela, my heart racing, my body shaking, my body perspiring. She sat with her legs crossed, her head held high, looking straight ahead. My mother returned from her trip to the restroom. She had entertained herself by exchanging pleasantries with old acquaintances on her way back. She stared at me, clearly not appreciating how I left her seat get taken.

“Excuse me, madam, I believe you’re sitting on my seat.” My mother said.

“Is it? Oh, I’m very sorry. Let me—”

“Mother,” I spontaneously said, “that’s awfully rude of you. The house of the lord belongs to all of us.”

The look my mother gave me felt like being stabbed in the eye with a fork. She was clearly not pleased with my religious rhetoric. She smiled.

“Wiser words had never been spoken by this child of mine. I guess I could sit next to Mrs. Peña today.”

My mother left, but even as she walked towards the front of the church, her back to me, I could sense the fury burning in her eyes. I knew the incident would be the topic of discussion later.

I looked at Daniela, and she smiled. At that moment, I could have been shot in the head, and I wouldn’t have cared.

The service passed in a flash; what it was about, I don’t know. Something about going to hell, probably. My eyes were set on Daniela the whole time, and my ears were unable to hear, as my thoughts resounded in my head, bouncing from one corner of it to another.

What was for years the most dreaded part of the ceremony was now what I was looking for the most, and when the priest finally told us to hug the person next to us, I dried my sweaty palms by rubbing them against my pants, stood up, and hugged Daniela as if my life depended on it. I wanted that instant to last forever. I could feel the warmth of her body, her chest expanding and contracting as her breath brushed against my neck; her hair smelled like coconut. It was a dream.

I walked outside after the service. I was in no rush to meet my choleric mother. Daniela stayed behind, I assumed to mingle with people; I, on the other hand, needed some fresh air. Being that close to a beautiful woman was a new experience for me.

As I stood in front of the church trying to slow my breathing, I felt someone touch me on the shoulder. I assumed it was my mother who had finally caught up to me and was about to go on a rampage for my giving up her seat.

“Excuse me.” A voice said.

I was too familiar with said voice. I turned around to find Daniela standing behind me.

“Hi,” I said, lacking the mental capacity to articulate more complex sentences.

“You’re the son of Mrs. Cuarón, right? I didn’t get your name.”

“Yes, I am. I’m Martín.”

“It’s a pleasure to meet you, Martín. I’m Daniela Caraballo.”

“Yes, I know.”

My sincere answer made her let a chuckle out.

“You seem like a fine gentleman, Martín. Would you like to accompany me for a coffee?”

“It would be my pleasure.”

I left with Daniela as my mother came out of the church looking for vengeance.

We sat in the living room of her house and shared a coffee. I cannot remember what we conversed about, but I remember her asking me if I had ever been kissed before. I answered honestly, I hadn’t. She got close to me and kissed me slowly but passionately, as only a mature woman knows how to do. I still curse the coffee that robbed me of the opportunity of savoring her saliva.

After that, she smiled at me and got up from the sofa.

“You have to go. Now.”

“Why?”

“Because I don’t need you anymore.”

“I beg your pardon?”

“Leave.”

I walked towards the door, bewildered by the sudden change of attitude.

“You have seven remaining years to live. Use them wisely.” She said.

I paid no attention to her last remark and left. Soon after, Daniela moved out of town.

Many years have passed since that day; I never saw Daniela again. It’s said that she still looks as young and beautiful as ever.

Tomorrow will be seven years since that day.

THE END.