I woke up to the sound of my phone vibrating on the floor. I scrambled to grab it, still half-asleep and disoriented. It was a message from him.
"Helena, I'm sorry. I completely forgot. I thought it was tomorrow. I'm exhausted. I'll call you later."
I read the message over and over, trying to process it, but all I could do was let out a dry laugh.
"I completely forgot."
It wasn't traffic. It wasn't a delay. It was forgetfulness.
I set the phone on my chest and stared at the ceiling for a long while. The message was so simple it almost felt unreal. He wasn't the kind of man who forgot things.
Caio was methodical he had a schedule for everything, wrote down every appointment, double-checked every email. And suddenly, I was scared.
Scared that maybe he'd gotten tired of me, and that our brief romance had been nothing more than a passing distraction to him.
While my mind spun in circles, my phone rang again. It was Lívia.
"Hey, girl! So? Did he show up?"
It took me a second to answer, my voice still raspy with sleep. "He… sent a message."
"And?"
"He said he forgot. Thought it was tomorrow."
Silence. Then a shout of outrage. "Forgot?! WHAT DO YOU MEAN, HE FORGOT?!"
"Lívia, calm down, I just woke up..."
"Calm down, my ass! You waited TWO HOURS, Helena! Two! And the man sends you a 'thought it was tomorrow'? No, I swear, if I were there, I'd be at his door with a megaphone right now!"
"He said he was tired… probably had a long day."
"Tired?! And you, sitting there like a saint waiting at a restaurant for two hours, weren't tired? Please! That's not exhaustion, that's lack of consideration. He didn't even bother to call and cancel."
"Lívia…"
"Don't you start defending him. I can already picture your face all disappointed but pretending it's fine. Listen, if he really wanted to see you, he wouldn't have forgotten. Nobody forgets someone they care about."
I sighed, resting my head on the pillow. "It's not that simple. He's not like that. I know Caio… it doesn't sound like something he'd do on purpose."
She huffed loudly on the other end. "Fine, fine… I know you like him. And I know you'll try to understand, talk it out, make excuses basically do couples therapy on your own. But please, Helena, keep your eyes open. If he starts piling up excuses, I swear I'll drag you out of there myself."
"Lívia, that's not necessary."
"It is! Because you're too kind. And people mistake kindness for a doormat. So if he steps on you again, I'll step back and then grind him into dust."
I couldn't help but laugh. "Fine. I'll let you handle it if it happens."
"Good. I hope he has life insurance."
"Lívia!"
"Kidding! …Mostly." She sighed, her tone softening. "But seriously, girl if he hurts you, remember that you deserve better, okay? Love isn't supposed to make you feel forgotten."
I stayed quiet for a few seconds.
"I know. But… I just want to understand what happened before I decide anything."
"Okay. Just don't let that urge to understand turn into an excuse for being the only one trying."
I nodded, even though she couldn't see it.
"Now go, breathe, shower, eat something. And if he screws up again, I'll write your breakup text myself. You just copy and paste, deal?"
"Deal."
"Good girl." She paused, then added playfully, "I love you, okay? Even if you have terrible taste in clothes and men."
"I love you too."
"Perfect. Now I gotta go, kisses!"
She laughed before hanging up, and I stayed there with the phone still in my hand. Her laughter faded, but her words lingered steady, light, like a reminder I hoped I wouldn't need.
Later that day, still torn between wounded pride and worry, I decided to go to his apartment.
If Lívia had been there, she'd have said I was humiliating myself for crumbs, but there was nothing else I could do.
As the elevator climbed, my heart beat faster with each floor. What excuse would he come up with? Would he try to smooth things over or finally end it? Was he just tired of me and didn't know how to say it?
Maybe that "thought it was tomorrow" had been the gentlest way of stepping away. Or maybe something really was going on, something he wasn't telling me. But then why hadn't he called? Why hadn't he said anything?
Each floor passing made my thoughts scatter like popcorn in a pan. I felt ridiculous, clutching my phone as if it were a compass pointing to some truth I wasn't sure I wanted to find.
He'd given me the key the day after we first spent the night together casually, almost shyly saying, "So you don't have to wait at the door." Back then, it felt meaningful.
Now, riding up in that cold elevator, I couldn't tell if it had been a gesture of trust or just convenience.
When the doors finally opened, I took a deep breath and stepped out.
The moment I unlocked the door, Amora came running toward me — tail wagging so fast it looked like a tiny propeller. For a brief second, I laughed despite myself.
"Hey, beautiful girl," I murmured, kneeling to pet her.
When I looked up, I saw him coming out of the glass-walled room at the back — hair damp from the shower, eyes tired. It took him a few seconds to speak.
"Helena?"
The way he said my name sounded uncertain.
"Hi…"
My voice came out quieter than I intended.
He smiled, but it didn't reach his eyes.
"I'm sorry about yesterday. I swear I thought it was today. My mind's been… a mess lately."
"It's fine," I lied, and he noticed.
"No, it's not fine," he said, draping the towel around his neck and stepping closer. "You got dressed up, brought your friend… and I just forgot. I don't even recognize myself."
"It's okay, Caio. You were tired. It happens."
"Not with me."
He ran a hand through his hair, frustrated.
"I always remember things. Always. And last night… nothing."
The sincerity in his voice felt like medicine confusing but strangely comforting.
"Look," I said softly, trying to ease the tension. "I was upset, but it's fine now. It's not the end of the world, okay? I was just sad… because I wanted to see you."
He looked at me, eyes dark and worn, and for the first time that day, they softened.
"I wanted to see you too. More than you think."
We stood there in silence for a few seconds until he broke it.
"Want to grab a coffee? I promise I still remember your order."
I smiled. "You sure?"
"I swear, as your boyfriend," he said with a half-smile that mixed humor and apology.
The café was only a couple of blocks away — small, full of plants, and smelled of fresh bread that made my stomach growl.
He ordered my usual espresso with milk and a double cheese bread, then looked at me proudly, as if remembering had just won him a prize.
Once we sat down, he asked,
"So… does your friend hate me now?"
"Lívia?" I laughed. "I think she's just disappointed she didn't get to meet you. She had a whole interrogation planned for her 'brother-in-law.'"
He chuckled. "Guess I dodged a bullet."
"She might still want to punch you, though."
"Then I owe my sister-in-law an apology. Think I still have a chance?"
"Barely," I teased.
By the end of the coffee, as we walked out, he took my hand firmly and looked into my eyes.
"I'm really sorry again," he said. "I promise, next time, I won't forget."
"You're forgiven," I murmured.
He laughed softly, the sound light but fleeting.
And as we walked down the street, a strange feeling passed through me like the world around us was exactly the same, yet something inside it had shifted ever so slightly.
Just enough for no one else to notice.
Except me.