Two years ago, when I was barely eighteen, my life was a constant struggle. I come from a humble family and had achieved what for many was impossible: getting into a state university. But that was only the first obstacle. Reality hit me daily. I didn’t have a computer, an essential tool for any student, and my notes were a mess of loose paper that I struggled to organize. There were days when classes stretched from morning to night, and hunger was my only companion. My stomach growled in the middle of a calculus class, and I could only drink tap water to fool it, while I watched my classmates head to the cafeteria. Money was an obsession, a need that drowned me.

One day, returning home, exhausted and demoralized, I passed by one of the nicest areas of the neighborhood. About two blocks from my house, I saw a woman in her garden. She was about fifty-five years old, with short hair and a touch of silvery gray that, far from aging her, gave her an air of distinction. She was a pleasant woman, with generous curves and an imposing presence. She was trying to prune some plants, but it was clear she had no idea what she was doing; the garden, despite the size of the house, was neglected, with weeds growing everywhere. In my mind, a light bulb went on: opportunity. I needed money, and that garden needed help.

I plucked up my courage, approached the gate, and cleared my throat to get her attention. She turned around, wiping the sweat from her forehead with the back of her hand. I offered my services to do her gardening for a reasonable fee. She looked me up and down, openly, and a half-smile appeared on her lips.

“Do you have experience, boy?” he asked me, his voice a little deep but melodious.

“Yes, of course,” I lied without hesitation. Necessity is the mother of boldness.

We agreed that he would come the next day, Saturday, very early. Before I left, he said to me:

—Your face looks familiar.

“I live two blocks from here,” I replied.

She smiled again, this time more openly.

—I’ll see you tomorrow, then.

I arrived on Saturday at first light. I set to work with an energy I didn’t even know I had. I pulled weeds, pruned the bushes as I thought I should, and mowed the lawn. The midday sun was beating down when she came out and invited me to lunch. The table was set like a king. She served me a huge portion of stew, rice, and a fresh salad, accompanied by a giant glass of passion fruit juice. I ate with a voracious appetite, almost with desperation. She watched me silently, with that enigmatic smile.

While I was eating, she started asking me questions. She wanted to know about my studies, my family, how old I was. I answered with the innocence of my eighteen years, seeing no ulterior motive. The house was huge and she seemed to be always alone, so curiosity got the better of me, and I asked about her husband and children. She told me she had been a widow for five years. Her husband had left her a good inheritance. She had a son in the United States and a daughter in Canada; both helped her financially, but rarely visited. She was a beautiful woman, wealthy, and alone. The thought flashed through my mind, but I dismissed it. She was just a kind lady. I thanked her for lunch and returned to the garden.

At four in the afternoon, the job was done. The garden looked different. I knocked on the door to let her know. She came out and her eyes opened wide. She was genuinely impressed. She said she couldn’t have done that in a week. Then, she took a wad of bills out of her purse and handed it to me: five hundred dollars. I flatly refused. It was too much money. But she insisted, with a firmness that brooked no argument. “Take it, you’ve earned it,” she said. Before I left, she asked me to exchange phone numbers, in case she needed anything else. I gave it to her, feeling the weight of the bills in my pocket. Five hundred dollars. In my country, that was more than a month’s salary. I went home, took a shower, and fell into bed, sleeping like a log.

The next day, Sunday, I woke up to several messages from her. The kitchen sink was leaking. Would I know how to fix it? Moved by gratitude, and with no thought of charging her, I told her I’d be there right away. When I arrived, she led me into the kitchen. She stayed by my side while I crawled under the sink to check the pipes. But this time, her outfit was very different. She was wearing a silk nightgown, short, very short, that barely covered the bare essentials. She wasn’t wearing a bra, and her breasts, large and firm for her age, were clearly visible, taking my breath away. Every time she leaned over to see what I was doing, the neckline of the robe opened, offering me a view that made me lose focus. Her shapely, smooth legs were just inches from my face. The scent of her perfume, a floral and sweet blend, permeated everything. The job, which was simple, took twice as long. My hands were shaking and I felt the heat rising up my neck.

When I finally finished and came out from under the sink, she smiled at me again.

—Thank you very much, Juan. You’re a very skilled boy.

He tried to pay me again, but I refused more firmly.

—No, ma’am, really. That’s enough with yesterday. I’m doing this with pleasure.

She moved a little closer, her gaze fixed on mine.

“Okay,” he said softly. “If you don’t want to accept this money for what you did just now… accept it for what we’re going to do.”

I froze. I didn’t understand.

“What do you mean?” I asked, my voice cracking.

—Juan, I’m not stupid. I’ve seen the way you look at me. Since yesterday at lunch and especially today. You’ve undressed me with your eyes, and I’m not complaining. I guess you don’t think I’m so ugly after all.

My face must have been a poem. She continued, her voice now a whisper filled with longing.

“My husband died five years ago. Five years without a man touching me, without feeling the passion, the warmth of another body. I’m alone, and you’re a young man full of life.” She paused, her hand resting on my arm. “I know about your problems at university. I saw how you ate yesterday. I can help you. I can give you everything you need so you only have to worry about studying. A computer, pocket money, everything. I just ask that you try it with me. That we have a relationship.”

