I quickly walked back to the hotel and asked the receptionist for a magnifying glass. I then went up to my bedroom, sat on the bed and carefully examined the postcard. Those blue and white stripes reminded me of the Deportivo football shirt my friend Óscar wore for a large part of our journey ten years before. Feeling nostalgic on account of the passage of time, I lingered over this figure. Its resemblance to Óscar was quite astonishing. They shared the same indifferent posture, the same way of walking with their hands in their pockets… However strange it may sound, I was sure it was him. Next to him, I spotted a girl dressed in a long, green skirt. The image was far too familiar not to recognize it at once: this could be none other than my friend Beatriz. I recalled that skirt very well, a birthday present we’d bought her a few weeks before setting out. That was the last party we ever celebrated together.

‘Impossible!’ I shouted out loud.

At a short distance from Óscar and Bea, I caught sight of my own figure. The magnifying glass trembled in my hands, but there could be no doubt: this was me, ten years earlier. I decided to investigate further. Next to me was a small girl pointing at a map, as if we were working out which way to go. She had bare shoulders and skimpy shorts that revealed her wonderfully tanned legs. I could see it quite clearly: this had to be Mía. A few steps behind her, I recognized the slicked-back hair of Piero, although I could scarcely make out his face. There was one chance in ten million that something like this could happen, and yet there it was, happening to me: while my friends and I had been wandering around the quays of Bryggen, somebody had taken a photograph, which had then been turned into a postcard. I felt utterly stunned.

All the memories of that Interrail trip came flooding into my mind. It had been a beautiful experience, travelling all over Europe by train, almost without planning it, deciding the route as we went along. Seven boys and girls who had just finished secondary and were finding out what real freedom was. Of course, none of us could have realized that summer would change our lives for ever. How could we have predicted that this marvellous month of August would be followed by such a bitter September? None of us could have known. This was the reason my group of friends broke up in that way, but it’s not for me to judge them. I couldn’t attend to anybody else because I was barely capable of looking after myself. All I can remember of that September ten years ago is the absolute lack of sensations. I couldn’t sleep, eat, or say a word… All I could feel was the enormous pain in my soul.

I go over to the window of my room, trying to order my thoughts, and gaze at my reflection in the glass. I have changed a lot since I was at school: back then, I was just a boy with a huge passion for video games. Nobody thought I would turn into a respected computer programmer, a professor at Coruña University and a guest lecturer at some of the most prestigious centres in the world.

None of that matters right now. I focus my attention back on the postcard. I have located four of the seven friends – Óscar, Bea, Mía and Piero – and myself, Nico. But where are the other two? They’re precisely the ones I loved best, but I can’t find them anywhere. Didn’t they appear in the photograph? I scrutinize every single detail in a desperate attempt to spot them and suddenly, in a corner away from all the other people, I recognize Xacobe’s fair hair and, next to him, Aroa’s delicate silhouette. The magnifying glass falls to the ground, but I don’t even register the noise.

I am abruptly transported to that place, inside the postcard, a few feet away from them. He is wearing a white shirt and jeans, she has on an orange, flowery dress. That is just how I remember her: the same golden skin, the same dark hair cascading to her waist. I can’t make out the grey of her eyes, but they’re so etched in my memory it’s easy for me to imagine them. With Xacobe, it’s different. His image is blurred in my mind. I feel a sense of unease when I realize I can’t recall the features of his face so well. And yet, what’s happening? What are they up to? I stretch out my hand to touch them, to warn them that I’m there and can see everything, but regret my decision at the last moment, afraid of intruding on their intimacy. I take a few steps back, too stunned to react, and fall backwards on to the hotel bed.

How is it that Xacobe and Aroa are kissing like that?

Night falls. The window reveals a pitch-black sky. I am startled by the sound of my mobile. I see on the screen that it’s Aroa and let it ring. Aroa is the only person from that group I’ve kept in contact with – she is, in fact, my girlfriend. I’ve never ignored her calls, never disregarded a single one of her words, gestures or wishes. What’s going on? Can something seen in a postcard of ten years ago alter my life? My throat is dry, my hands are trembling. There’s no getting away from it. Despite the time that’s gone by, it hurts to think that my best friend was kissing Aroa behind my back, and neither of them dared to share this secret with me. I never imagined something like that. I’m so amazed I can’t react. But, when the telephone stops ringing, I realize I’ve come to a decision.

I have to stop being so naive. It’s not true I never suspected anything. In fact, I’ve been asking myself questions for the last ten years, and I think it’s time to start finding some answers.