Aquí tienes la traducción al inglés del cuento:

Sitting in front of his computer, Carlos simply disappeared. He looked like any guy fresh out of adolescence. Not very tall, with quite curly hair—without quite reaching an afro—and a more or less athletic build, it would be easy to mistake him for a programmer-hobbyist skater.

The reality was that Carlos, at 22 years old, had already become one of the most talented hackers in the world; he also possessed an extraordinary talent for creating technological devices that defied reality.

He was a sober and analytical guy, far too logical and formal to have grown up an orphan in his grandparents' mansion, which was practically empty all the time.

He went out from time to time. He liked crowded places, where he could disappear among the people. With a backpack and his laptop, he floated on his skateboard until he reached Starbucks.

His area of interest and his specialty were new technological developments and scientific advances; he worked for himself and without an agenda. He plunged into the Deep Web the way any sea explorer would dive into the Mariana Trench.

That day he ordered a frappé latte and a lemon pound cake, the one with the crunchy glazed frosting. He opened his laptop, put on his headphones, and started a playlist that kicked off with "Seven Nation Army." With his fingers typing skillfully, that corner in that Starbucks turned into a small bathyscaphe as he began another journey into the abyss.

Absorbed completely in the virtual depths, he didn't notice a beautiful girl sit down on the very same sofa as him.

That very faint gust of wind expanding with a delicious aroma brought him back from the depths to the surface of reality. Carlos remained trapped for a moment in those galaxy-colored eyes with their own gravitational pull, even though she was at the other end of the sofa.

Surprised, but under control as always, he took off his headphones and furrowed his brow. That girl was simply gorgeous, even though she felt a bit out of his league, not only because she was slightly taller, but because she was definitely over thirty.

"I know what I'm about to tell you is going to sound incredible... (the blue-eyed girl told him, barely out of breath, as she leaned a little closer to him). Please, please, try..."

Equanimous and analyzing that absurd situation, Carlos slowly lowered his laptop screen. Any other guy would have melted into his insecurities, gotten nervous, or broken out in a sweat, but not Carlos. Without losing his calm, he carefully analyzed the surroundings. He made a list of possibilities in his mind, but came up with nothing. So Carlos looked patiently at the pretty girl, sure that there was a logical explanation for what was happening. She, on the other hand, looked restless and glanced over her shoulders as she tucked her bangs behind her ear... He decided not to speak, choosing instead to wait for the explanation.

With a distressed face, she tried to regain her composure and speak with all possible seriousness; of course, she first moistened her lips, which were just beginning to dry. Before starting, she stared at Carlos with infinite tenderness. That made Carlos even more confused.

"Okay, Charly, darling, I have no other way to start... (she continued) We met 14 years from now; you let your curls grow out more. That's how we started our first conversation—you still think you would have preferred to have wavier hair. I wouldn't change a thing about you; to me, you've always looked perfect. But I fell in love with you for other reasons: your bitter-chocolate humor, your indestructible logic; I fell in love with your interest in others, your conviction to do the right thing, your sheer capacity to love, and your many, many contradictions."

By then Carlos had already calculated that the probability of meeting a woman so gorgeous who called him by his name and told him "darling" was the same as getting struck by lightning twice on a sunny day.

According to his preliminary analysis, everything in that Starbucks looked normal. Perhaps someone had discovered him during one of his latest forays into the net, in places not necessarily public that he liked to infiltrate. Maybe that girl was a detective or someone from some government agency. Maybe there was a hidden camera around recording a prank.

Even though he blushed at the allusion to falling in love, Carlos set out to play his cool card to see how much information she had on him before implementing his escape plan.

"Curls... (she said, much more calmly) It's just you and I now, but not for long. They're following me, and I'm here because I have faith that what you feel for me—what you're going to feel for me—is enough for you to believe me today and save us."

Carlos smiled, but said nothing; he wanted to find out as much as possible before opening his mouth... he still didn't know if he was in serious legal trouble or if all of this was a prank, the most beautiful prank anyone had ever played on him...

Of course, it struck him as odd that she called him "Curls" and not "Charly"... after all, his coffee was under the name Carlos, and from Charly to Carlos there wasn't much to decipher—that's how she figured out his name, he thought. But "Curls"? Only his parents had called him that, and that was a long time ago. Carlos figured that if he wanted to know what was really happening, he would have to play along for a few more minutes with the inscrutable character sitting in front of him...

Still patient, Carlos turned serious and finally spoke. He thought a touch of humor would relax the atmosphere a bit.

"So you're in love with me—I mean, you're going to be, or something like that, right? Interesting... You came so I could save us, am I right? I mean, you didn't come to arrest me. In fact, you say you're the one being chased. Shouldn't you be running then?"

