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“Under the Watchful Apus”

Chapter 1. Plaza Steps and Morning Sky

The crisp morning air of Huaraz bit at Jimena's cheeks as she tilted her phone skyward, capturing the day's first image. This daily ritual—photographing the vast Andean sky cradled between the towering peaks of the Cordillera Blanca—was her small rebellion against time's relentless march. Each picture stored a moment that would never return, much like her final winter break before university would soon become nothing but memory. She tucked the phone into her pocket and settled on the worn stone steps of the Plaza de Armas, the familiar weight of her grandmother's woven lliklla in her backpack pressing against her spine like a gentle reminder of all she might leave behind.

Around her, the plaza hummed with early morning life. Vendors arranged their stalls, the scent of steaming caldo de gallina curling through the air, mingling with the earthy aroma of coca leaves and the sweet hint of fresh bread. Quechua conversations wove through Spanish chatter, the language of her mother and the language of her father creating the soundtrack of her world. A man with sun-etched wrinkles tapped out a rhythm on his bombo drum, practicing for the Independence Day festival, the hollow beat echoing against the white façade of San Sebastián church.

Jimena sipped from her thermos, the bitter warmth of mate de coca sliding down her throat, awakening her body cell by cell. She adjusted her sky-blue beanie, tugging it lower over her ears, a nervous habit that persisted even when she wasn't truly anxious. The motion was automatic, like breathing or the way her heart seemed to stutter whenever she spotted Jhair across a crowded room.

And there he was—emerging from the side street that led from his family's guide office, his figure familiar yet somehow always surprising. His wire-framed glasses caught the morning light, and his ever-present hoodie—slate-green and worn at the elbows—hung comfortably on his frame.

"You're early," she called, her voice carrying across the plaza with practiced ease.

Jhair's eyes found hers immediately, as if drawn by some invisible thread that had always connected them. His smile spread slowly, starting in his eyes before reaching his lips. "Says the girl who's here every morning at exactly six fifteen." He settled beside her on the steps, the stone cold beneath them, a shared discomfort neither mentioned.

"I have a reputation to maintain," she replied, offering him her thermos. "Besides, Mamá needed help setting up the stall. The tourists from Lima want to buy llama figures before breakfast, apparently."

Jhair accepted the thermos, his fingers brushing against hers in a touch that lasted half a second too long. "My uncle says it's going to be a busy season. Three tour groups arrived yesterday." He took a sip, his eyes closing briefly in appreciation. "Your mom still adds cinnamon?"

"And a secret ingredient she refuses to tell me," Jimena nodded, watching the way his throat moved as he swallowed. She quickly looked away, focusing instead on a stray dog trotting purposefully across the plaza. "How's the booking office?"

"Chaotic. Dad's climbing group is preparing for Huascarán next week." Jhair fished a small, hard candy from his pocket, unwrapping it carefully. "I spent all yesterday cleaning equipment that smells like every hiker from here to Cusco."

Jimena laughed, the sound bright against the backdrop of morning vendors calling their wares. "Still better than listening to Mrs. Vargas talk about college applications for three hours. 'Remember, your future depends on these forms, niños.'" Her impression of their guidance counselor was exaggerated but accurate enough to make Jhair snort.

"Speaking of applications," he began, suddenly serious. "Have you heard anything from Lima yet?"

A tight knot formed in Jimena's stomach. She shook her head, the lie sitting uncomfortably on her tongue. "Not yet. You?"

"Nothing from geology programs," he said, adjusting his glasses by scrunching his nose, another habit she had memorized over years of friendship. "But there's time."

They fell into comfortable silence, watching as the plaza filled with more people—women in colorful mantas carrying heavy loads, guides in technical gear heading to meet clients, children racing to school with backpacks bouncing. Above them, a condor circled lazily, riding the thermal currents with minimal effort.

"Look," Jhair whispered, pointing skyward. His hand moved close to hers on the stone step, their little fingers a hair's breadth apart. "Perfect morning for him to hunt."

Jimena followed his gaze, tilting her head back. "He's so free," she murmured. "No applications, no expectations, no—"

"Responsibilities?" Jhair finished, his voice soft. "Just mountains and sky?"

"Exactly."

His hand shifted, and suddenly his little finger rested against hers—a touch so light it might have been accidental. But the jolt that ran through Jimena's body was anything but small. Her breath caught, visible in the cold air between them, and she found herself unable to move away. Instead, they sat perfectly still, connected by that minimal point of contact, while her heart hammered against her ribs like it was trying to escape.

The moment stretched, elastic and fragile, until the clatter of heavy keys broke the spell.

"There you are, frozen to the steps as usual." Araceli's clear, measured voice preceded her arrival. She stood before them, efficient and put-together in her black thermal leggings and oversized flannel shirt, the hostel's master key ring jangling from her fingers.

Jimena and Jhair moved apart, the connection broken so quickly it might never have existed. But when Jimena glanced up, she caught Araceli's knowing look—a raised eyebrow that spoke volumes.

"We were waiting for you," Jimena said quickly, standing and brushing invisible dust from her practical gray skirt. "Luis Angel texted that he'll meet us at the café later."

Araceli nodded, her neat bob swinging with the motion. "The hostel was chaotic this morning. Two Australian hikers lost their passports, and my father was..." She paused, tapping her fingers in a complex rhythm against her thigh. "Well, he was being my father."

Jhair stood too, slipping his hands into his hoodie pockets. "Everything okay?"

