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Table of Contents:

Chapter 1. Reunion in the Sunlit Hotel Lobby

Chapter 2. Canteen Clash and Promises Made

Chapter 3. Breakfast Talk and Himalayan Monal Rescue

Chapter 4. Pesto Lunch and Timeless Memories

Chapter 5. Humming Washroom Confession Rejected

Chapter 6. Crumbling Connections Across the Years

Chapter 7. Jogging Beach and Morning Confessions

Chapter 8. Salty Beach Kiss and Filmed Reunion

Chapter 9. Wedding Tango and Moonlit Hotel Room

Chapter 10. Garden Picnic and Emerald Engagement

Chapter 1. Reunion in the Sunlit Hotel Lobby

August 2019 — Ostia, Italy

The taxi cruised down the sun-bleached streets of Ostia, and my fingers pressed against the window glass like I was trying to touch the city itself. I was nearly trembling. Actually trembling. I had to press my palms flat against my thighs to still them.

I couldn't believe I was here.

The euphoria had thrummed through my veins during the entire flight, a restless energy that kept me awake while others slept in their reclined seats, their soft breathing filling the darkened cabin around me. I had spent those hours staring at the moving map on the screen, watching our icon crawl across oceans, each mile bringing me closer to a past I had never truly left behind. But after landing, exhaustion had crashed over me—that bone-deep weariness particular to long-haul travel, the kind that settles into your bones and makes you question every decision that led you here. Now, as the taxi wound through the unfamiliar streets, the energy was spiking back, electric and insistent, a live current humming beneath my skin.

I still couldn't believe it when I received the news. Luca Bianchi. Getting married. He was the absolute last person I had expected to exchange wedding vows, and so soon. It meant he had changed since we first met—a change I never would have predicted but found myself welcoming. Even though I had disliked him at first, fiercely and completely, now I couldn't help but wish him well. The Luca I remembered had been all sharp edges and defensive sarcasm, a man who seemed to take pleasure in keeping people at arm's length. But people evolved. People grew. And beneath all that bravado, there had always been a flicker of something more.

But Luca's wedding wasn't the only reason my heart had been racing since I booked the flight. My friends would be here too. Friends I had met on my first volunteering camps, scattered across different corners of the Earth like seeds thrown to the wind. Friends I hadn't seen in years.

Oh, how I missed them. The ache was a physical thing, a hollow space in my chest I had grown so accustomed to I had almost forgotten it was there. I carried it with me through crowded streets and quiet apartments, through birthdays and holidays and all the ordinary days in between. It had become part of my internal landscape, that quiet loneliness, and I had stopped trying to fill it.

Especially Vitor.

At the thought of him, my heart began beating faster, heat creeping up my neck and spreading across my cheeks in a slow, telltale flush. I shook my head, ordering myself to calm down. Ridiculous. I was a grown woman, not some starstruck teenager. We hadn't seen each other for so many years. He couldn't possibly be the same man I had fallen in love with all those years ago. People changed. People grew. I had told myself that a hundred times, and still the memory of him remained stubbornly fixed, golden and untarnished.

Nevertheless, the thought of seeing him again sent a flutter through my chest that I couldn't quite suppress.

Smiling in anticipation, I thanked the driver in my halting, embarrassed Italian. The words came out clumsy and wrong, my tongue stumbling over vowels that refused to sit properly in my mouth. But he smiled anyway, a warm, patient expression that eased some of my self-consciousness, and I felt that small warmth that comes from trying, even badly. I paid him with crumpled euros and stepped out into the Italian sun, letting the heat wash over me.

The hotel foyer was elegant and almost empty, marble floors gleaming under soft lighting that made the space feel hushed and serene. A grand chandelier hung overhead, its crystals catching the light and scattering tiny rainbows across the walls. I checked in quickly, the receptionist's English smooth and practiced, her smile professional but not unkind. While I waited for one of the six elevators to descend, I wondered when the rest of the Earth Love Tribe would arrive.

I had asked Luca to let me share a room with Idunn and Parvana, but they were coming from different countries—Idunn from Iceland, Parvana from the UK—and I had no idea about their arrival times. I had sent them messages, of course. Of course. But neither had responded yet, and I tried not to read too much into the silence. They were busy. They were traveling. They had lives that didn't revolve around my anxious anticipation.

It was still early. I had chosen to come a week before the wedding, deliberately, to adjust to the time zone and explore the area properly before the festivities began. The room was all mine until the others arrived. Still, I couldn't help the small pang of disappointment that I wouldn't see them that evening. I missed them so much I could barely wait anymore, could barely contain the desperate, childlike excitement that made me feel young again.

Consoling myself with plans for sightseeing, I unpacked my luggage with methodical care, hanging each dress and folding each top with the precision of someone who needed order to feel grounded. Then I took a long shower, letting the hot water soothe the travel tension from my shoulders, the steam filling the bathroom and fogging the mirror until my reflection blurred into soft indistinctness.

The hair dryer was broken.

I stood there, dripping, the useless appliance in my hand, and let out a small, frustrated laugh. Of course. The one thing I actually needed. I examined it as if it might suddenly decide to cooperate, pressing the button again to no effect. Nothing. Just the hollow click of broken machinery. I towel-dried my hair roughly, the damp strands clinging to my neck and shoulders, and dressed quickly before heading back to the lobby to report the problem.

I was waiting for the elevator again, watching the descending numbers with impatient eyes, when someone called my name.

"Lanying?"

