I saw him before he saw me.
I remember it with almost painful clarity — a rainy Tuesday in São Paulo, the reflection of pool lights glimmering on the wet floor, the distant sound of people swimming.
And there he was, standing by the glass door, looking inside with a mix of hesitation and doubt.
There was something in the way he ran a hand through his hair — nervous, distracted — that caught me.
Dark eyes that carried a kind of quiet exhaustion, like someone forever balancing what they feel with what they can't bear to show.
He was tall, and even with the hood still dripping, I could see strands of dark, slightly long hair peeking out, giving him a rebellious air.
Even so, his coat looked too heavy for his thin frame.
But what truly paralyzed me were his eyes.
I can't describe them.
They weren't a color; they were a state of being.
It felt like an entire world was hidden behind them — trapped somehow.
And for some reason, I wanted to be the window to that world.
He took one step, then another.
And with each one, I felt my heart stumble, as if it couldn't keep pace.
That place — once so noisy — fell into a kind of silence, maybe of expectation.
There was only him, and my eyes refused to look away.
When he finally reached the front desk, the air seemed to move with him.
He didn't look at me, not at first. He was taking in the space.
I should have greeted him right away — I know I opened my mouth — but no sound came out.
For a second, I forgot how to start a conversation.
"Ahem."
Vanessa, who worked beside me, nudged me with her elbow.
I'd been caught staring. I took a breath, but my voice still trembled.
"Can I help you?"
He lifted his gaze.
My already frantic heart began to race, and it felt like I was being pulled into that look — swallowed whole.
For me, it was as if time had decided to stretch itself out just so I could get lost in that instant.
"I have a trial lesson," he said softly, like someone who wasn't used to speaking much, yet his tone was calm. "Swimming."
"N-name?" I stammered, feeling my face heat up.
He seemed amused by that; the corner of his mouth lifted into the faintest smile.
"Caio. Caio Menezes."
Still blushing, I grabbed the clipboard and took longer than necessary to find his name.
When I wrote it down on the day's sheet, I couldn't help but think how perfectly it suited him.
"You can wait a bit — the instructor will be right with you."
He nodded and walked to the wooden bench near the window.
While I called the coach to let him know his student had arrived, I couldn't stop looking at him again.
There was something about the way he moved — slow, restrained — as if every gesture was carefully measured before it existed.
He set his bag down, pulled off his hood, and ran his fingers through his rain-damp hair.
I sighed quietly. Everything about him seemed designed not to draw attention.
He didn't wear anything remarkable, wasn't a movie-star kind of handsome — just… quietly beautiful.
And yet, somehow, he pulled me in.
I finished the call, but Vanessa was giving me that knowing look.
She was in her thirties, had been working there for years, while I was just a temporary hire.
I pretended not to notice her smirk and went back to typing.
But my eyes kept drifting toward him.
Again and again.
At some point, he must have noticed.
No one would be surprised — even my typing rhythm had gone completely offbeat.
He turned his head in my direction, and our eyes met.
It was quick.
But enough for me to feel a surge of electricity race through me.
He looked away first.
And smiled.
A brief, almost shy smile — like someone apologizing for being seen too closely.
A few minutes later, the instructor appeared, calling his name.
"Caio."
He stood, pulled his hood back up, and before disappearing down the hall that led to the pool, he looked at me once more.
That was all.
But when the door closed behind him, I found myself still staring at it for a while.
Vanessa laughed, loud and amused.
"Falling in love is fine, girl — but that fast? Look at you."
I blushed, fumbling for a reply, but at that moment it wasn't love yet — not really.
Still, it would become one of the sweetest memories I'd ever keep.
The rest of the afternoon moved in slow motion.
Mothers came to pick up their kids, new families arrived, voices overlapped, and the clock refused to move.
For most of the next hours, I couldn't stop glancing toward the pool entrance.
I knew I was being ridiculous, but it felt like I was always searching for him, even unconsciously.
When I finally saw him again, my shift was almost over.
His hair was messy, his sleeves clinging to his arms — and maybe it was just my imagination, but he looked thinner that way.
Still, there was a softness about him now, a little less tired, though still calm.
As he walked past toward the exit, he nodded, and I couldn't help myself.
I wanted to hear his voice again.
"So, did you like the lesson?" I asked, trying to sound neutral, though curiosity betrayed me.
He stopped and turned halfway toward me, giving a faint smile.
"It was… different."
"Different how?"
"Like time moved differently in there."
I didn't understand, but I didn't ask.
He didn't seem to mind.
He walked to the locker area, slung the backpack over his shoulder, looked out the glass doors — the rain still falling — and said,
"See you."
It sounded more like goodbye than a casual see you later.
And then he was gone.
Back home, I sat at the table of my tiny apartment, trying to study for the next day's exam, but focus was impossible.
The words xylem and phloem blurred on the page until they lost all meaning.
I grabbed my notebook and wrote:
"There are people we recognize before we know them.
They arrive quietly, and life goes on the same,
except that everything after carries their name hidden somewhere in it."
I'd read that poem long ago.
I thought I'd forgotten it, but somehow, it found its way back.
I closed the notebook.
The lamp cast long shadows on the walls, and the sound of rain blended with the hum of distant traffic.
I stared at the ceiling, thinking of him.
It wasn't just curiosity. Something about him drew me in.
I thought of the way he hesitated before smiling, of eyes that never quite looked directly at me — and when they did, it felt like drowning.
And I realized just how doomed I already was.
Maybe, deep down, I knew I should forget him.
But I couldn't bring myself to let go of that feeling.
Later, before sleeping, I saw the notification on my phone: the swimming school confirming new lessons for the next week.
Among the names — his.
Caio.
Tuesday, 2:20 p.m.
My heart skipped, and I laughed to myself like an idiot.
He was just a new student.
That's all.
But "just" felt too small a word.
I lay down and closed my eyes.
Outside, the cars and the rain made the same sound.
But inside me, time had gone back to that moment —
the one where I saw him standing in the doorway.
I saw him first.
And even if he never knows it, that will always be true.