“Sorry?” the girl replied, looking slightly startled by the question Jorge had just asked her.

“Your dream.”

“A ah… it it’s nothing,” she answered, a little flustered as she shook her head. “I’m sorry, but it’s not really the kind of thing that’s pleasant to talk about.”

Jorge nodded. “Alright then. But when I look at you, you remind me of my youngest son. I think he’s about your age.”

For a brief moment, the girl looked intrigued. “Really? How old is ...