There are encounters that seem written in the dust of chance, gazes that cling for no reason and refuse to let go,as if the world itself were holding its breath around them.
Catarina didn't believe in coincidences.But that night, in a bar bathed in dim light and glasses ringing like promises,she could've sworn that fate had decided to toy with her.
She had turned eighteen just a few weeks earlier, an age still tender, yet one she wore like a mask.In her mother's black dress and lipstick a shade too dark, she looked older, more certain of herself.An illusion she tried to keep alive, especially when she saw him.
He sat alone at a table: charcoal suit, expensive watch, eyes pale and weary.There was something cold, elegant, almost melancholic about him.She didn't yet know that those eyes would be the source of her greatest joy, and her deepest wounds.
"Are you waiting for someone?"His voice was low, calm, marked with the quiet authority of men used to being listened to.
Catarina could have lied.She could have said she was meeting friends. That she was leaving.But instead, she shrugged, a nonchalant smile in place.
"Maybe. And you?"
"No,"he said after a pause. "Not really."
Their conversation could have ended there.But there was that tension, that curiosity, the way he looked at her,as if she were a mystery he didn't want to solve but couldn't ignore.
They talked for hours, about everything and nothing.She invented a name in her head, in case he asked for one.He carefully avoided giving his own.It was a dangerous game, though they didn't know it yet, two souls balancing on the edge of a secret.
When he offered to walk her home, she hesitated a second too long.He noticed.And without a word, he followed her with his gaze until she disappeared through the door,as if he already knew they would meet again.
She knew it too.Because at that moment, without understanding why , Catarina had just fallen into the sweetest of sins.
She thought the evening would end there,that she would go home a little shaken, but untouched.
But chance, or what we call chance when we don't want to speak of destiny , had another role to play.
Two days later, she saw him again.Not in a bar this time, but in a quiet café near the university where she pretended to be doing an internship.
He was there, alone again, reading a newspaper.Still immaculate, still holding his cup as if the entire world were something he could ignore.
"Are you following me, or is it fate again?" she teased,wearing that smile she saved for people she wanted to unsettle.
He looked up, surprised, amused. "Maybe both."
This time, he invited her to sit.And the conversation resumed, as if it had never been interrupted.Their words brushed lightly against each other, but their eyes burned.
She learned he worked in business, traveled often, disliked complications.She pretended to be a communications student, free, independent, older than she really was.Every word she spoke was a carefully woven lie.Every smile he returned was a promise he didn't yet know he would keep.
When their hands brushed while reaching for a glass,a shiver ran violently through her.It was the kind of touch one shouldn't notice… and never forgets.
They met again.Always by "chance."Always in places too discreet to be innocent.
Until that night when he finally asked:
"What's your name?"
She hesitated. She could have lied again.But for some reason she couldn't explain, she simply said:
"Catarina."
He smiled, just slightly,as if the name already had a taste he liked.
"Sylus"
That was all. Two syllables.But they changed everything.
She didn't yet know that this name would haunt her dreams,her shame, and her memories, that it would become the red thread of her downfall… and her rebirth.
That night, she went home telling herself it meant nothing,that she could still stop.
But deep down, she already knew, she had crossed the line.