The voice—that voice—sent a jolt through me like static electricity. I knew that voice. I had replayed it in my memory so many times that I could conjure it at will, could hear it in my sleep. But hearing it in person, real and present, was something else entirely. I turned, my heart already pounding, already knowing before I saw him.

"Yes?" The word came out breathless, barely more than a whisper.

And then I saw him.

"Oh my God, Vitor!" My hand flew to my mouth, covering the gasp that escaped. Shock and happiness warred inside me, a dizzying rush that made my knees feel weak. He was standing there, just a few feet away, and the sight of him struck me like a physical blow. "You're here! I'm so happy to see you!"

"Glad to see you, too." His smile was mysterious in that way I remembered, his English flavored with the Portuguese accent that had once made my heart skip every single time. He looked at me with an intensity that made my breath catch, his dark eyes sweeping over my face as if memorizing every detail, every change the years had wrought.

Oh, how I had missed that accent. How I had missed him. And now he was here, right in front of me, after all these years, real and solid and not just a memory I revisited in quiet moments when the loneliness became too much to bear.

Tears rushed to my eyes before I could stop them. I looked down quickly, blinking hard, willing them away. That was the last thing I had expected. I had imagined this moment countless times, had rehearsed what I would say, how I would act, and not once had I imagined falling apart like this.

"Are you all right?" He noticed, of course he noticed. He stepped closer, and I caught the familiar scent of him—something clean and warm, like sandalwood and sun-warmed skin. "Lanying?"

"I'm fine. It's just something in my eyes." A pathetic excuse, and we both knew it.

I looked back at him, really looked, and felt that familiar breathlessness all over again. I had forgotten how tall he was. I barely reached his shoulders, the middle of his upper arm at best. But he had never mocked me about it, never once made me feel small. He had always looked at me as if I were exactly the right height, exactly the right everything.

"When did you get here?" I asked, my voice steadier now. I tucked a damp strand of hair behind my ear and tried to compose myself, to gather the scattered pieces of my composure.

"This morning." His eyes flickered to my hair, lingering there for a moment with something unreadable in their depths. "And you? Did you just take a shower?"

My hand went self-consciously to my damp strands. "The hair dryer was broken," I explained, heat rising to my cheeks. "I'm sure they'll send up a new one soon." I gave him a shy smile, feeling too much like the girl I had been years ago, all nerves and hope and barely contained longing.

I didn't want to stare at him, but I couldn't help myself. He was like water in a desert, and I had been so thirsty for so long. The years had been impossibly kind to him. His jaw was sharper, his shoulders broader beneath his shirt, and there was a quiet confidence in his posture that hadn't been there before. But his eyes were the same—dark and deep and full of secrets I had always wanted to know, always wanted to unravel.

"I'm thinking of getting some lunch now," he offered quietly, his voice dropping to something softer, more intimate, as if the words were meant only for me. "Do you want to join?"

"Of course." The words came out too eagerly. I caught myself, remembered. I didn't want to seem desperate, didn't want him to see how much I had missed him, how much I still felt. "But I need to solve this problem first." I gestured at my hair, still damp and tangled. "I can't go out like this."

"All right." He nodded slowly, his gaze never leaving my face, as if he couldn't bear to look away. "How about we meet in half an hour? I'll ask around what's delicious here." A pause, his eyes searching mine with an intensity that made my stomach flip and my pulse race. "You're still vegetarian, right?"

My heart swelled at the fact that he remembered. He remembered. After all these years, after all the distance and silence and time, he still remembered something so small and specific about me.

"Yup." I nodded, a genuine smile spreading across my face, warm and unguarded. "Nothing's changed."

"Let's meet again at the entrance." He said it like a promise, like a beginning, like he had been waiting for this moment just as long as I had.

"Okay! Thank you for waiting for me."

"No problem."

I waved at him and practically ran back to my room. The staff was already waiting there—they must have come up through the service lift—and I dried my hair quickly, the warm air a welcome contrast to my jittery nerves. I stood in front of the mirror to assess myself.

Short. A bit overweight, even though I had made so much progress in my weight loss attempts over the last years. The girl looking back at me still felt like the same uncertain person who had flown to Nepal all those years ago, who had stepped off that plane with nothing but hope and a desperate need to belong. I studied my reflection critically, cataloging every flaw, every imperfection I had spent years trying to correct.

I changed into a dark cyan dress with matching sling-back shoes and put my jade bangle on my left wrist, the cool stone a familiar comfort against my skin. While applying eye shadow with golden sparkles, I caught my reflection and froze.

There was something glowing in my eyes. An elation I couldn't hide, a sparkle that had nothing to do with the glitter on my lids. It was hope, pure and unguarded, and it transformed my face into something almost beautiful.

Of course. I had just seen my first love again.

I felt a flicker of disappointment that my reaction to Vitor hadn't changed at all. I was still precisely the same girl as when we had first met. At first, I had fallen for his looks—he had been, and still was, the handsomest man I had ever seen. His features were carved with an elegance that seemed almost unfair, high cheekbones and a strong jaw and lips that curved into smiles that could disarm anyone. But he hadn't been approachable then, and neither had I. As a naturally shy and quiet person, it was difficult for me to make new friends, especially within an international community. The first few days at the mountain conservation camp in Nepal—where I had met the rest of the Earth Love Tribe—had been tough.

