We live in an age of extremes, where everything is allowed, in a way, but it’s also a time where old moral judgments still rest beneath the ashes of our parents' and grandparents' world. A lot of things are no longer said, more out of fear than true understanding. It’s not that the people who made mean-spirited jokes in the nineties have suddenly had a change of heart. Quite the opposite: in my view, those people simply went quiet to avoid lawsuits and the like.
The problem wasn't solved; it was just anesthetized. But anyway, why am I saying this? Why does it matter? It turns out that fear doesn't unite; it separates. It’s hard to be someone’s friend if you’re constantly afraid of offending them. Friendship is forged precisely when those fears and barriers are torn down. That’s how a friend laughs about the day you drank too much and threw up in an Uber on the way home. That’s how you get a nickname that rarely comes from a good quality—usually the opposite.
Friends tear down the doors of sensitivity, and that’s exactly what makes them valuable. They are the ones who force you to see, recognize, and even laugh at your most painful flaws. And when you laugh, the flaw stops hurting; it becomes part of you, part of your identity. Friends make you embrace that flaw instead of hiding it.
But when flaws can’t be seen, they become invisible barriers. The moment you hesitate to say something for fear of hurting someone is the moment you begin to drift apart. That’s when phoniness creeps in, and a fake smile or a hollow compliment triggers distrust and, with it, separation. This, as I see it, is how groups end up isolating themselves. And mind you, I’m not saying we should unleash offensive jokes, but we could stop being so easily offended by them.
Carolina seems to have understood reality this way. While many classmates isolated themselves in their groups under the rainbow flag, Carolina—who was originally Carlos (she states this quite frequently herself)—ended up in the other group. That’s how I met her.
In college, I first became friends with Felipe and Ramon. But Ramon soon introduced us to another group of friends one Friday night at a bar. In this other group, there was only one girl: Carolina. Despite being beautiful and extroverted, it caught my attention that none of the guys seemed interested in hooking up with her; everyone talked freely, laughed together, but no one flirted. She had a steady gaze and an easy laugh. Soon, our eyes met. Her pale face with rosy cheeks and that smile moved me instantly. And she noticed.
She didn’t waste time playing hard to get. She struck up a conversation, asked my name and what I was studying, while the others got up to play pool. We were facing each other, and the conversation flowed easily, despite my shyness. Ramon, waiting for his turn to take a shot, looked at me with a worried air—or something like it. It was a mix of concern, expectation, and mockery. He wasn’t the only one paying attention amidst stifled laughs. Carolina followed my eyes and looked at them before returning her gaze to me. Her eyes lost their color in a deep breath that showed anxiety. Then she looked away, picked up her beer glass, and took a few sips.
"Did they tell you yet?"
I looked at her, confused, while the others stared at us.
"Tell me what?"
"Tell him, tell him, tell him..." the group repeated.
She rolled her eyes in a mix of mockery and pain. Her finger reached the base of her eye, wiping away a tear that threatened to roll down her cheek. But she quickly composed herself.
"Ah, these boys! Didn't they tell you that I used to be Carlos?"
A chill ran up my spine, making my hair stand on end. The guys at the table laughed uncontrollably and mercilessly, while my blood boiled. Her mouth slowly began to smile and ended in a laugh that joined the others. I didn’t know if it was serious or just another joke.
"Is that serious?" I asked with a nervous smile once the laughter subsided.
She didn't say anything, just shrugged her shoulders and raised her arms in a sign that confirmed everything.
"Wait, let me show you," a friend came over, phone already in hand with some photos.
"Oh, come on, guys! No, for God's sake..." she protested, covering her face with her hands.
It felt like I was looking at one of those optical illusions that can be either a duck or a rabbit. I couldn't see Carlos in her flesh-and-blood features, but suddenly, I realized her voice was a bit deeper than expected; her neck, a bit longer; and the Adam's apple was the detail my eyes hadn't found until that moment.
"It’s a miracle of plastic surgery!" someone said through laughs.
The others approached the table. One, cue stick in hand, was the first to hug her around the neck from behind the chair.
"But whatever she is, we love her very much," he said, his gesture followed by the others.
