Truly yours

The university had that constant murmur that seemed to swallow anyone who walked with their head down. Selena liked it because all that noise covered its silences. She always chose to sit in the fourth row, next to the window, with a new, but ordinary, notebook from the kind they sell at the supermarket and a new, sharpened pencil. Going unnoticed was her passion: simple clothes, long black hair tied back in a ponytail that fell down her slender back, and a gaze that rarely met anyone else.

Selena didn't have any friends on campus, so she didn't receive invitations to parties that were announced last minute on chat rooms, and she didn't belong there either.

The most popular students were the Blackwells, a pair of triplets with white skin and light eyes, children of a very powerful and influential family.

Selena knew them from afar and avoided them; she didn't like them: the most handsome was Adrián, the one who ruled the roost; Luciano, the most rebellious, changed girlfriends every two months, and Elías, the kindest.

That Tuesday morning, the literature class smelled of coffee and damp earth. It was raining outside, and the windows were fogged up. Selena was copying down the professor's words when a murmur, thicker than the others, crossed the room. She didn't have to turn around to know the triplets had entered.

Selena continued writing without looking at them until a cold laugh forced her to look up. She saw them out of the corner of her eye, took a deep breath, and returned to her notebook.

"Miss Valen," the professor said, "do you want to read your analysis?"

Selena raised her head, not ready to speak. She never was. She read in a low, clear voice. As she spoke, a strange, electric sensation ran down her neck, as if she were being watched with special interest. She didn't look back.

When Selena finished reading, the professor nodded approvingly. She heard other students commenting in favor, but further back there was a male whisper that she couldn't decipher. When class ended, she hurriedly packed her things to leave before the hallway became a parade of egos.

There was a lot of noise in the corridor, and Selena pressed herself against the wall to let a group of perfumed girls pass by, talking about a party on Friday. She couldn't help but overhear one of them comment.

"If the Blackwells don't go, I'm not going."

The other replied,

"They always go."

Selena lowered her head and followed the path that led to the library, her territory. She felt comfortable among the tall bookshelves, the smell of ink, and the long tables where she didn't have to prove anything. She chose a cubicle next to a column and took out her notebook.

She opened her laptop and plugged in her headphones, muting all the sound just so no one would try to engage her in conversation, and began to write an essay. Every now and then