Chapter 2. Canteen Clash and Promises Made

October 2013 — Mountain Environment Conservation Camp, Nepal

I had signed up for the volunteering camp in the Himalayas after my last year of university. I had always been interested in the environment, always looked for ways to get involved in nature restoration efforts, always felt that small but persistent tug toward something larger than myself. When I read about the increasing pollution in the beautiful mountain range, my outrage had quickly morphed into a need to take action, a burning desire to do something meaningful rather than simply sit back and watch the world I loved deteriorate. And when I came across a camp dedicated mostly to cleaning up the trash that had accumulated over years of unsustainable tourism, there was no other recourse but to join. It felt like fate, like the universe had finally presented me with an opportunity to prove that I could be brave, that I could be useful, that I could be more than the quiet, uncertain girl I had always been.

I was so excited about Nepal. I had never been abroad before—not even for half a day across a border—and now I was about to leave for three whole weeks, three weeks that promised adventure and purpose and a chance to reinvent myself. We would be sleeping in a wooden cabin at the base of Mount Everest before climbing to higher altitudes to pick up trash and dispose of it properly, to restore some small measure of dignity to a place that had been treated so carelessly by so many.

I hadn't taken into account how much walking it would involve. By the third day, my legs were trembling like those of a newborn foal, the muscles screaming in protest with every step, and I had a hard time staying on my feet during the long treks up and down the uneven mountain paths. I should have trained before coming. I should have spent months building endurance, climbing stairs, strengthening my lungs for the thin air that made every breath feel like a struggle. But I had been naive, swept up in the romance of the idea without considering the brutal reality of it.

Fortunately, I wasn't the only one struggling. Others also took a while to recover, their faces pale and sweat-soaked, their steps heavy with exhaustion. This was how I met Parvana Namazi.

Parvana was energetic, her beautiful tanned skin and chocolate eyes always shining with excitement, as if she carried a sun inside her that no amount of fatigue could extinguish. Not even the dull work of picking up trash could dim her spirit. She wore a traditional crimson hijab that seemed to glow against the muted browns and greens of the mountain landscape, and if anyone needed to find her, they just needed to look for that flash of red against the grey sky and rocky terrain. She would be there, laughing or singing or encouraging someone who had fallen behind. She had so much passion she had instantly become the life of the camp, the heartbeat around which everything else seemed to revolve.

I was surprised to see Parvana breathless one afternoon, gasping on a rock near the cabin, her face ashen beneath the rich warmth of her skin. As it turned out, she was puzzled too, shaking her head in confusion as she tried to catch her breath. It was only after Uncle Jampa, the camp organizer, took her to the hospital that she realized her heart wasn't suited to work at such high altitude. It wasn't serious—she just couldn't allow herself to become too tired, couldn't push her body beyond its limits the way the rest of us could. The diagnosis came as a relief and a frustration all at once, a limitation she would have to accept even as it chafed against her boundless spirit.

She was a fantastic person, yet not everyone could appreciate her. Some members of the volunteering camp were rather unfriendly, keeping to themselves with a coldness that seemed out of place in such a close-knit environment. One of them was Idunn Erlendsdottir, the epitome of delicacy. Her short, wispy black hair always appeared to be dancing, as if moved by a breeze that touched no one else. Her skin was white and flawless like fresh snow, and her small stature gave her an almost ethereal appearance, as though she might dissolve into mist if you looked too closely. Her personality was cold like Iceland, the country in which she was born. She didn't join any discussions, preferred to stay alone, and seemed to be doing quite well in the harsh environmental conditions, moving through the thin air with an ease that made the rest of us envious.

I had wanted to approach Idunn many times, drawn to the mystery of her solitude, but my shyness kept me away. I felt she would be unkind to me, would dismiss me with a single cutting glance, and I didn't want to risk it, didn't want to confirm all my worst fears about how the world saw me.

Apart from Idunn, there was another person who didn't like Parvana. Luca Bianchi. He didn't even want to be at this camp in the first place. He was a spoiled nineteen-year-old who cared only for his own comforts, his own pleasures, his own narrow world of privilege and ease. His philanthropic parents had forced him to attend, hoping that exposure to something real and difficult might knock some sense into their entitled son. He couldn't oppose them, so he vented his resentment on everyone else who participated for noble purposes, sneering at their idealism and mocking their dedication. He was especially unkind to Parvana, who was so passionate about the environment and clearly an expert in conservation, her knowledge making his ignorance all the more glaring.

It was because of Luca that Parvana and Idunn became close.

After a particularly long and exhausting clean-up session, we gathered at the canteen for dinner, the mood as grey as the plastic bags we had spent all day hauling down from the mountainsides. No one had the energy to talk. We just shoved food into our mouths—Nepalese thali, a traditional assortment of dishes that tasted like cardboard in my exhaustion, the flavors lost to my numb tongue and foggy mind. The wooden benches creaked under our weight, and the only sounds were the scrape of utensils against metal plates and the distant howl of wind outside.

I sat close to Parvana, grateful for her presence, for the warmth she radiated even in silence. She was the type who couldn't stand a dark atmosphere, who needed to fill every empty space with light and laughter, and I wasn't surprised when she began singing softly under her breath. It was a pop song from Lebanon, something she often hummed during our work outside, a melody that had become as familiar to me as my own heartbeat. Since the camp hosted participants from so many countries, it had become a norm to share customs and traditions during mealtimes. Volunteers loved showcasing what their countries had to offer, and Parvana's music had become one of the small joys that made the hard days bearable.

