The elevator groaned as it climbed, the mechanical hum vibrating faintly through the soles of Thiago's sneakers. He stood still beside Marina, arms crossed, his eyes flicking once to the floor counter as it ticked past "2." She glanced over at him briefly, then back to the silver doors.
"You don't look nervous," she said, half-teasing.
"Should I be?"
"You're seventeen, about to decide where you want to live for the next year. Alone. In a foreign country. I'd say nerves are allowed."
He shrugged. The truth was, he was nervous. Not about the apartment. About liking it too much. About getting attached. About the idea of planting roots in a place that still didn't feel like home.
The elevator dinged, and the doors slid open. Third floor.
Marina stepped out first, pulling a set of keys from her coat pocket. "Third door on the left."
