Sonia, a Dream, Juan Norberto Lerma

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Sonia, a Dream
Juan Norberto Lerma
(Esta traducción fue generada por Grok 3, una IA desarrollada por xAI) Sonia Lendel and I had been something more than friends, so the moment I saw her, I quickened my pace and stood before her. She was at Olivos Square, next to The Portals. She sat at a table with a vase of flowers in the center and a pitcher of some yellow juice. The sun shone on her back, and the instant our eyes met, a kind of spark flashed between us.
“What are you doing here? How is this possible?” I asked, and for a fraction of a second, our voices overlapped.
“What are you doing here? How is this possible?” Sonia said, slightly flustered, her words tumbling over mine, though it was clear I had spoken first.
She recovered from the surprise almost at once, and with a touch of coyness, she brought her hand to her forehead and adjusted her hair.
“We’re in a dream,” Sonia answered, her face radiant, and with a sweeping gesture, she encompassed everything we could see.
Then Sonia smiled broadly, pressed her hands to her chest, and seemed relieved. We talked not only that afternoon but also visited several places that faded away. She loved me, though she had died two years earlier in a car accident in Tarragona. I’m certain that our meeting was a gift. In that first moment when our eyes met, I spoke first for a fleeting second, and somehow, something more powerful than either of us granted her the privilege of answering my question however she wished.
It was only when I was fully awake and left the office that I recalled the dream with clarity. A wave of sadness swelled in my chest, and with a burden of nostalgia, I crossed Olivos Square on foot and approached The Portals. In the corridor of restaurants, doubts assailed me, my breath grew gritty amid the comings and goings of people, and I had no choice but to glance back over my shoulder.
Just as in my dream, a woman and a man sat at one of the tables, absorbed in each other, detached from time and noise. They pretended to adjust the vase of flowers at the center of the table, then interlaced their fingers.
Of course, Sonia Lendel wasn’t there, but even so, I slowed my steps to study their faces, to catch snippets of their conversation, because if I was mistaken and it was her at that table, then I would be the one sitting with her. My face flushed, I turned back a couple more times, but at a distance, it became hard to make out their features or gestures.
I pushed my way to the avenue with the unshakable feeling that if, in my dream, Sonia had asked first what I was doing at Olivos Square, I would have answered wrongly and ruined everything. Instead, almost as an act of love, with a grace and greatness of spirit, she ensured that I would wake up later.