The wind blew hard that night, making the neon signs of the downtown streets dance. Catarina walked quickly, heart pounding, unsure if she was running from something or toward him.
She hadn't been prepared to see him again. Not tonight. Not after spending the whole day trying to push his memory away.
But fate has a cruel way of bringing back what we try to forget.
When she entered the bar, he was there. Same seat. Same glass. Same dangerous calm.
Their eyes met, and the world seemed to tilt slightly, as if gravity itself had shifted.
"You," she breathed, half-smile, half-defense.
"Me," he confirmed.
Nothing more. But in that instant, everything returned, the game, the tension, the burn beneath the skin.
They talked for hours, as usual. About everything and nothing. About her dreams, which she pretended were simpler than they truly were,and his life, which he described as an endless chain of contracts and flights.
He never said "I."Always "one must," "it's required," "that's how it is."As if he refused to include himself in his own life.
But tonight, something had changed. She felt it. So did he.
Words lost their lightness. Glances stretched .Every silence became a promise.
When she tried to leave, he stood before her.
"Let me walk you home."
"It's not necessary."
"Maybe not. But I want to."
She could have refused. She should have. But she only nodded.
They walked through the empty streets, side by side, without touching. The night seemed vaster, the sound of their steps too loud.
When they reached the building where she rented an apartment to be alone, she stopped, heart in disarray.
"Thank you …"she murmured.
He was about to answer when she added:
"You know this is a bad idea, don't you?"
A faint smile curved the corner of his lips.
"Probably."
"Then why are you staying?"
"Because you didn't ask me to leave."
Silence. There was a nearly painful honesty in his words.
The wind rushed between them, lifting a strand of her hair. He tucked it back with his fingers.
That simple, tiny gesture shattered everything they had held back for weeks.
She let him in.
The apartment was small, almost fragile. The walls breathed youth, books left open on the table, candles unlit for days. He felt like an intruder, while she, suddenly, seemed like a stranger in her own home.
Words were lost.There was only silence. A breath. A brush of skin. A restraint trembling with every second.
Until she whispered:
"Say it, if you're going to regret it."
And he, almost in a whisper:
"I already have."
Catarina knew then that all was lost. That there would be no turning back.
And yet, she moved forward.
It was tender, awkward, sincere. No shouted passion, only raw emotion, the kind of emotion two people feel after waiting too long, denying too much.
When she closed her eyes, she was afraid.Afraid she wouldn't recognize herself afterward.
But when he held her close, the fear vanished.
There was no longer right or wrong. Only a naked truth: They had found each other too late, but not too late to run.
By early morning, gray light filtered through the curtains. Catarina opened her eyes, still suspended in that waking dream.
He slept half-heartedly, breath calm, hand resting near hers. Everything seemed strangely peaceful. Too peaceful.
She stayed watching him, wondering who he really was. He spoke little, as if he hid the whole world behind each silence. And now, seeing him asleep, he seemed almost vulnerable. Almost.
She brushed the sheet lightly, then rose without a sound. The city outside the window stretched lazily. Part of her wanted to believe this was the beginning of something. The other part already knew it was a mistake.
Sylus felt her absence even before opening his eyes. The bed was warm, the room too quiet. He stayed still for a long moment, staring at the ceiling, the taste of an unfamiliar unease still lingering on his lips.
It wasn't love. Not yet. It was worse: an obsession barely born. A memory he hadn't yet lived, but already feared losing.
When he finally rose, the world seemed to tilt slightly. Not because he loved her. But because he was afraid of what he might feel if he saw her again.