"Fine," Araceli replied with a slight shrug that suggested the opposite. "Just the usual silent breakfast with two people who happened to create a child together."

Jimena felt the familiar surge of gratitude for her own noisy, affectionate family. She reached out, squeezing Araceli's arm gently. "Come on, let's walk. I need to check if Luis Angel remembered to bring those history notes he promised."

As they descended the steps, Araceli fell into step beside her, leaving Jhair to follow slightly behind. "So," Araceli said quietly, "that was interesting."

"What was?" Jimena adjusted her beanie again, her fingers suddenly clumsy.

Araceli's lips curved in a small, knowing smile. "You two, sitting there like you're alone in the universe instead of in the middle of the busiest plaza in Huaraz."

"Don't start," Jimena warned, though her cheeks warmed despite the cold. "We were just talking."

"Of course," Araceli replied smoothly. "And I'm just observing."

Behind them, Jhair cleared his throat. "Are we still planning to study at Café de la Montaña tomorrow? I need to finish that literature review."

"Yes," Jimena said, too quickly, grateful for the change of subject. "Luis Angel mentioned they have a new ponche recipe he wants to try."

They continued walking, making plans for their break that suddenly seemed both too short and endless with possibility. And if Jimena was acutely aware of Jhair's presence behind her, of the lingering sensation of his finger against hers, she told herself it was nothing—just the ordinary awareness that existed between friends who had known each other forever.

But when a condor's shadow passed over them, and she glanced up to see it soaring overhead, she couldn't help feeling that the mountains themselves were watching, silent witnesses to a question forming in the visible cloud of her breath, a question she wasn't yet ready to ask.

Chapter 2. Café Warmth and Lima Contrasts

The clay walls of Café de la Montaña trapped heat like a living memory, defying the mountain chill that seemed determined to seep through Huaraz's every crack and crevice. Jimena unwound her scarf as they entered, the scent of burning eucalyptus and pine enveloping her like an embrace, the wood stove in the corner glowing amber against the deepening afternoon. Steam rose from cups of mate de coca scattered across wooden tables, where students hunched over notebooks and trekkers spread maps across worn surfaces. She spotted their usual booth in the back—a sheltered corner where the world narrowed to just their small circle, where laughter echoed differently against the clay and wood.

Luis Angel was already there, his rounded, friendly face breaking into a smile that crinkled the corners of his eyes. He lifted his ever-present thermos in greeting, the sweet scent of ponche wafting toward them as he unscrewed the cap.

"I saved our spot," he said, sliding over to make room for Araceli, who settled beside him with practiced ease.

Jimena watched as Araceli's hand found Luis Angel's on the table, their fingers intertwining with the unconscious confidence of people who had nothing to prove, nothing to hide. A faint ache bloomed beneath Jimena's ribs—not jealousy, exactly, but a wistful recognition of something she didn't have.

"The old man added cinnamon to the ponche today," Luis Angel said, pouring a small measure into the thermos cap and offering it to Araceli. "Try it."

Araceli sipped, her expression softening. "He's finally listening to you."

"Three years of suggestions," Luis Angel laughed, the sound warm and unguarded. "Persistence pays off."

Jhair slid into the booth across from them, leaving the space beside him empty. Jimena hesitated, suddenly hyperaware of the plaza steps that morning, of his little finger against hers and the jolt that had run through her body. Instead of sitting, she murmured, "I'll get us some tea," and retreated to the counter.

There, she pressed her palms against the worn wood, drawing a steadying breath. This was ridiculous. She and Jhair had been friends forever. One weird moment didn't change anything. And yet her heart continued its traitorous rhythm, slightly too fast, slightly too insistent.

"Whatever that is, I'll have one too."

The voice was unfamiliar—male, confident, with the distinctive lilt of Lima Spanish. Jimena turned to find herself facing a stranger around her age, his light green eyes and carefully tousled hair marking him as decidedly not local. His jacket was a shade of blue so bright it seemed to demand attention in the muted earth tones of the café.

"Mate de coca," she replied automatically. "Good for the altitude."

"Perfect. I still can't breathe right up here." He extended his hand. "Matias. I'm staying at the Andino Hostel—I think your friend runs it? Araceli?"

Recognition flickered. "Right, she mentioned new guests from Lima." Jimena shook his hand briefly. "I'm Jimena."

"Jimena," he repeated, as if testing the name. "Are you local? Your Spanish has that Huaraz musicality."

A small, unexpected pleasure at being recognized as belonging here warmed her. "Born and raised. My father teaches Spanish at the secondary school."

"Ah, that explains it." His smile revealed perfect teeth. "Maybe you can show me around sometime? The tourist maps are useless."

Jimena found herself nodding, grateful for the distraction from the confusing tangle of her thoughts. "Sure. I mean, we're all just hanging out during break, so..."

They returned to the table together, Matias trailing behind with his own steaming cup. Jimena felt Jhair's gaze before she saw it—a weight that settled between her shoulder blades as she approached.

"Room for two more?" she asked, her voice deliberately light.

Luis Angel shifted over further, making space on the bench. "Always."

Introductions rippled around the table. Matias slid in beside Jimena, his arm brushing against hers as he settled, his presence a buffer between her and the complicated silence she feared might fall.

"So you're all students?" Matias asked, leaning forward with practiced interest.

"Final year," Araceli confirmed, her observant gaze flickering between Matias and Jimena. "Winter break before the last push."