And he motioned toward the door with his eyes.

"You're not funny, Charly. But yes, we should run."

Carlos smiled and shook his head; he still couldn't make sense of that strange situation and was already in alert mode—just in case, it was better to leave. He bent down to pick up his backpack, but his skateboard was behind her.

Then she stepped closer to him and took his hand... She looked at him as if telling him, "Get ready"... And she said:

"You were born on January 25, 2002... You were orphaned at age 7, you never found out what happened to your parents, and your grandfather's fortune never mattered a damn to you. You learned very well not to reveal that you're a genius—an incredible genius—and everything you know you've taught yourself. Numbers and algorithms taught you the certainty that life lacks, and even so, you've always been very drawn to people, or 'normals,' as you call them. You've always given the impression that you view them as younger siblings to protect; you never stopped being a romantic.

You think technology is the best way to help many. But, I'm sorry to tell you, darling, you're wrong. To be frank, I still don't understand why people matter so much to you; your concept of good seems far too idealistic to me. Anyway. You're going to try many things and end up absolutely convinced that there is no intelligent way to fight the system. 'Anyone who tries to change the system will irremediably...'”

"...Irremediably become part of it."

Carlos completed that sentence completely dismayed. She continued:

"When I met you, you were losing your way. We became friends, the best ones. Until you found out what I worked on. I was on the verge of losing you, but in the end, you decided to help me. I didn't know whether to keep or destroy what I had discovered. Charls, time travel is possible. Not through a machine, there are gateways; it's not even about time, they are interdimensional bridges... but the incredible, extraordinary thing is that they are absolutely susceptible to our thoughts."

Carlos was flabbergasted. The information was true, everything she said about him. How had that girl obtained that information? And what were those crazy ideas about interdimensional travel?

He let go of her hand and asked her angrily:

"Are you a hacker too?"

Without letting her answer, he continued:

"You're good, you're seriously good, I don't understand how you got this information, please tell me what this is all about, who are you? What is going on?"

"You wiped it well, Charls, that information no longer exists (she replied, trying to calm him down and taking his hand again). Feel my hand, I'm not a threat, you're getting scared, aren't you? Relax, it's me. I'm not a hacker, I'm the best quantum physicist and mathematician of our times, and I would have preferred not to be."

Carlos couldn't believe her; nothing she was saying was logical. Why did it feel as though what was happening had already been lived by him before? What if all of this was a dream?

There was Carlos, between reality and fiction, viewing his surroundings the way a parallel universe happening simultaneously would look. But her hand, the one entangling her fingers with his and making him feel calm, had to be real; it felt real.

"I have a way to prove what I'm telling you."

She said, a bit more determined.

Carlos still hadn't decided which reality to return to... he was lost in those galaxy-blue eyes.

"I don't understand what's happening, I feel strange, I feel like I know you, but I don't even know your name."

"You'll remember when I prove what I'm saying."

"Am I going to remember something I haven't even lived yet?"

"Yes, well, in theory."

"Now am I going to be your guinea pig?"

He said, without thinking about logic or consequences.

"Look, (she said, shifting to her scientific tone) I'm not going to get complicated, but essentially I discovered that our brain interacts with space-time at unimaginable subquantum levels—we didn't know it, until I discovered that there are infinitesimal fissures between universes. We thought we affected the quantum world just by looking at it, but no, we were wrong; what affects the quantum world isn't our measurements, it's our thoughts."

Carlos had already read about the double-slit experiment, which seemed to show that when a photon is measured, its behavior is different from when it isn't measured, as if mere observation alters the result, as if the photon knew it was being watched. She continued:

"Look, thoughts cannot be seen, but they exist, they are information. That information can cross dimensions, and time does not affect that information. Information is neither created nor destroyed... information only travels; it's another form of energy. We create it, it's in our minds. It's not that you can control where you go; the most powerful thoughts—the ones that affect the cracks between dimensions—are deep within our subconscious. And only the thoughts that produce the most powerful feelings are the ones capable of vibrating the interdimensional cracks enough. And there is only one feeling capable of breaking the barrier between worlds... can't you guess what it is?"

"I'm almost imagining it," Carlos replied, still incredulous... "and it turns out that according to you, the idealistic romantic is me"... Carlos said, more captivated by the arguments than by the worries of his surroundings. He couldn't shake his dismayed expression, though now it was more out of intrigue.

