January and December

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Summary

January and December is a story about bonds that shouldn't exist and about the weight of that which is never said. In the harsh and volatile climate of Argentine politics in 2027, the meeting between Victoria and Federico is unlikely, but inevitable. Every glance, every gesture, every chance encounter seems to bring them closer and further apart at the same time. She, trapped in a system she no longer believes she can transform, represents the solemnity of a power in decline. He, emerging and hidden, carries the force of a movement that challenges the same system. In this first part, the tension is never resolved; the romance never materializes, but grows like an inevitable shadow. The story is a choreography of silences, gestures, and decisions that, though small, define the course of a year and two lives.

Genre
Romance
Author
Inkino
Status
Ongoing
Chapters
20
Rating
n/a
Age Rating
16+

Prologue: No Man’s Land

Buenos Aires — October 2026

The night was cold, the wind dry. The light from the streetlamps illuminated streets that the residents themselves no longer recognized.

When everything began, no one recalled such an intense silence; something invasive and alien had settled upon the land, occupying squares, neighborhoods, and offices. In Congress, it became calculation; in the neighborhoods, distrust. Those who held power felt eyes upon them. Eyes that registered every step.

The country faced difficult days. On the news, President Javier Gastón Freiheit repeated hollow phrases: “Everything is in order, growing, with moral integrity.” In his shadow, Vice President Victoria Inés Cruz D’Albano nodded with a firm expression, dark suit, and unmoving gaze. She maintained her composure unalterably. Some admired her; others feared her. No one knew what she truly thought. But everyone sensed that she was not playing the same game as Freiheit.

Elsewhere in the city, without cameras or flashes, a new voice began to germinate. Among libraries, meeting halls, places where whispers found an echo, words were heard that spoke of sovereignty, homeland, treason, and fire. The voice was young, yet firm, clear; it had learned from defeats, not glories. It did not sign with a name or a party: it only said BIN.

Something else was also being said: She doesn’t know who I really am. But she will know that she is being watched and listened to.

In that climate of simulacra, oblivion, and soft repression, the country began to divide into two. Not by ideologies, but by the unspoken, by the air between the words, by the things no one dared to look at directly anymore.

The story that begins here is not a war. Nor is it exactly a love story. It is a silent rift between two people who should never have met. A long wait, like winter. A promise barely uttered. A gesture that, by itself, was enough to alter the course of the inevitable.

And if anyone asks for names, dates, or flags, let them. But this story, in truth, began with a flower.