I looked at her. She was beautiful, yes. Desirable. But the age difference…

—You’re very pretty, ma’am, but… I don’t know if it would work. The age…

She giggled.

—That doesn’t matter, my boy. Don’t worry about that. I’ll take care of winning you over.

My mind was in turmoil. On one side, shock, prejudice. On the other, the harsh reality: poverty, hunger, the impossibility of working and studying at the same time. She offered me a way out. A way out wrapped in silk sheets and expensive perfumes. I looked into her eyes, filled with the promise of experience and desire, and made a decision. I accepted.

And I’ll just tell you that an experienced woman works wonders in bed. Or well, that’s what happened to me. What followed that conversation was an initiation. Elena, as she asked me to call her, stripped me of all my boyish insecurities. She bought me a computer, new clothes, and gave me money every week. My life changed radically. I was able to focus on my studies, and my grades soared.

Two years have passed since that day.

Which brings us to tonight. To celebrate the end of my exams, she decided we deserved a treat. A weekend at the most luxurious hotel in the city. Here we are, in reception.

She smiles at the young receptionist and says, with her velvet voice and a spark of mischief in her eyes:

—Give me the farthest room, so no one can hear. My collagen is making a lot of noise.

I feel the blood rush to my face. The receptionist blinks, confused, and I can’t help but chime in, trying to sound casual, even though I’m laughing inside.

—That’s not true, miss.

Elena throws me a look full of promise over her shoulder. I know that tonight, in that distant room, she’ll show me once again exactly who she means by “The Loud One.” And honestly, I can’t wait.

It’s been two years since that day. Which brings us to tonight. To celebrate the end of my exams, she decided we deserved a treat. A weekend at the most luxurious hotel in the city. Here we are, at reception. She smiles at the young receptionist and says, with her velvet voice and a spark of mischief in her eyes, “Give me the farthest room, so no one can hear. My collagen is making too much noise.” I feel the blood rush to my face. The receptionist blinks, confused, and I can’t help but chime in, trying to sound casual, even though inside I’m laughing. “That’s not true, miss.” Elena throws me a look laden with promise over her shoulder. I know that tonight, in that faraway room, she’ll show me once again exactly who she means by “The Noisy One.” And honestly, I can’t wait.

The weekend in forbidden paradise

The attic room awaited us, a suite that looked like something out of a magazine. As I stepped through the door, I gasped. A giant window offered a panoramic view of the illuminated city, a blanket of lights that stretched to the horizon. The bed, immense and with silk sheets, invited me to lose myself in its softness. There was a Jacuzzi in the bathroom, with bubbles that fizzed as if telling me to immerse myself in them. Everywhere, luxury, opulence, and wealth that I had only seen in movies.

Elena, however, moved around the room as if it were her home. She took off her shoes, let her hair down, and poured herself a glass of wine. She looked at me, smiled, and said, “What do you think? Do you like it?” “It’s… it’s incredible, Elena. I’ve never seen anything like it.” “Well, get used to it, my love. This is just the beginning.”

That night, I discovered that Elena was not only a woman of passion, but a woman of exquisite taste. She taught me how to drink wine, how to distinguish flavors, how to enjoy a good dinner. She hadn’t just given me money; she had given me an education in life, an education that went beyond books and classrooms. I felt like a young man who had been invited into a world that didn’t belong to him, a world that opened its arms and welcomed me warmly.

But the most important thing wasn’t the luxury. It was the intimacy, the connection we had forged. In that room, far from the world, we were just Juan and Elena, two people who had found each other in a moment of need and loneliness. She told me stories about her life, her husband, her children. Her eyes sometimes filled with a deep sadness, a sadness that made me understand her loneliness. I, for my part, told her about my studies, my dreams, my family. I told her about my mother, about the mud hut where I grew up, about the torn sandals and the boiled leaf dinners. She listened to me with an attention that made me feel important, that made me feel loved.

We made love, not only with passion, but with tenderness. Elena was a woman who knew her body, who knew my fears and insecurities. She taught me to love, to kiss, to feel. She stripped me of all my complexes, gave me the confidence I lacked.

The weekend was a dream, a mirage in the desert of my life. We laughed, we talked, we cried. And when we returned home, to reality, I was no longer the same boy who had arrived. I was a new man, a man who felt loved, a man who had a future.

 The shadows of happiness

Another year passed. My university studies took off. I didn’t have to worry about money, hunger, or fatigue. Elena had given me a freedom I’d never known before. The computer she bought me was the best on the market, and my notes were impeccable. I was no longer the kid on the corner everyone looked at with pity. I was a promising young man, with a bright future ahead of him.

But happiness had its shadows. My relationship with my family became distant. My mother, a woman of faith and principles, didn’t understand my life change. She knew I couldn’t afford college, but she didn’t know how I was doing it. I secretly sent her money, claiming it was for my university work. But she, with a mother’s intuition, knew something was wrong.

My old friends, those who had seen me eat boiled leaves with salt, also distanced themselves. They saw my new clothes, my latest cell phone, and wondered where I got all that. They didn’t judge me, but the distance between us became unbridgeable. I couldn’t tell them the truth. Shame was a heavy burden I carried daily.

