Late at night, some people drift effortlessly into dreams, as if invited by the god of sleep himself. Others, no matter how strongly sleep beckons, simply can’t follow. Joaquin belonged to the latter—wide awake, restless, unable to escape his thoughts.
He was still in the seaside hotel, planning to take his parents back to the city at dawn for a check-up. By now, his parents and Yehua were surely asleep.
He and Yehua had booked single rooms, while his parents were in a double room on another floor. Conveniently—or inconveniently—Yehua’s room was right next door to his.
Two hours earlier, Yehua had stopped by with barbecue and beer, knocking on his door and inviting him to eat and drink together. Joaquin refused, saying he had to drive early the next morning and shouldn’t drink.
Truthfully, he just didn’t want to be alone with Yehua.
Eventually, she left.
It was now past eleven. Normally, Joaquin would already be asleep; he disliked staying up late and avoided anything unhealthy. As a medical student, he was strict with himself.
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