THE SUN CAN SHINE AGAIN(Francys Wagner) He was new there. It was an old neighbourhood, which had gained many modern buildings replacing the old houses. The bucolic air and the quiet of the streets were gradually giving way to a greater stream of cars and more people moving around.

He lived in one of the new buildings and had a routine of walking every morning.

He would leave his fifth-floor apartment and head towards the old and wide green park nearby, passing the house where each day a young woman was always at the window.

He didn't notice her at first, but days later, became aware of her. She was always in the same position. Her arms braced on the railing and immobile.

She looked like a doll that someone had put there. And she always had the same hairstyle. Long braids on the sides of her head. He chuckled to himself at the thought, that maybe she was Rapunzel, and was waiting for Prince Charming to rescue her.

The house was, as it happened, much higher than street level. It made sense.

One day, he plucked up courage and waved at her, but saw no response. She remained motionless. Maybe she hadn't seen him wave, because she was distracted.

He was now more than curious. Who was that woman who was at the window every morning, as if waiting for something? He could ask someone, but what would they think? That he was nosy? What business did he have with the lives of others? Why does that interest him. They could say.

But he wouldn't be satisfied until he found out about her. He didn't know his neighbours well yet. In fact, he barely knew the name of the building's doorman.

He was always busy. From Monday to Friday, he would get up early, walk in the park, come home, take a shower, get dressed and go to the office to see his patients.

On weekends, he was always busy. Studying something, reading books and books on philosophy, psychology or sometimes attending lectures and courses. His time was never his. It was what he had created to escape from himself.

He was single. He spent the young years of his life thinking about work and putting any love life on the back burner. The few friends made fun of him. You're getting old and nobody wants you, they would say.

He had fallen in love a few times, but soon the passion would cool and he was no longer interested in them. The only woman he really liked, had cheated on him with his best friend, well, actually, he shouldn't be called a best friend, more like a worst friend.

On the other hand, who is in charge of the heart? The friend ended up marrying her. She even sent him an invitation. He didn't go to see them married. Maybe that had traumatised him and since then he hadn't been able to develop stronger feelings for anyone else. As if his heart was locked or closed so no one could get in.

From much inquiring, he ended up finding out at the grocery store on the corner, who the woman was at the window. She had been engaged and almost on her wedding day, the groom died in a car accident. It broke her. She could not bear such emotion and fell into deep depression. She was never the same.

Her mother, who was a regular customer at the grocery store, had told the owner that her daughter practically didn't talk anymore, and spent hours at the window. In the daydream in which she lived, she thought that one day her groom would appear. That he hadn't died. That they had lied to her.

Our curious character, by coincidence, was a psychiatrist and immediately became interested in the young woman's case. He hadn't had anything similar, and maybe he could help her. He learned that the mother had convinced her daughter to seek help, but the young woman refused to leave the house.

Our psychiatrist friend had the idea of knocking on their door and offering his services. He could carve out some time in his schedule. Skip reading some books, perhaps, or avoid attending some unimportant event. He was now committed to working on the case, that is, with her mother's permission, of course.

It was a rainy day, he didn't go for a walk. He left his building with his huge black umbrella, and strolled down the sidewalk towards the young woman's house. She wasn't at the window. He climbed the steps to the front door.
He rang the bell. Once. Twice. As he was about to try the third time, a short, grey-haired lady appeared. She looked at him suspiciously at first. He introduced himself.

She invited him in. The house was full of old furniture. It felt like time had stopped there. The curtains in the living room looked like they were from last century. There was an acidic smell in the air. Of old stuff. The lady invited him to sit in a worn-out armchair.

She shed some tears when he told her what his intention was. She held up her hands, as if giving thanks for something she'd been waiting a long time for. Her daughter was in her room.

He asked if he could see her. The lady seemed to agree, and leaving the room, she asked him to wait a while. He could hear some indistinct talking coming from another room.

Some time later the lady appeared, her daughter following, with head down, hesitating. The two sat on the armchair opposite him.

He could finally see the woman from the window up close. Her hair was in braids. She had a unique beauty. Her pretty eyes, framed by dark eyelashes and brows, stared into space, almost unaware that he was there. A shapely mouth and thick lips. She looked like a magazine cover model. He found himself entranced by her beauty.

It had been a while since he had been attracted to a female face. But why he was thinking about it? That was not part of his observation as a professional.

As he dealt with his thoughts, the lady watched him intently. There was silence in the room. He then seemed to come to himself. He started with random questions, which were answered by the lady, who told him that she had braided her daughter's hair so it wouldn't get tangled up, as she sometimes wouldn't comb it herself.

There hadn't been much progress. He would return another day. At home, he could better think about how he would proceed with therapy.

Once he had decided on a course of action, he started visiting the woman once a week. In addition to the sessions, he had prescribed some medication. The lady did not have the means to pay, so he insisted on not charging anything. The case had a certain fascination about it. It was as if he was putting his competence as a psychiatrist to the test.

At first, the young woman's gaze was still lost. Weeks later, she replied monosyllabically and stared at just one point in the room. After a few more weeks, the words would start to form short sentences, and she was now looking all around.

Shortly after, he arrived for another session and found the mother beaming. Her daughter had wanted, after a long time, to take a walk outside. And just like that, she began wanting to go out every day. He proceeded to accompany her.

Therapy sessions had now become walks that extended to the park. Sometimes he was late for work. But what did it matter? She was responding well to the treatment. It was what interested him. They talked about everyday things. She started to have plans. She wanted to work. He realised, that the butterfly was starting to emerge from the cocoon.

He wasn't the same anymore either. A few years away from reaching forty, he was still in good shape. He chose better now, what he was going to wear, and looked at himself more in the mirror, checking his hair and whether he was well shaved. He had more time for himself now.

She was even more beautiful than the first time he'd seen her. Long, wavy brown hair, now loose, framed her pretty face. Approaching thirty, she still had the freshness of her skin. He couldn't help but notice. At the same time he was afraid. What he had developed for her was much more than a professional relationship or even friendship.

Perhaps when the butterfly was ready to fly, she wouldn't see him in the same way as he saw her. She might no longer be interested in even talking to him, as she would discover new horizons and maybe forget about him.

The fact is that, little by little, she was putting together the broken pieces inside herself, to be whole again. And he was discovering that he was still capable of liking someone so intensely.

But since nothing happens by chance... They relaxedly chatted one spring morning while sitting under a tree in the park. She smiled. To him, she had bloomed like the flowers of the season.

Their eyes met each other, residing for seconds that felt like eternity, each inside the other.

He was then sure that she felt for him, the same way he felt for her. Everything around them lit up. The sun revealed hidden hues in the scenery. Their mouths met. And they were lost in that moment.

They left the park, walking hand in hand. There was a life ahead to be lived and there was still time to love...

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