Elena, for her part, felt increasingly alone. Her children, who lived abroad, called her from time to time, but their conversations were superficial. They talked about their lives, their jobs, their families, but never about her. She was just the mother who sent them money.

One day, as we sat in the garden, she confessed something to me that broke my heart. “My children don’t love me, Juan. They love me for my money. But I love you. You’re my only family, my only friend. You’re all I have left.”

I hugged her. I didn’t know what to say. I felt immense pain for her, for the loneliness that overwhelmed her. But I also felt a deep fear. Afraid of becoming what her children were, afraid of being just a boy who took advantage of her money.

 The past returns

Life, however, always finds a way to hit you when you least expect it. One day, I received a call from my mother. My sister, who lived in the village, had gotten sick. Without hesitation, I told Elena I had to go. She looked at me, pain in her eyes, but let me go.

When I arrived at the mud hut, the contrast was stark. The luxury of Elena’s house, the opulence of the hotel suite, everything had vanished. In my place was the eighteen-year-old boy again, with dirty clothes and an empty stomach.

My sister was in critical condition, but I was able to help her. With the money I had, I took her to a doctor, bought her medicine, and fed her. My mother looked at me with a mixture of pride and sadness. “Where did you get so much money, son? What are you doing?”

I couldn’t lie to him. I told him the truth. I told him about Elena, the garden, the stew, the money. I told him about the loneliness that united us, the passion that consumed us, the hope she had given me.

My mother looked at me, and her eyes filled with tears. Not from anger, not from disappointment, but from sadness. “Son, I don’t judge you. But this woman… this woman doesn’t love you. She uses you. And you, out of necessity, let yourself be used. I don’t want you to become what her children are. I want you to be a real man, a man who earns his living with his sweat, not his body.”

Those words hit me like a punch in the stomach. The harsh reality overwhelmed me. I felt a deep shame, a shame that burned my soul. I left home, not knowing where to go. I sat in a cornfield, staring at the horizon, and cried. I cried for my life, for my mistakes, for my mother, for Elena, for everything.

 The reunion with the truth

When I returned to the city, I went straight to Elena’s house. I entered without knocking and found her sitting in the garden, head down, staring into space. When she saw me, she stood up, came over to me, and hugged me.

“My boy, where were you?” she asked me, her voice trembling. “I was… I was at home, with my mother.” “And what did she say to you?” she asked, with a look that pierced my soul.

I told her the truth. I told her what my mother had told me. I told her the shame I felt, the fear that consumed me. She listened silently, her eyes fixed on mine. When I finished, she looked at me, smiled, and said:

—Your mother is right, Juan. I don’t love you. I need you. I need you to feel alive, to feel young. I need you so I don’t feel alone. And you, my boy, need me to have a future. But that’s not love. That’s a transaction, a deal.

Those words hit me with the force of a hurricane. I felt like my world was falling apart. I’d deluded myself, I’d believed it was love, that it was a real connection. But deep down, I knew she was right. It was just a deal, a deal in which I sold my youth and my body in exchange for a future.

She sat on the porch and looked at me with a tenderness that made me cry. “But there’s something more, Juan. When I met you, in the garden, I saw a hungry, afraid boy. Today, I see a man. A man with a bright future ahead of him. The education I gave you… isn’t just the education of books. It’s the education of life. I gave you the confidence you didn’t have, the strength you lacked.”

She handed me a check. A blank check. “Take it, my boy. Fill it with whatever amount you want. Go and build your future. Don’t worry about me. I’ll be fine.”

I refused. I couldn’t take the money, I couldn’t leave her. I felt immense pain, a profound sadness. But I also felt liberation. A liberation from the shame, the guilt, the lie I’d lived with.

The end of the road and the beginning of a new flight

The night dragged on. We sat in the garden, under the cover of night, and talked. We talked about everything. About life, love, loneliness, death. The conversation was honest, raw, and painful, but also liberating. By dawn, the decision had been made. We had to part ways.

We hugged, and the hug was different from every other night. It was a hug of farewell, a hug of gratitude, a hug of two souls who had found each other in a moment of darkness and had given each other light.

I left home, heartbroken, but with my head held high. I left with the clothes she had bought me, the computer she had given me, the money she had given me. But most importantly, I left with the lesson she had taught me: love can’t be bought or sold. It’s earned with the heart, the soul, and the life.

Today, two years after that night, I’m a changed man. I graduated with honors, landed a good job at a tech company, and am about to marry a woman I love—a woman who knew me for who I am, not for what I have.

I never forgot her. Sometimes, at night, I close my eyes and imagine myself in the garden, with the moonlight bathing the lawn. I imagine her sitting on the porch, with silver hair and an enigmatic smile. I imagine her alone, but at peace.

The story of Juan and Elena wasn’t a fairy tale; it was a real-life story, a story of two people who found each other in a moment of loneliness and gave each other light. And the lesson it taught me, the lesson that led me to success, wasn’t just one from books. It was one from life. The lesson that love is priceless, and that freedom, like the flight of an airplane, has no limits.