I came back from the bar with an overstuffed bag. Two huge sandwiches, some cheese breads still warm, two little bottles of orange juice… and two chocolates I'd grabbed in a hurry, without thinking too much. I just wanted to bring something that might pull a shadow off him, even if only for a minute.
When I got close to the bench, Rafael lifted his eyes slowly. He didn't say anything at first, just followed me with his gaze while I started spreading everything out over the stone seat.
— Did you buy the entire bar? — he asked in a low tone, almost a grumble.
I answered on impulse, before I could think:
— I didn't know how hungry you were.
He stared at me for a moment.
I unwrapped one of the sandwiches and put it in his hands, without ceremony.
— Eat this one. I'll take the other — I said. — The cheese breads are still warm. We need to protect them from the wind.
Rafael took the first bite, quiet as always. I opened one of the juice bottles and held it out to him without saying anything. He took it without taking his eyes off the city.
We ate like that, in silence, with the cold wind touching our faces and the sky starting to change color.
When we finished, he began gathering the empty bottles, the crumpled paper napkins. I helped… we did everything slowly, almost like a ritual, until, without looking at me, he asked:
— Do you think… my mom is seeing me right now?
I stopped instantly and looked at him.
— I'm sure she is — I answered, firm, without hesitation. — And I'm also sure she's very proud of the man you've become.
He finally turned his face toward me, and there was something so fragile in that look that my chest hurt.
— You really think so?
I pulled a bit of cold air into my lungs before speaking.
— I do. You're… a strong person. The kind who keeps going even when things are hard. You fix things, you try to do what's right. And when you can't, you try again. — I took a deep breath. — I admire that about you. A lot more than you realize.
He blinked slowly, as if the words weighed as much as they relieved.
— I don't see myself that way — he murmured, almost to himself.
— Then you're seeing yourself wrong — I shot back, with a half smile. — Because even in the short time we've been around each other… I've already seen plenty. You took care of me when I could barely walk down a set of stairs. You helped me with my exams. You've protected me more times than I can count. That's not normal. That's not… just anyone. I'm the one who gets lost easily when things start going wrong, I'm the one who ends up making a mess of everything.
— I saw that yesterday — he muttered, looking down at the ground. — You think alcohol solves everything.
For a second, I swear I saw the shadow of a smile on his face. A crooked, almost mocking smile, but still a smile. My cheeks burned immediately, remembering what I'd done the night before. Even so, something inside me felt lighter. Seeing any sign of life in him gave me a strange kind of hope.
I drew in a breath.
Then he went quiet for a while, staring at the view as if he were trying to find his words scattered across the whole city. The wind blew, tugging a strand of his hair, but he didn't seem to feel it. Only after long seconds did he exhale, almost like a contained outburst, and speak quietly:
— We… used to do a lot of things together… my mom liked walking early, before the sun got hot. I always complained, but I'd go. She said she wanted to see the city waking up.
He gave a sad little smile, short, gone in an instant.
— She taught me how to bake bread — he went on, still not looking at me. — The dough was never right the first time, I messed up everything. She'd laugh, put my hand over hers and say cooking was about listening to what the dough needed. I never really understood… but I liked being there.
He lowered his head, rubbing the back of his neck, as if that memory hurt and comforted him at the same time.
— She used to say I was strong — he admitted, finally turning his face toward me. — She always said that. I thought she only said it so I wouldn't fall apart. I thought she was exaggerating… that she just wanted me to believe in something good.
His eyes met mine, and for a moment there was no wind, no city, no noise… just that raw vulnerability he never let anyone see.
— But now you're saying the same thing she used to say — he finished in a whisper. — And… I don't know what to do with that.
I looked at him for a moment, still sitting there with the trash bag in my hands.
— See? One more reason for you to believe me.
He dropped his head slightly, like someone who needs a few seconds before allowing themselves to feel anything.
— Helena… — he breathed, his chest rising slowly. — Thank you for getting me out of that room. It felt like… like that place was going to swallow me today.
My heart tightened.
He lifted his gaze, and it was impossible to look away.
— I can breathe here — he said. — Because of you.
I didn't know what to say, so I just smiled — feeling a strange warmth spread through my chest.
— Then let's stay here… we can stay… as long as you want.
He kept looking at me.
— No… we still have an entire world to walk back down into, better we go — he said.
We walked side by side, unhurried, as if the way back were easier than the way up. Maybe because he wasn't buried quite so deep in his silence anymore. Rafael seemed… different. Not completely light, but present. His gaze less distant, his shoulders a little less heavy.
It was halfway down the path, with dry leaves cracking under our feet, that he said:
— There are lots of beautiful places in this city.
I looked at him. He wasn't shy or defensive.
— If you want — he went on — I can show them to you, one by one.
My heart jumped.
— I'd really like that — I answered.
He nodded, as if mentally recording a promise he intended to keep.
— Then it's settled — he said. — I'll make a list of the places I'm going to take you.
I let out a soft laugh, shaking my head.
— I envy your organization.
He made a sound that was almost a laugh… only almost, but enough to let me know he really was coming back to the surface.
We walked to the bus stop. When the bus pulled up, we got on and sat together. Halfway through the ride, Rafael pointed at my phone, holding out his hand. I handed it over. He slid across the screen, found the playlist I'd put on in his room earlier and, mirroring my earlier gesture, put one earphone in his ear.
— Your taste in music isn't that bad — he murmured, before fitting the other earphone into mine.
A quiet laugh slipped out of me. We stayed like that, sharing one song, until a few stops later we got off the bus.