Marco had lived his whole life in the city of Buenos Aires. He had been born there, grown up, made friendships, loved, argued, worked, and lived. It was a bustling city, full of colors, sounds, and people who constantly crossed paths in the streets, talking without rest. And then, suddenly, he was gone. Not literally, no. He simply said goodbye to his friends one afternoon, went to sleep, and when he woke up the next day, everything had changed.

  The sun filtered through the cracks of the window, gently bathing the room. Marco stretched, got up, and as he looked out the window, something didn’t feel right. The city, always filled with noise and life, now seemed so empty, so silent. It wasn’t just the lack of people, it was the total absence of sound. There were no cars, no conversations in the street, no laughter, no constant hum of life. Just... silence. An absolute, unsettling silence.

  Marco thought maybe he was dreaming, but as he left his house and walked through the streets, his body told him otherwise. Every step he took echoed in the air. There was no one. Not a single soul. The streets, once teeming with people, were now deserted. It was as if the city had been frozen in time. Like everyone had vanished all at once.

  He crossed the street. The dull sound of his shoes on the pavement broke the silence. Each step was a reminder of the emptiness surrounding him. The city that had once been his home, full of life, now felt like an empty tomb. Every sound his body made as he walked was a scream in the stillness, an intrusion into the calm that pressed in on him.

  He stopped at a corner, looking around. The buildings, the stores, the cafés, everything was still there, just as he had left it. But there was no one. The signs of the shops still shone with their colors, but there were no vendors. The traffic lights still blinked, but there were no cars to trigger them. The cafés were still open, but the tables and chairs were empty.

  His breathing started to grow heavier, and his thoughts began to darken. Something was wrong. Why was no one there? Where was everyone?

  He decided to walk, searching for answers. Somehow, he hoped to find a clue, something that would explain this strange phenomenon, but every street he walked down was just as desolate. There were no signs of human life. Each step he took was accompanied by the echo of his own body, as though he were walking alone in a parallel world.

  It was then that, suddenly, he saw her. At the end of the street, a solitary figure was walking toward him. It was a woman, dressed in light clothing, almost as if she were a dream. She had dark, long hair, and her gait was serene, as though nothing was strange about this place. She stopped when she was a few meters away from him, and looked at Marco with an intense gaze.

  She opened her mouth and, in a whisper, began speaking in Korean. Marco didn’t understand the language, but the tone of her voice was soft, melancholic. She didn’t seem worried about the absence of people, but she appeared disturbed by something else, enough to walk in such a manner with those very casual clothes, even though it seemed as though the emptiness surrounded her. Without another word, she continued walking, and Marco, driven by a strange force, followed her. After a few minutes, she turned and stopped. Marco didn’t understand, but he decided to continue, not realizing that the girl was following behind him.

  Suddenly, as they moved forward, they came across an older man walking in the opposite direction. He was alone as well. Marco looked at him with curiosity, and the man, seeing his gaze, smiled.

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  "Good morning," he said in English, with a marked accent. "Too much noise, right? Mate." Then, without waiting for a response, he continued on his way.

  Confused, Marco kept walking. Something strange was happening, but he couldn’t explain it. Soon after, a child came running up. "Det ?r f?r tyst, det ?r tr?kigt. Var ?r mina f?r?ldrar?" he said in Swedish, a smile on his face. Then a little girl appeared, speaking nonstop in Portuguese. "Espero que minha m?e n?o me bata com aquele tijolo de novo." The girl seemed worried, but her gaze also conveyed a sense of loneliness.

  It was as if the fragments of the world Marco had known had gathered in this empty place. And as he walked, more people began to appear. An indigenous woman appeared, speaking in Guaraní: "Mba'e piko o? yvytype, mba'e piko o? che ak?rape?", followed by a black baby, whom she carried carefully, babbling in Somali, "Hooyo." The city Marco once knew was now populated by people from all ethnicities, languages, and cultures. They weren’t the inhabitants he remembered, but there they were, as if they had always been there.

  With each step Marco took, more and more people surrounded him. He had become a mere observer of something he couldn’t understand. The strange sense of discomfort pressed against his chest. Why were they here? Why him? And why that deep silence that surrounded him?

  Finally, when Marco reached a large square, he stopped. He looked around, and for the first time, he realized something. Turning around, he saw a massive crowd gathered behind him. Thousands of faces, all with an expectant look, waiting for something from him. The crowd was diverse, but they all seemed to be there for the same purpose.

  Marco sighed. With a gesture of resignation, he muttered to himself:

  "It’s not worth stressing... I have a lot of work to do."

  He was a psychologist. A professional who had dedicated his life to helping people understand themselves. But at that moment, he understood something he had overlooked. These people weren’t here by accident. Somehow, they were seeking help. And they had found it. In this strange city, he was the key to helping them, the hope.

  With a sense of inevitability, Marco began to walk among the crowd, observing the faces of the strangers. It was as if fate had brought him here, as if the city had chosen him. He couldn’t explain it, but he knew what he had to do.

  "Please, those who speak Spanish, English, and German, step forward."

  Gradually, the city began to prosper again. The streets, once empty, were now full of people. The bustle started to return, but it was different. It wasn’t the same hustle and bustle as before. Now, everything had purpose, direction. Marco had become a leader, an authority figure guiding those who sought answers.

  The city, once again, came to life. But, for some reason, Marco knew something else was about to happen. And, indeed, one day, a figure appeared on the beach. It was a man, thirty years old, gazing at the city in awe. On the beach, there was a large billboard with Marco’s face, though now it appeared much older, as if he had lived an entire life in just a day.

  The Korean woman, the one Marco had seen in the early hours of his walk, approached the man, smiling.

  "?Necesitas ayuda?" she asked in broken Spanish with a Korean accent, as she took the hand of a little girl, apparently her daughter.

  The man, surprised yet confused, looked at the city and nodded slowly.

  "I think so. I need help."

  The Korean woman smiled even more and pointed to Marco’s face on the billboard.

  "My husband can help you."

  The man looked at the billboard again, confused, then turned his gaze toward the square, where he saw Marco giving a speech in several languages. In that moment, Marco understood what was happening. The city had not only changed, it had not only found purpose, but it had also begun to attract more people who needed help—his help.

  The Mexican walked toward him, accompanied by the Korean woman.

  "I need help, he said aloud, almost surprised by what he had said."

  Marco heard him and looked at him.

  "I know, now you’re in good hands."