I was enjoying Parvana's voice, letting it wash over me like a balm, the familiar notes easing the tension in my shoulders—

"Can't you fucking shut up?"

Luca's voice cut through the canteen like a knife.

I froze, my chopsticks suspended halfway to my mouth, the food forgotten. Even though his comment wasn't directed at me, the venom in it made my stomach clench, a cold knot forming in my gut. I had never been good with direct confrontation. My instinct was always to shrink, to become invisible, to pray the hostility would pass me by without leaving marks. I sat perfectly still, barely breathing, as if any movement might draw his attention toward me instead.

Other volunteers exchanged uncomfortable looks, their eyes darting between Luca and Parvana, then awkwardly continued their dinners, pretending they hadn't heard, pretending the tension wasn't thick enough to choke on. Parvana had gone silent, her face a mask of shock, her lips parted and her eyes wide with hurt. I searched desperately for words to comfort her, to say something—anything—but my throat had closed up, the words trapped behind a wall of fear.

Then a male voice cut through the silence.

"That's not very nice of you, Luca."

Vitor. I looked up, surprised. He was sitting a few tables away, his expression stern, his dark eyes fixed on Luca with an intensity that made the air between them crackle. I had noticed him before, of course—everyone had noticed him—but I had never heard him speak up like this, never seen him step into conflict so directly.

"So what?" Luca snapped back, his jaw jutting out defiantly.

I watched Vitor's jaw tighten, the muscle in his cheek twitching with suppressed anger. He seemed unsatisfied with Luca's attitude, but I could see him searching for the right words, struggling to express what he wanted to say. His English wasn't that proficient, and the frustration of not being able to articulate his thoughts was plain on his face.

The salvation came from the most unlikely source.

"Shut up, moron."

Idunn stood up from her corner table, where she had been eating alone as usual, and walked over to Luca's seat with a deliberate, measured stride. She slammed her right hand down on the table with a force that made everyone jump, the sound echoing through the suddenly silent canteen. "You're creating way more drama and fuss than she was with that song. Which, by the way, she sang very well. It was the only thing I enjoyed today, and you just ruined it."

"If you liked it so much, why didn't you fucking join her?" Luca snarled, getting to his feet, his chair scraping loudly against the wooden floor. His face was flushed with anger, his fists clenched at his sides.

Oh no. I felt a surge of panic, my heart hammering against my ribs. This was going to get ugly. I could feel it in the air, in the way the other volunteers had stopped pretending to eat, in the way everyone's attention was now fixed on the confrontation unfolding before us.

Parvana spoke up, her voice steadier than I expected, stronger than I would have been in her position. "Let's sing together, Idunn!" She was ready to support the Icelandic girl, grateful for her defense, her gratitude shining through the hurt in her eyes. Then she turned to Luca, her chocolate eyes flashing with righteous anger. "And as for you—Lucas, or whatever they call you—we've been here for only one week, yet all you do is complain and pretend to do things while slacking off. Is this what all you Italians are like?"

"My name is Luca," he growled, his voice low and dangerous. "And I'm not from Italy. I was born in Vatican City."

"Oh my God." Idunn rolled her eyes with theatrical disdain. "Then not even the presence of the Pope can help you."

Half the volunteers burst out laughing, the tension breaking into relieved chuckles. The other half chuckled but managed to calm down, their shoulders relaxing as the threat of violence seemed to recede. I felt a smile tugging at my lips despite my nerves, despite the trembling in my hands. The absurdity of it, the sheer audacity of Idunn's words, was impossible to resist.

"That's fucking disrespectful." Luca's eyes narrowed into slits, his voice dropping to a venomous whisper.

"Respect has to be earned." Idunn crossed her arms, her small frame somehow radiating defiance, making her seem larger than her stature suggested. "And you haven't done anything to receive mine."

The air between them was electric, charged with hostility that made the hairs on my arms stand on end. One wrong move, and this would become a physical fight. I could see it in the way Luca's hands curled into fists, in the way Idunn's chin lifted in challenge. Parvana stood and quietly took Idunn's arm, trying to pull her away from the vile young man, her gentle touch a counterpoint to the violence simmering in the air.

Then Vitor rose as well.

"Enough," he commanded, stepping between Parvana and Idunn, shielding them from Luca with his broad frame. He was so much bigger, so much more imposing, and his secretive nature made him genuinely intimidating in a way that Luca's bluster could never match. His presence was like a wall, solid and unyielding, and I felt my breath catch at the sight of him standing so protectively over the two women.

"Fine, fine." Luca grimaced, clearly not wanting to fight Vitor. He took a step back, his bravado crumbling in the face of someone who could actually match him. But he wasn't done. He pointed a finger at Idunn, his eyes burning with resentment. "But this... isn't over."

"You're the only one interested in keeping it going." Idunn retreated with Vitor and Parvana, her head held high, her dignity intact despite the confrontation.

I watched them go, the three of them moving together like a unit, and a wave of shame washed over me so powerful it nearly made me sick. I hadn't gotten up. I hadn't said anything. I hadn't done anything. I had just sat there, frozen like a coward, my fear more powerful than my loyalty to a friend who had always been kind to me. I promised myself, right then and there—the next time, I would act with more courage. I would not let my shyness paralyze me when someone needed my support. I would be braver.

From that moment on, both Parvana and I recognized Idunn as a common friend. Idunn would no longer work alone at the volunteering camp. She joined us for meals, for clean-up sessions, for the evening discussions that brought the whole group together. The coldness that had seemed so impenetrable began to thaw, and I saw glimpses of the person beneath—someone who was fiercely loyal, quietly observant, and far more vulnerable than she ever let on.

