The studio emptied out slowly, leaving only the faint hum of equipment cooling down and the muffled rhythm of music from a distant booth. Luiz wiped the last glass table, his reflection faint beneath the fluorescent lights. His shoulders ached, his knuckles were still bruised from the night before, and his jaw pulsed where the gang's punch had landed.
Mr. Giles had said nothing all day, only giving him more work than usual — punishment through silence. When the clock finally struck eight, Luiz hung up his uniform and stepped out into the street, feeling smaller than the skyscraper towering above him.
He had only a few coins left — not enough for a meal, barely enough for a bus. So he walked.
The evening air was heavy with dust and music. Couples laughed outside cafés, their voices carrying over the sound of passing cars. Every sound made him aware of how quiet his own life had become.
By the time he reached the little café near the corner street, he saw her. Clara.
She sat by the window, chin resting on her hand, a cup of untouched coffee beside her. Her hair fell loose over her shoulders, and for a second, Luiz forgot how tired he was.
When he pushed open the door, the small bell above it chimed. Clara's head lifted immediately. Relief flickered across her face, followed by a faint frown.
"You came," she said softly.
"I didn't think you'd wait," he replied, voice rough.
She gave a half-smile. "You disappeared, Luiz. I wasn't sure if I'd ever see you again."
He sat across from her. The chair creaked under his weight, or maybe it was just the tension settling between them.
Clara's eyes lingered on his face. "You're hurt."
He shrugged. "Just an accident."
"That's not an accident," she said quietly, reaching out to touch the fading bruise on his cheek. Her fingers were gentle, careful. "What happened?"
"Nothing worth talking about," he said. "Just wrong place, wrong time."
She didn't press. Instead, she sighed, sitting back. "You always say that. 'Nothing worth talking about.' You think keeping it all inside makes you strong?"
Luiz looked down at his hands. "Talking doesn't fix things. Working does."
"Then why do you still look like you're falling apart?" she whispered.
He met her eyes. "Because maybe I am."
The words came out before he could stop them. The silence that followed was heavy, but not cold — more like two people standing in the same rain, not sure how to move out of it.
Clara leaned forward. "You don't have to do this alone, Luiz."
"I already am," he said softly. "That's the problem."
She blinked, her eyes glassy. "You keep pushing everyone away. Even me."
He exhaled slowly. "It's not that I want to. I just don't know how to let anyone stay."
For a while, they said nothing. Outside, the streetlights flickered on, painting the glass between them with soft gold.
Finally, Clara stood up. "Come with me."
"Where?"
"Just walk."
He followed her out into the night. They didn't talk — their steps matched naturally, the silence between them no longer sharp, just tired. They walked past stores closing down, through alleys that smelled of rain and smoke, until they reached the small park near campus.
Clara stopped near the fountain. "I used to come here when I was sad," she said. "The sound of water… it reminds me that life keeps moving."
Luiz looked at her profile under the streetlight — the way her eyes reflected the ripples, the quiet strength in her voice.
"I wish I had your kind of hope," he murmured.
She turned to him, smiling faintly. "Maybe you still do. You just buried it somewhere."
He wanted to believe her.
When the wind grew colder, she stepped closer, placing her hand gently against his chest. "You don't always have to pretend, Luiz."