Summer moved on slowly, like a dream you don't want to wake from.
The days seemed to stretch endlessly, filled with light, promises, and a carefree spirit found only at seventeen.
Catarina and Althéa had become inseparable.
They had their favorite bench in the park, their preferred table at the corner café, their shared Spotify playlist, a strange mix of sad songs and summer hits.
When people saw them together, they would have sworn they had known each other forever.
One morning, they decided to take the train to the sea.
No plans. No thinking. Just a sudden desire.
They packed a backpack with survival essentials: chips, a disposable camera, and an old blanket.
Catarina, usually so organized, let herself be carried along without resistance.
She loved this lightness, this taste of the moment that Althéa wore like a second skin.
On the beach, the wind tossed Althéa's blond strands around.
She ran into the water, arms open, laughing out loud, and Catarina watched, fascinated.
Althéa shone, not like a perfect girl, but like someone truly alive.
When she returned to her, breathless, Althéa sighed:
"If I could, I'd stay here forever."
"No phone, no noise, no world?"
"Exactly. Just the wind and someone who understands without words."
Catarina looked away, unsettled. She had rarely felt "understood." But there, in that shared silence, something inside her relaxed.
That evening, they slept in a small inn they had stumbled upon.
One room, two beds separated by an unlit lamp.
Catarina stared at the ceiling.
Althéa murmured:
"Do you think we can choose our family?"
"Sometimes, yeah. When blood isn't enough."
"Then… can we choose each other, you and me?"
"We already did, didn't we?"
A light smile. And silence fell again, heavy with an invisible promise.
The days continued. Back in the city, they still met every evening.
Ice cream had replaced dinners, and laughter covered their fatigue.
But sometimes, Catarina felt a hollow swell within her. Something she couldn't name.
One night, on the roof of a building:
"You've never talked about your family, have you?"
"A little."
"No. You talked around them. Not about them."
Catarina stayed silent. The wind played through her hair.
"My dad… he's here without being here."
"And your mom?"
"She's… everywhere and nowhere."
"What do you mean?"
"She's a woman you see without seeing. A creator, a singer. No one knows her face. And she likes it. I think she loves me in her own way. She just… never really knew how to show it."
Althéa leaned closer, resting her head on Catarina's shoulder.
"It's okay. Some mothers love silently."
"Maybe."
A fragile, broken laugh escaped Catarina's lips.
"And you? Your family?"
"My dad is… kind, but distant. He works too much. And my mom… I never knew her."
Catarina felt a sudden tenderness squeeze her chest.
"That's why you want to light everything around you, huh?"
Althéa smiled softly.
"Maybe. And you… you avoid people so you don't miss them."
"You got me there."
They burst out laughing, a little embarrassed, a little moved.
But deep down, they knew they had seen the truth.
That night, on her way home, Catarina received a message from Althéa:
"Thank you for existing. I don't say this often, so take it as a treasure."
Catarina stared at the screen for a long time before replying:
"You too. Even if you're unbearable."
And somewhere, in the dark, the bond was sealed. Not the easy kind of promise. The kind where souls recognize each other through their scars.