As if Idunn's words had struck a sensitive chord, something shifted in Luca. He stopped venting his resentment on everyone else and redirected his rage toward the tourists and irresponsible climbers who discarded their trash in the wilderness without thinking twice about it. His anger found a new target, one that was actually deserving of it, and the change was almost startling to witness. He began working harder, carrying more bags of trash than anyone else, as if trying to prove something to himself and to everyone around him.

From what had been said that evening, it was most likely the jab at his nationality that made him want to redeem himself. He did his best to clear Vatican City's reputation, and I couldn't help noticing that he was succeeding. The sarcasm was still there, the sharp edges hadn't entirely softened, but there was a new determination in him, a drive to be better than the spoiled boy who had arrived just a week ago. It became easier to speak to him, and he started joining more discussions organized by Uncle Jampa in the evenings. We were always brainstorming new ways to protect nature in the Himalayas, and Luca's contributions, once nonexistent, became surprisingly insightful.

Thanks to Parvana, Idunn started participating more too. I was pleased to notice that the two young women were slowly becoming real friends, their bond deepening with each passing day. Parvana drew Idunn out of her shell with her relentless warmth and optimism, and Idunn made Parvana think before she acted, tempering her impulsiveness with a dose of practicality. They balanced each other perfectly, and I found myself watching them with a mix of joy and something that felt dangerously close to envy.

I was happy for them. Genuinely. Even if it meant that my closest friend wasn't as close as before, I knew Idunn needed Parvana much more than I did. Parvana was the one who had broken through Idunn's defenses, who had shown her that connection was possible. I was content to step back, to let their friendship flourish, to find my place on the edges.

An unexpected benefit of this situation was getting close to Vitor.

Chapter 3. Breakfast Talk and Himalayan Monal Rescue

"Hi. May I sit here?"

I looked up at him, my sleepy eyes barely open, still heavy with the remnants of a restless night. It was early morning; we had just gotten up and washed before breakfast, the cold mountain water shocking our skin awake. Many volunteers were still in the land of Nod, their bodies refusing to cooperate with the unforgiving schedule of camp life. I was only half awake, my mind still wrapped in the fog of exhaustion.

Vitor, on the contrary, appeared ready to seize the day with both hands. He was wearing a white t-shirt with a geometric logo that stretched across his broad chest, a blue insulated jumper layered over it for warmth, and black trekking pants paired with sturdy sports shoes. His dark hair was a bit too long, brushing the collar of his jumper in a way that made his face even more inscrutable—and attractive. He still shaved every day, but I was sure stubble would make his chiseled, square jaw even more appealing, giving him a rugged edge that would be impossible to ignore.

It was happening again. I was getting too caught up in his looks, losing myself in the sharp lines of his features, the way the morning light caught the darkness of his eyes. I noticed a trace of uncertainty in his eyes as he remained standing next to my table for almost a minute, waiting for my response, his posture hesitant in a way that seemed at odds with his usual composure.

"Of course!" I rushed to invite him to sit beside me on the bench, my voice coming out too high, too eager. "Sit, please."

"Thanks." He settled onto the bench beside me, close enough that I could smell the clean scent of soap on his skin, something simple and masculine that made my head spin. "How are you?"

"F-fine." I took up my chopsticks, trying to appear casual, trying to pretend that my heart wasn't hammering against my ribs like a caged bird. My hand was trembling so badly I could barely bring a momo dumpling to my mouth, the delicate wrapper slipping from my grip twice before I managed to steady myself. I was desperately wondering why he had decided to sit next to me, why he had chosen my table out of all the empty ones in the canteen.

Suddenly, I spotted Parvana across the canteen and tried to wave her over with a desperate gesture, my hand flapping in the air like a flag of surrender. She looked directly at me—I was sure of it—then blithely turned away, joining Idunn as if she hadn't seen a thing, her crimson hijab bobbing with each deliberate step.

Cursing my friend under my breath, I continued eating in silence, the food turning to sawdust in my mouth. Parvana had figured out my weakness for Vitor and was trying to bring us closer, her matchmaking instincts working overtime. Yet only dead air reigned between the two of us at the moment, a vast expanse of awkward silence that seemed to stretch for miles.

"I liked your speech," Vitor said suddenly, his voice cutting through the tension like a blade.

What? I thought, nearly choking on my dumpling. The spicy filling caught in my throat, and I had to take a hasty gulp of water to wash it down. What speech? I haven't given any speeches...

As if noticing my confusion, he provided further details, his brow furrowing slightly. "Your speech from last night."

"Oh!" Understanding dawned, and relief flooded through me. "You mean the argument I made during Uncle Jampa's last debate, right?"

He nodded, a small smile playing at the corners of his lips. "Yes." A pause, and I saw him struggling slightly. "Sorry about my English."

"Don't worry about it," I responded, my voice coming out softer than I had intended, almost tender. I wanted to tell him that his English was perfectly fine, that I loved the way he spoke, the careful way he chose his words.

And then I didn't know what to say. Was my argument really that special? Should I say more about that topic? Had he come just to tell me that one sentence? Was it a pat on the back? Encouragement? Or was there something else behind those dark, unreadable eyes?