She gave a few playful slaps to the one who showed me the photos as he approached to hug her, and soon everything went back to normal, just as it was before the revelation. Only I, who had been shy before, was now speechless.
Carolina kept looking at me. A look that didn't hide interest, but was also clouded with doubt. However, I doubt she had more doubts than mine. I wanted to know: how did she change so much? How did she become so feminine? And why did other trans women at the college still look like men with breasts, while she was definitely a woman in appearance? A woman with... did she still keep it? But how was I supposed to just go around asking these things?
Seeing that I wasn't talking, she got up and headed toward a jukebox to pick some songs. Ramon, who had lost the game, came to sit beside me.
"Damn! It looks like you've seen a ghost, Henrique!" he said, laughing and filling his glass with beer. "I was shocked when I found out too, but I think the face you made was way funnier! Haha!"
"I... I would never have noticed..."
"It’s scary, isn't it? Imagine if you had been kissing her without knowing? Haha!"
While we spoke, Carolina took Ramon's place at the table. She wore tight jeans on her shapely legs. A short blue top, but not too short. I could tell she didn't have implants, but many women have small breasts and are no less beautiful for it. But what my eyes wanted to know, as she leaned over to take a shot, was whether a part of Carlos was still present in that body.
My curiosity was so intense that I wasn't even hiding my gaze properly anymore. I think the extra sips of beer I took after the revelation also contributed to my indiscretion. The game didn't take long to end. Carolina won every round.
"I’m a woman who knows how to use a stick better than you guys."
The provocation sparked laughter and more jabs. After the laughs, our eyes met once more. Her gaze didn't hide her discomfort.
"Is the beer helping you find the courage to ask, or is it just making you stare at me?" she said, loud enough for the whole room to hear.
The question felt like a stab. Indeed, I was behaving poorly.
The silence in the bar became so thick I could hear the hum of the refrigerator in the background. I had two options: sink into my chair or hold my head up. I chose the second, though my hands were slightly trembling.
"I'm sorry, Carolina," I said, my voice coming out firmer than I expected. "I was behaving like an idiot. It’s just that I’m not as good at handling surprises as you are at pool."
She kept staring at me, the wooden cue resting on the floor like a scepter. The group of friends watched the scene like it was a championship final.
"Since you said you know how to use the stick better than us..." I paused, gesturing to the green table. "How about a game? But I’m warning you: I’m a sore loser."
A corner-of-the-mouth smile appeared on her lips. It wasn't a mocking smile, but one of someone accepting a challenge.
"Henrique, right?" she asked, handing me a spare cue. "Let’s see if you pay as much attention to the game as you do to my ass."
I started off wrong by letting her take the first shot. It was a strong, precise break that scattered all the balls and sent two into the pockets. And then the dance began. She sank ball after ball. She climbed onto the table to position herself correctly, unafraid of exposing herself. Every shot she made caused my thoughts to forget the embarrassment and concentrate on what remained of the game.
She had the skill of someone with a lot of experience. With every shot, Carolina moved with freedom, leaning over the table with her body stretched out. On one shot, she cast a glance over her shoulder, winking at me as a ball hit the back of the pocket with a dry thud. Only one of her balls and the black ball remained for her to win, but the angle was difficult even for the most experienced.
The expectation was high; everyone gathered around to see the athlete win the game. It was by a hair that the ball stopped right in front of the hole.
"You're very quiet, Henrique. Cat got your tongue, or is Carlos still messing with your vision?" she provoked, laughing, as she walked around the table with light steps.
"I don't even see Carlos anymore," I confessed, and to my surprise, it was the absolute truth. "I’m just trying to understand how you can be so annoying and such a good player at the same time."
She let out a hearty laugh, the kind that comes from the chest.
"It’s a gift. Most men freeze up when they realize I’m not what they projected. But you... you look like you’re starting to have fun."
Slowly, the weight in my chest gave way to a strange lightness. We started trading barbs, laughs, and even "accidental" bumps as we passed each other to get the chalk. There was a familiarity there that defied logic. It was as if we had already teased each other in other bars, in other lives, and were just continuing a conversation that had been interrupted.