She continued:

"I don't have time to explain everything to you, but that romantic feeling you didn't even want to name is quantifiable and powerful. It is capable of breaking the barriers between universes; it's a projectile of information that travels faster than light. Everything that feeds that particular thought-feeling makes it more intense; our memories are everything. Carlos, it's too much to explain, this has to do with quantum entanglement, what Einstein described as 'spooky action at a distance.' These interactions are affected by what we think. Scents, for example, ignite memories like nothing else can. Smell and memory are closely related. I come from the future; many of the atoms I'm made of now will remain part of me until then. But they are here with you today. Don't you think it's incredible!? Our emotions, the ones that originate our thoughts, are tangible... and transcend space-time, they transcend universes! If any of the quanta of what I am now makes a connection with a single particle of what you are now, at a quantum-interemotional level, I will manage to retransmit part of your future memories to this present, because there is no time or space at the quantum-interemotional level, remember? It's a matter of connecting a future memory you're going to have to this exact instant..."

Carlos decided at that moment that nothing she was saying was true. He put his hands to his hair and inspected the surroundings again; it was time to leave...

"Nobody believed me, Charls... only you... that's why you decided to help me." She said, looking back and forth, increasingly nervous and restless.

"Carlos, I'm going to try something to help you remember... We won't have time for anything else after that. They're about to arrive. They know I'm here, and they know I'm with you. When they arrive, they'll make up any story... Then it will depend on you... Please (she said, taking his hands) save us, there's too much at stake. I must destroy all my research, but without you, I won't be able to do it..."

Then she touched his cheek almost in slow motion and kissed his lips. It was a tender kiss, not long at all, soft actually, but sweet... Carlos, with his eyes closed, found himself defenseless; his universe was immersed in an interdimensional journey.

"Sweet!"

Carlos said after returning from those seconds that lost him in time...

"Your name is Dulce," he said... with his eyelids half-mast.

"I told you you'd remember..."

She said as she adjusted his hair...

Carlos grabbed his head; for a prank, it had already been too much... That taste, the texture of those lips, and what's more, that scent, were spinning over and over in his memory, right around his hypothalamus... He kept asking himself:

"What is happening! What is happening!" He said it in a low voice.

He hadn't noticed that an ambulance and a black Suburban had pulled up at the entrance of the Starbucks.

A man in a white lab coat entered the café and walked straight toward them. Dulce was scared to death, but she didn't do anything. The man, with an attitude of "everything is under control," sat down on the opposite sofa, crossed his leg, and intertwined the fingers of his bony hand while playing with his thumbs.

"Miss Sofia, we have come for you. I want you to follow me and accompany me to the ambulance, you're going to be fine, we don't want to make a scene, and we don't want to cause unnecessary damage (he said, looking around the café and concluding his gaze on Carlos). Please, for everyone's good, cooperate."

She hugged Carlos's arm and turned to look at him.

"Tell me what's happening!" Carlos asked the man in the white lab coat with a firm, confident voice.

Without wanting to explain anything, the man turned to look at Carlos with sleepy eyelids, looking totally condescending, and said:

"Miss Sofia is a patient at the psychiatric hospital next door... She suffers from a very rare schizophrenia, isn't that right, Sofia?"

He said, looking at her annoyedly and without giving her a chance to reply.

She told Carlos, in a low voice:

"It's already late, I know very well what they are capable of doing, I'm not going to risk you."

Carlos held her hand when he felt she was about to stand up.

"What story did she tell you, kid? (the man said, somewhat impatiently) The one about time travel? Quantum and emotional physics? I have to admit that sometimes I almost believe her too (the man said with a mocking smile). I don't blame you if you did too. And even more so with a woman as beautiful as her, right? She hypnotized you, son, I don't blame you. What chances did you have of a girl like that even coming over to talk to you? Whatever she told you, it's all a fantasy... She can make up any story... so I recommend you calm down..."

Then, turning to the blue-eyed girl, he said:

"This is the second time you've escaped, and I'm surprised, given the level of security at our clinic. Don't worry, Sofia, you're going to be fine... we're going to help you tell reality from fiction. You'll feel better when you're back on treatment."

"My name is not Sofia!" she said, clinging to Carlos's arm.

"Okay, agreed, your name is not Sofia, (the man said, standing up and extending his hand to her kindly, as if following a protocol) what do you want me to call you?"

She just stood up without shaking his hand, looked at Carlos, and said nothing; there was still hope in her gaze.

They took a couple of steps, and a helicopter was heard flying close by. The guy in the white lab coat touched his ear, as if wearing a device and communicating with someone. Surprised, Carlos began to savor the taste that had lingered on his lips only moments before. Finally, everything was in its place; everything made logical sense then.

"Her name is Dulce!" Carlos shouted, catching everyone's attention... while his skateboard flew through the air toward the surprised face of the guy in the white lab coat.

After a few seconds of darkness, Carlos opened his eyes. He had returned from his interdimensional journey... it was just him and her, looking at each other...

"Your name is Dulce," he said... with his eyelids half-mast. "We have to leave now."

"I told you you'd remember..."

She said as she adjusted his hair.