My stomach was starting to hurt from overthinking, a familiar ache that accompanied every social interaction I had with him. I knew I had to say something, anything, but the words wouldn't come, trapped somewhere between my racing thoughts and my paralyzed tongue. We hadn't spent any time together, unless you counted the moments when I just stared at him from across the room, drinking in the sight of him like a parched traveler finding water. Parvana had teased me mercilessly about it, but I couldn't help it. Vitor naturally drew my attention all the time, his presence magnetic in that quiet, understated way of his. He didn't need to be loud or flashy to command a room—he just existed, and that was enough.

Suddenly, someone called for Uncle Jampa. It was Luca, his voice carrying a note of urgency that cut through the morning calm.

"A Himalayan monal has flown into the cottage's eastern wall," he announced breathlessly, his face flushed from running. "It's hurt its wing."

Everyone rushed out to look at the bird and help, abandoning their half-eaten breakfasts without a second thought. Even though it was struggling in pain and fear, its body trembling with each labored breath, it still looked magnificent, with a jewel-colored head that shimmered like a rainbow and a long, curved beak that seemed almost regal. Uncle Jampa scooped it up gently, cradling it against his chest with the practiced tenderness of someone who had handled countless injured creatures, and took it to his sister, who was a veterinarian.

I was glad—both that I had gotten a chance to see this rare creature up close and that it would be saved from its injury. But at the same time, I couldn't help the small pang of regret that settled in my chest. Luca had ruined my first real conversation with Vitor, had shattered the fragile connection that had been forming between us.

And he still seemed so unapproachable, so distant, like a mountain peak that I could admire but never hope to climb.

We had to climb quite a bit to reach the new site, and as usual, I was barely catching my breath, my lungs burning with the effort of drawing in the thin mountain air. I noticed some progress, though—my legs didn't feel like jelly anymore, the muscles finally accustomed to the demands of the altitude, and the burning in my lungs was more manageable than those first agonizing days. After a short break, Parvana, Idunn, and I started cleaning again, our gloved hands reaching for the discarded wrappers and bottles that littered the landscape.

I listened attentively to their conversation, nodding along, but my gaze kept drifting across the site, drawn like a moth to a flame. Vitor was engaged in what looked like a surprisingly calm chat with Luca—his arch-enemy, if you could believe it. They were standing near a cluster of juniper trees, heads bent together, speaking in low voices that I couldn't quite make out. I wondered what could have possibly bridged that gap, what had transformed their hostility into something approaching civility.

"Oh, could it be that we are looking at Mr. Dark-and-Handsome?" Parvana's voice cut through my reverie, a teasing lilt in her tone that made my cheeks burn.

"What?!" I felt the heat explode across my cheeks, spreading down my neck in a wave of mortification. "N-No! I'm just looking at the juniper trees..."

"Uh-huh." Idunn's smile was positively mischievous, her pale eyes dancing with amusement. "And there is a particularly exotic species growing between them. Six feet tall, strong..." She paused dramatically, savoring the moment. "Oh, and Brazilian as well! Amazon Rainforest, I'd say!"

Parvana burst out laughing, her crimson hijab shaking with the force of it, her chocolate eyes crinkling at the corners. I sent them both a pathetic look, the kind that was supposed to make them feel guilty but only made them laugh harder, their giggles echoing across the mountainside.

"Stop making fun of my misery!"

"What misery?!" Parvana waved a dismissive hand, her laughter finally subsiding into a knowing smile. "The camp isn't ending yet! Now is the perfect time to chat him up. I think he might be better at one-to-one interactions than speaking up in a larger group."

"I don't know." I sighed, my gaze drifting back to Vitor, watching the way his hands moved as he spoke, the way his eyes crinkled at something Luca said. "Won't it look like I'm desperate?"

"Of course not." Idunn joined Parvana's efforts, which was unusual—she rarely involved herself in romantic advice, preferring to observe rather than participate. "He talked to you this morning. What's wrong with continuing?"

I was still reluctant, my stomach churning with nerves, but I knew the girls were right. I would just continue the topic Vitor and I had started at breakfast, find a way to bridge the gap that had opened between us. With something to do—something physical to occupy my hands—it wouldn't be as tense and nerve-wracking as sitting together over food. We could work side by side, which felt safer somehow. Less exposing. Less terrifying.

As if sensing my capitulation, Parvana nudged me forward with a gentle push.

"You go, girl!"

"Go, go!" Idunn gave me a gentle shove from the other side, her small hands surprisingly strong. "Before other chicks steal him away!"

The truth of her words hit me like a splash of cold water. I didn't need to imagine other women noticing Vitor—I had seen the way some of the other volunteers looked at him, their eyes lingering on his broad shoulders and enigmatic smile. Before I could talk myself out of it, I almost ran toward him, my heart pounding with a desperate, reckless hope.

Of course, I slipped.

The ground was uneven, scattered with loose stones and bits of debris, and my feet went out from under me without warning. I was falling, bracing for impact, my arms flailing uselessly, when strong hands caught me just in time. Vitor's grip was so firm it almost hurt, his fingers digging into my arms to keep me upright, his body a solid anchor against my unsteady momentum.

When he let me go, I was sure my face was as red as Parvana's scarf, the heat radiating from my cheeks in waves of pure mortification.

"Are you okay?" His enigmatic eyes were filled with concern, searching my face for signs of injury.

"S-sure." The word came out breathless, pathetic, barely more than a whisper. I focused on our task, picking up trash with trembling hands, my fingers clumsy and uncoordinated. It looked like we were drifting farther apart instead of getting closer, the awkwardness between us growing with each passing moment. My hopes plummeted like a stone.

