If A través de mi ventana was the dizzying, electric rush of first love—the stolen glances, the typing hearts, the breaking of rules—then this sequel is the raw, quiet hangover. It’s the price of the fire. Ariana Godoy doesn't give you the happily-ever-after on a silver platter. Instead, she hands you the messy reality: the long-distance ache, the creeping insecurities, and the terrifying question of whether you can exist as a person and as someone’s other half.
Read it with a box of tissues, a mug of something hot, and the knowledge that real love stories don’t end. They just learn to breathe. despues de diciembre libro
For anyone who has ever fought for a relationship that felt like a second job, or wondered if the person you fought so hard to get is the same person you can learn to keep—this book is a gut punch wrapped in a hug. It reminds us that December ends. The snow melts. But if you’re lucky, what remains isn't the fire, but the steady, patient warmth of two people choosing each other on an ordinary Tuesday. If A través de mi ventana was the
Raquel is no longer just the girl next door with a broken laptop and a crush. She’s a young woman trying to find her footing in a new city, in a new university, while tethered to a boy whose gravitational pull once threatened to swallow her whole. Ares, stripped of his family’s fortress and his own emotional armor, must learn that loving someone isn't just about protecting them—it’s about letting them watch you fall apart. Instead, she hands you the messy reality: the
Here’s a short piece written for Después de diciembre , the second book in the Meses a tu lado duology by Ariana Godoy. It assumes the reader has finished A través de mi ventana (or the Netflix film adaptation Through My Window ). Some love stories end with a kiss in the final chapter. Después de diciembre is what happens the morning after.
What makes Después de diciembre so compelling is its honesty. The grand gestures are gone, replaced by frustrating silences, misunderstood texts, and the heavy weight of growing up. It’s not about whether they love each other—they do, desperately. It’s about whether love alone is enough when the world keeps turning.