The game came to an electric end. Only the black ball and one of mine remained. Carolina prepared for the final shot, a simple move for someone who had already performed miracles on that table. She aimed, hesitated for a split second—a flash of mischief in her eyes—and the cue hit the ball poorly. The black ball just kissed the corner of the pocket and stopped two inches from the hole.
"Oh, no! What an amateur mistake!" she exclaimed, faking a frustration that convinced no one but gave me the green light I needed.
"Too bad, Carolina. Looks like the tables have turned," I said, stepping closer.
I chalked the tip of my cue, feeling her gaze burning on my face, no longer with doubt, but with expectation. I positioned myself calmly. The nervousness was gone. I took the shot with surgical precision: my ball hit the black one, which dove into the pocket with a satisfying sound.
"You missed on purpose," I whispered, staying close enough to smell her perfume, which now mixed sweet notes with the scent of beer.
"And you play much better than you admitted," she shot back, closing the distance between us. "Which proves that we shouldn't believe everything people say on first impressions."
Before I ended up too close, almost "kissing her without knowing," as Ramon had warned me, I felt Felipe’s hand on my shoulder.
"Let’s go grab a burger? I’m starving, and the guys are already paying the bill downstairs."
Felipe’s loud voice had the effect of bringing the bar back, and with it, reality; but what happened between me and Carolina there was far from dead. She pulled back an inch but kept that smile of someone who knew exactly what had almost happened.
"The burger place by the station?" she asked, putting the cue back in the rack naturally and with a dose of joy, as if she were the one who had won the game. "If it’s on Henrique, I’m in. After all, he won the game, didn't he?"
She winked at me, and I understood that "mistake" on the last ball had been her investment.
"It’s on me," I replied, despite a gut feeling that this wouldn't end the way I was "used to." But so what? Life is about trying new things, isn't it?
The truth is, I had already forgotten about Carlos. We walked down the stairs with the rest of the group. The street chill hit our faces. In front were the guys, laughing at a joke I didn't quite hear and didn't care about. Behind, Carolina slotted in beside me, and the touch of her arm against mine felt like the most natural thing in the world.
Ramon and Felipe were in the middle; they looked surprised, but it wasn't just that. There was a mix of admiration and, perhaps, a sting of envy in their eyes. Everyone there had the opportunity, but only I seemed to have been able to break through the mental barriers of our ancestors. Carolina walked so close, just waiting for my move. I started by extending my pinky until it found hers; she looked at it without saying anything and extended hers back.
The talk at the diner was more relaxed and respectful. No one spoke of Carolina's past anymore; she sat beside me. We talked about a bit of everything: music, series, exchanged our opinions on various subjects, and got to know each other. Carolina kept her easy laugh and invited me to laugh along.
The others didn't seem to mind us. Only at the end, when full bellies called for sleep and her head leaned on my shoulder, did a friend find the courage to say:
"I’m really happy to see Carolina like this. She’s quite a woman; I hope you deserve her, Henrique."
"Stop scaring him, Marcos," she said, her voice sleepy.
His words made me laugh nervously; I still didn't know if this was meant to last or if it was just an adventure. Actually, I did know, but I didn't have the courage to admit it to myself yet. Carolina stared at me, looking deep into my eyes; she seemed to see something more inside them. Her mouth smiled softly, and she rested her head back on my shoulder.
I had taken a step; in a way, I had committed myself, even if tacitly, to a different woman, without knowing how voluminous that difference was. Or how sharp it could be.
It wasn't necessary to invite Carolina to my place; she invited herself, without the slightest embarrassment. She said she lived far away and was too sleepy to go there. I wasn't prepared to have guests; the apartment was a mess. A bigger mess than her. She said she wanted to take a shower at four in the morning. I tried to convince her she didn't need to, but she insisted. While I went to find a clean towel, she lay down on the bed. By the time I returned, she had already fallen asleep.
When I saw her, I felt butterflies in my stomach. It was the first time I could look at her in a well-lit environment. Her skin was soft, pale, but her cheeks were still rosy. Her girlish face hadn't deceived me when the light was dim; it was truly feminine and beautiful. I had to pick her up to move her from the middle of the bed to make some space for myself. Feeling the movement, she half-woke up, and when I lay down, she turned and hugged me.
And that was our first night together: no sex, not even kisses, just each other's warmth.