At least the air was crisp and fresh—impossible to find back home in Chengdu, where the smog often blurred the skyline into something dreamlike and unhealthy. I paused for a moment, letting the clean mountain oxygen fill my lungs, and looked up at the majesty of the Himalayan peak looming above us, its snow-capped summit piercing the brilliant blue sky. I was struck with awe, as I always was, no matter how many times I saw it.

"Oh, how I wish I could live here," I mumbled to myself in Chinese, the words slipping out unbidden, a quiet confession to no one but the mountains.

"Excuse me?" Vitor asked, his brow furrowing in confusion.

I startled, realizing he had heard me, realizing my private moment had been witnessed. "Uh, I was just talking to myself. Nothing important."

"Still, I'd like to know." He sent me that mystifying smile, the one that made my heart do strange things in my chest, the one that made me forget how to breathe properly.

In that exact moment, I dropped the plastic bag in which I kept the trash. Everything I had collected up to that moment spilled out across the rocky ground—crumpled wrappers, plastic bottles, bits of discarded rope, all of it scattering like confetti in the wind. Seeing this disaster unfold, I almost cried, my eyes burning with unshed tears. My intense social anxiety and insecurities went through the roof, screaming at me that I was clumsy, foolish, embarrassing myself in front of him, confirming every fear I had about being unworthy of his attention.

I wanted to hide somewhere, anywhere. I wanted the ground to open up and swallow me whole. But there was nowhere to go, no convenient hole to crawl into, no escape from the mortification that was flooding through me. So I just stayed in one place, repeating, "I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm sorry," the words tumbling out in a desperate litany.

"Don't worry." Vitor was already crouching, swiftly gathering the scattered trash with efficient movements, his long fingers closing around each piece with careful precision. "I will help you." He paused, looking up at me, his dark eyes meeting mine with an intensity that made my breath catch. "So, what were you just saying?"

I swallowed hard, still burning with embarrassment, my face hot enough to fry an egg. "I said I wish I could stay here." The words came out in a whisper, barely audible above the wind. "I used to live in the countryside as a young girl. I was excited to move to Chengdu, but then I started missing nature. I know most people are more comfortable living in urban areas, but I feel like I will never get used to cities." I hesitated, then added, my voice dropping even lower, "They change so fast. And I always step into wet concrete."

It should have been a joke, but there was a grain of truth to it, a small confession about my inability to keep up with a world that moved too quickly. I didn't know whether I was willfully blind to fresh concrete, or whether its properties pulled me to it like a magnet, but I would always find a way to leave my small footprints in it. It had happened so often that it became a recurring joke among my Chengdu friends, a symbol of my perpetual clumsiness.

"Why do you step on wet concrete?" Vitor asked, his usual poker face cracking into something that might have been amusement at my misfortune, a softness in his eyes that made my heart flutter.

"No idea." I shrugged, feeling a small smile tug at my lips despite my embarrassment. "It just happens."

"But aren't there any, um..." He seemed frustrated, searching for a word that wouldn't come, his brow furrowing with concentration. "Ah... how do I say?"

"Signs?" I suggested gently, grateful to be able to help.

I noticed his English wasn't fluent, the way he sometimes paused to find the right word, the way his accent thickened when he was frustrated. The fact that I could help him with it made me feel like I finally had something to be proud of—something I could offer, something that made me useful rather than just another shy girl struggling to find her place.

"Yes! Signs." He nodded gratefully, his expression brightening. "But there are signs."

"Well, yeah." I smiled sheepishly, my cheeks still warm. "There are signs. But I always miss them somehow. Did you know that concrete damages your shoes?"

"Really?" His eyes widened with genuine astonishment, his focus shifting entirely to this new piece of information.

"Yes." I nodded, warming to the story, feeling more comfortable now that we were talking about something trivial, something safe. "I figured it out when I was trying to get it off my soles."

Vitor processed that sentence for a moment, turning it over in his mind, his lips twitching. Then, without warning, he started laughing. His laugh was loud, resounding, and somewhat startling—but I loved it. I loved that I had been the one to make him laugh like that, to break through that enigmatic exterior.

Chapter 4. Pesto Lunch and Timeless Memories

From that moment, the two of us grew a bit closer. Even when it seemed like there was nothing to talk about, we would always find some topic—endangered species, climate change, the best ways to reduce waste, the small things that made the world worth saving. I wasn't put off by Vitor's slow and halting English, the way he sometimes paused mid-sentence to search for a word that wouldn't come. If anything, I found it endearing, a reminder that he was real and not just some perfect fantasy I had constructed in my head. And he was still willing to spend time with me, even though I was so obviously anxious around him, my hands trembling and my voice wavering every time he looked my way.

Since Luca became Vitor's friend as well, he often joined our conversations, his sharp edges slowly smoothing into something more approachable. Parvana and Idunn were curious about this unlikely alliance, their eyebrows raised in mutual skepticism, and soon, the five of us started hanging out together, a mismatched group bound by circumstance and a shared love for the mountains we were trying to protect.

I was glad we were all able to get along. At first, I worried that Luca, Parvana, and Idunn wouldn't find common ground—the history between them was still raw, the wounds still fresh, the memory of that explosive confrontation lingering in the air like smoke. But then Luca surprised us all. He apologized. Not just to Parvana, but to everyone he had been unpleasant to, his voice gruff and his eyes fixed on the ground. It was awkward and halting, and he clearly struggled to get the words out, each syllable seeming to cost him something, but he meant them. I could see it in the set of his jaw, in the way he refused to meet anyone's eyes until he was finished.

