I don’t know whether to move the bishop or the rook. Which move is the most convenient? A check with no guaranteed success… because his next move would simply be to avoid the check. Last time we spent more than 30 minutes in a kind of predator–prey chase. Moving between squares with a constant stream of checks. In the end, I decide on the rook.
He freezes, doesn’t continue the game.
But why? It’s just a game, nothing more.
He looks at the window for a long time. I interpret that he’s thinking about his strategy, that he’s not really observing anything specific—just that blank gaze into the distance. Minutes go by… and then I realize he’s actually staring at the window itself. I can’t help letting out a small exclamation of surprise. He turns his head and laughs. He asks me what happened.
Honestly, I explain my thoughts. And with the same sincerity, he tells me he had been marveling at the perfection of the square formed by the window. He was wondering about the origin of that shape, why it has that name, and the reasons behind the different linguistic roots in various languages (square, quadrato, carré, cuadrado, kare…), and also why the diagonal must always be proportional to the square root of two, without any exception whatsoever.
I realize the depth and capacity for reflection he has. Suddenly, he apologizes for the distraction and makes his move.
Did he know that the play was lost? Or did he want to avoid the predator–prey dynamic?
Whatever the case, I win the game.
Immediately after, he makes a proposal. He tells me there’s another game full of squares, just like chess: the Rubik’s cube. We each take one. Stopwatch activated, time to solve it. I must confess—I’m terrible at it, unlike chess. My conviction is that it’s pure practice, yet my defeat is inevitable. Fifteen minutes versus… one hour.
Well, my only self‑consoling observation is that we stay within the realm of the number four from squares: 1/4 of an hour versus 4/4 of an hour. Or, put another way: painting one side of a square with a marker versus painting all four sides—whoever marks fewer sides wins.
After that shared time, we say goodbye. We always end up having a sweet moment together. In one way or another, both of us win.
I go home. I hang my jacket on the coat rack. I head to the kitchen because I’m a bit hungry. Understandable—I’ve used mental energy. A lot in chess, too much with the Rubik’s cube. That’s when I notice something someone has left.
An orange box. I get closer and see a post‑it on top. A clear message:
“While you’ve been investing time in your chess-covered friendship, I’ve been investing mine in fashion. Since I probably won’t get home before you, I’m leaving this gift for you while you wait for that literary friend of yours.”
She always makes me smile.
One thing I must thank life for: living with a friend who takes care of you and who knows—without asking, without guessing—she just knows. And that makes everything easier: friendship and coexistence.
Obviously, I was also aware that she was studying the new collection of that designer she likes so much…
“In this new collection, the accessories are based on square shapes. If you look closely, the rings are made of a series of steel squares placed side by side, creating a feeling of harmony and symmetry suitable for any type of finger. The bracelets and necklaces from the collection follow the same concept. The handbags come in different sizes, all with a square shape. You will notice that we have sewn onto the leather, using the corresponding complementary color, a network of squares. The clothing line, for both men and women, is inspired by the same geometric shape. If you look, the men’s trousers have a micro‑pattern of squares, just like…”
I wonder what the new collection must look like. I suppose she’ll explain it to me later with enthusiasm and detail. I open the box and—wow!!
A square piece of Massini cake. My mouth waters instantly. I sit down and slowly savor this delight my literary friend left for me.
After a while—who knows how long, but certainly not me—my friend comes home. A hug is our usual greeting. She grabs my arm with excitement and leads me to the sofa in the living room. She explains the entire new collection based on squares. What a curious artistic choice—I hope it goes well for the designer.
Then she suggests playing with Lego for a while, but only with square pieces, she says, as a tribute to the new collection. Could be fun—why not?
We ended up building some figures that were, honestly, horrendous. But still, it was fun.
Now it’s time to talk about the book. She points out something curious before anything else: books are normally rectangular. She says it would be a risky choice to make one circular, for example. Not in the case of children’s books, of course—those often have varied shapes and that’s part of their commercial appeal. In this case, she’s pleasantly surprised that the book is for adults and has a square shape. I agree—when someone’s right, you can’t do anything but acknowledge it.
We immerse ourselves in discussing the plot and the characters. Eventually, it’s time for dinner.
The end of the day arrives. We wish each other good night, and I go to my room. I sit down to write in my diary before bed.
But what happened today?
Why have we all dedicated ourselves to noticing the presence of squares, to honoring them, observing them, analyzing them…? If it’s just a polygon with four equal sides and four equal angles!!
And yet, it has taken over my entire day!!
El Gegant del π 