1975: A Once in a Lifetime

The rain outside had softened into a quiet drizzle, the rhythmic tapping against the windows filling the warm living room. The scent of brewed coffee lingered in the air, blending with the laughter of children sprawled across the carpet. Antonio's grandchildren sat in front of him, eager as ever, their eyes filled with curiosity.

"But Grandpa," one of them whined, shifting excitedly in their seat. "We already know this story! Why do you always make us wait?"

Antonio chuckled, shaking his head as he leaned back in his chair. "Ah, but that's what makes a good story, doesn't it? The waiting, the excitement... the way you still want to hear it even though you already know how it ends."

His granddaughter pouted, crossing her arms. "I still don't get why you tell it every time we visit."

Antonio's gaze softened as he looked out the window. "Because," he said, voice tinged with something wistful, "some stories are worth telling over and over again."

His grandchildren exchanged glances, but they were too eager to argue. "Alright, alright! Continue already!"

Antonio smirked, taking a slow sip of his coffee. Then, after a brief pause, he leaned forward, his voice dropping just slightly as he returned to the past.

1975...

Eleanor sat in her usual spot at the university courtyard, where the air was crisp, the scent of freshly cut grass mingling with the faint aroma of paint and charcoal from the Fine Arts department. It was her little sanctuary-a place where she could think, breathe, and create.

Beside her, Pacita, her best friend, was just as focused, sketching the same scenery. Both of them were Fine Arts students, and while their styles differed, their passion for their craft was the same.

Eleanor found peace in these moments, when the world around her faded into the strokes of her pencil. Here, she didn't have to think about expectations, about the future, or about anything beyond the canvas in front of her.

That peace, however, was suddenly interrupted.

A shadow loomed over them, and before Eleanor could even look up, Pacita had already stopped sketching, her pencil frozen mid-stroke.

Antonio.

Eleanor barely spared him a glance before returning to her work. Pacita, on the other hand, was completely starstruck. Antonio was infamous around campus-not just for his looks but for his reputation. He was charming, unpredictable, and always seemed to be the center of attention.

With a barely concealed grin, Pacita turned to him. "What brings you here?" she asked, feigning innocence.

Antonio ignored her at first, his focus solely on Eleanor. "Is your friend always this unfriendly?" he mused.

Pacita giggled. "She's like that because she doesn't know how to talk to guys." Then, with a teasing smirk, she added, "No boyfriend since birth, you know."

Eleanor froze mid-sketch, her grip tightening on her pencil. Slowly, she turned her head to glare at Pacita, who only smiled sweetly in return.

Antonio, amused, tilted his head. "Is that so?"

Pacita, enjoying Eleanor's reaction far too much, leaned closer to Antonio. "Mmm-hmm," she hummed. "She's not used to men, that's why she acts so cold."

Eleanor sighed, finally setting her pencil down. "Pacita," she said, her voice firm but calm, "do you ever stop talking?"

Pacita only laughed.

Antonio smirked, clearly enjoying the exchange. Then, with an easy confidence, he crossed his arms and said, "Alright then, if that's the case, I'll make it easy for you."