When evening came, Pedro packed up early, unable to shake the growing anxiety. He crossed the campus, calling Lola’s name quietly as he checked her favorite napping spots—the benches, the old lecture hall steps, the shady corner by the library. But she was nowhere to be found.
His search continued for nearly an hour, the campus growing quiet as dusk settled in. Each corner he turned, hope flickered and then faded. Eventually, exhausted and discouraged, Pedro made his way home, heart heavy and mind filled with worst-case scenarios.
He told himself she was clever, resourceful—maybe she’d just wandered off for an adventure. But the uncertainty gnawed at him.
The next morning, Pedro opened his shop with a tight knot in his chest. Even as he prepared food and greeted students, his eyes kept drifting to the street. At five minutes to eleven, he stepped outside, hands nervously twisting his apron.
He waited. Ten minutes passed, then twenty. Students noticed his unease. One regular asked, “No Lola today?” Pedro tried to sound casual as he replied, “She didn’t come yesterday either. I’m starting to worry.” Concern rippled through the crowd, and the usual lunchtime buzz felt muted, everyone missing the little dog who had become such a part of their lives.