Something in our little group shifted after that. We became a unit, united by our shared passion for the environment and our commitment to doing something about it. The five of us moved through the camp like a small constellation, each of us shining in our own way, and I felt, for the first time in my life, that I truly belonged somewhere.

Before the camp ended, Idunn suggested that the five of us form a club—just to keep in touch, just to preserve the fragile connection we had built in this remote corner of the world. Everyone was willing, their enthusiasm palpable in the cool mountain air. Vitor chose the name: the Earth Love Tribe, after the imaginary utopia created by James Hilton in his novel Lost Horizon, a place of peace and perfection that seemed fitting for what we had found together. Parvana, who had also read it, immediately fell in love with the name and designed an elegant logo, her artistic hands bringing our shared vision to life. Luca promised to start a blog after returning to Vatican City, and then he emailed us the login details. It was dedicated to ecology, of course, a digital space where we could continue the work we had started in the Himalayas.

It was fascinating to see how our fundamentally similar interests branched into various topics, each of us finding our own niche within the larger mission. I had always been a vocal opponent of animal cruelty, espousing the benefits of vegetarianism with a passion that surprised even me. Parvana, who had artistic skills, wrote posts about do-it-yourself jewelry and decorative items created from recycled and broken objects, turning trash into treasure with her creative vision. Idunn shared energy-saving tips—ways others hadn't thought of before, small adjustments that could make a big difference over time. And Luca, deeply affected by the pollution he had witnessed, committed to recycling all his weekly trash so that nothing would be left behind, a monumental challenge that he attacked with surprising determination. It was a huge challenge, but he had made up his mind, and I had never seen him so focused on anything before. As for Vitor, he continued doing what he had always done: planting new trees and plants whenever and wherever he could, his hands in the earth, his heart in the soil.

The blog became popular quickly, which encouraged us to write even more, our words reaching people we had never met, inspiring them to take action in their own communities. And the more time I spent reading Vitor's detailed posts and chatting with him online, the stronger my crush became. It grew quietly in the background of my life, a constant hum beneath everything else, a secret I carried with me through every ordinary day.

August 2019 — Ostia, Italy

"I'm back." I approached him, slightly breathless from hurrying, my heart still racing from the frantic preparations in my room. "Sorry I kept you waiting."

I had made sure to look my best. I knew it wouldn't impress him—not in the way I wanted—but at least it gave me confidence, a shield against the insecurities that threatened to overwhelm me. The dark cyan dress had been a good choice, I decided. It made me feel less like the clumsy girl who had spilled trash at his feet all those years ago, less like the awkward mess I still felt myself to be.

"It's all right." Vitor smiled, and something in my chest loosened, the tension I had been carrying since I left my room finally beginning to ease. "I found a suitable restaurant literally a moment ago."

Before I could respond, he grabbed my hand. My heart stopped for a moment—a complete, terrifying pause—before starting to beat again, faster than before, each thud echoing in my ears like a drum. Telling myself sternly that this was nothing more than a Brazilian custom, a casual gesture between friends, I allowed myself to enjoy the feeling of being near him again. His hand was warm and strong around mine, his fingers interlaced with my own, and I could feel the calluses on his palm, evidence of years of manual labor.

Seeing him after all these years had just reaffirmed my feelings. I had tried my best to deny them, to convince myself that time and distance had faded whatever I had felt, that the intensity of those early days had been nothing more than youthful infatuation. But being with him now, feeling his hand in mine, watching the way his eyes crinkled when he smiled, I remembered how much I used to like him. No—how much I still liked him.

The lunch was delicious. We ordered spaghetti al pesto, the fragrant basil and pine nuts coating the pasta in a vibrant green sauce, and drank a local white wine with a delightful aroma of almonds mixed with lemon peel. I loved the taste, but I loved even more the effect it had on me—the warmth spreading through my limbs, the loosening of my tongue, the way I managed to unwind and talk to Vitor quite comfortably. The years apart seemed to dissolve, replaced by the easy rhythm we had found in the Himalayas, as if no time had passed at all.

Vitor mentioned a group of friends with whom he planted new trees in the Amazon rainforest, his eyes lighting up with the same passion I remembered from Nepal. I wanted to say I would like to join one day. The words were right there, on the tip of my tongue, ready to be spoken, ready to bridge the distance between us once and for all. But I bit them back at the very last moment, my teeth closing around the confession before it could escape. I didn't want to appear desperate, even though a really long time had passed since I had first confessed my feelings, even though the memory of that rejection still haunted me.

Watching him walk away to take a call, I smiled to myself at that memory.

The Earth Love Tribe had kept in touch after Nepal, but that hadn't been enough. To strengthen our bond, we made it a rule to meet once a year at a new camp dedicated to environmental conservation, a way to ensure that the connection we had forged would not fade with time.

Our second meeting was in Malaysia. We had to trek through the Borneo jungle to identify animal tracks and locate snares set for mammals, the dense foliage closing in around us like a green cathedral.

April 2014 — Borneo Jungle Animal Protection Camp, Malaysia

Although I was genuinely interested in learning more about the local fauna, the humidity and heat made me extremely uncomfortable, the air thick and heavy in my lungs. Again, I was struggling to keep up with the group, my legs heavy and my breath coming in ragged gasps. