Under the Sky of Your Voice

Chapter 1: The Train to Colina Serena

Colina Serena had always been a place for those chasing something more than the world could give. Under skies so clear they looked painted, and stars that seemed to sing when night fell, the days moved with an almost surreal calm. Here, the wind whispered old stories to the trees, and the laughter echoing from the central square felt like a welcome that never wore out. Colina Serena wasn't just a place—it was a feeling, a quiet promise.

The train moved forward, and with every passing kilometer, Sofía felt her chest loosen, as if the city's grip on her soul was finally weakening. The concrete towers and neon lights faded behind her, replaced by endless green fields stretching far into the horizon. Alondra had told her Colina Serena was magical—a refuge. But wasn't she asking too much of a simple town? Could a place truly mend what love and death had shattered?

She shifted in her seat, uncomfortable, and reached for her headphones. She needed something to help her escape her thoughts. She chose Mozart's Requiem and closed her eyes as the first chords of the Introitus filled her mind.

In an instant, she was transported to her father's funeral. The air smelled of incense and damp earth. Headstones glistened under a sun that felt merciless. People dressed in black and white filled the space—a sea of tense faces. Some wept silently; others offered words of comfort that Sofía couldn't hear. Everything felt distant, almost unreal.

Her gaze wandered beyond the casket and the wreaths swaying in the wind. She thought of the nights her father would listen to her play, sitting in silence with his eyes closed, as if each note were a gift. Now, that silence was different—heavier, filled with an absence that pressed down on her.

The priest spoke words that echoed hollowly in her mind. The coffin was lowered slowly into the earth, and Sofía felt the weight of the moment like an invisible hand tightening around her shoulders. The people around her seemed desperate to halt time: an elderly man gripped the edge of the coffin; a frail woman collapsed to the ground until others lifted her and led her away.

Sofía, without resistance, was also guided—nearly dragged—to a black car. Inside, the silence was dense, broken only by the sound of tires rolling over asphalt.

The Introitus ended with a soft sigh from the violins, and immediately, the fleeting notes of the Kyrie Eleison took over. The music shifted—and with it, the memory did too. The black of the car melted into shadows that transformed into a moment she thought she had forgotten: she and her father at the piano, playing together for the first time.

The sound of the piano felt angelic, almost surreal, and each note carried her to extraordinary places. She had loved playing since she was a child—not because anyone made her, but because the piano was her refuge. She remembered how her father guided her hands, always so patient.
"Feel the music, Sofía. Don't just play it. Let it enter you," he used to say.
Those words had stayed with her, though it had been years since she last remembered them.

The Kyrie flowed into the Dies Irae, and Sofía opened her eyes, feeling the bus air too heavy to breathe. She removed her headphones and looked out the window. The scenery had changed. The towering concrete and neon lights were gone, replaced by mighty trees rising like guardians. The vegetation was endless—a sea of green swaying gently in the wind.

She rolled the window down, letting the fresh air fill her lungs. Closing her eyes, she allowed the countryside to envelop her. It felt different—as if she were breathing for the first time in a long while. A timid smile formed on her lips as the bus continued on.

She put the music back on, letting the Confutatis and Lacrimosa accompany her. Slowly, she gave in to the rhythm of the road and the melodies in her ears. When she finally drifted off to sleep, her mind was blank—but her heart, if only slightly, felt lighter.

The bus slowed down, waking her gently with a soft jolt. Then, a tap on her shoulder pulled her fully awake. A young man she didn't recognize was leaning toward her.
"Sorry, miss, but this is your stop," he said with a kind smile.

Sofía thanked him and stood slowly, stretching as she gathered her things. The young man, more helpful than she expected, assisted her with her luggage. Outside, the station had a quaint charm—freshly painted benches and a meticulously kept garden where seasonal flowers seemed to compete for attention.

A middle-aged man—maybe in his forties—stood next to a post, holding a hand-written sign with her name in large capital letters. There was something about him that put her at ease instantly. His eyes, framed by fine lines carved by years of smiling, radiated warmth.

"I've been waiting for you a good while," he said in a deep but friendly voice, gesturing for her to come closer. From that moment, Sofía couldn't help but feel comfortable, as if she'd known him forever.

The man, who introduced himself as Juan, placed her luggage in the taxi's trunk. During the ride, he turned out to be a whirlwind of conversation. He bombarded Sofía with questions: why she'd come to the village, whether she had a boyfriend or kids, her favorite color, even if she liked dogs or cats. Between her answers, he peppered in stories about the town—filled with anecdotes and harmless gossip.

"The bookstore café is famous around here," he said proudly. "Marcos, the owner, always organizes poetry nights and that kind of thing. He's a man full of ideas, even if he won't admit it. Oh—and by the way, he's single."
Juan burst into laughter before she could reply.

The ride wasn't long—just half an hour from the station—but long enough for Sofía to catch her first glimpse of the village. From a distance, it looked like something out of a postcard: a traditional stone arch, weathered but sturdy, flanked by trees that cast a welcoming shade. As they got closer, the clear blue sky and the birdsong created a peace that sharply contrasted with Juan's boundless energy.

Sofía gazed at the arch with a mix of hope and fear.
Silently, she prayed that this place could give her the peace she so desperately craved—
that it could heal the wounds she carried deep within.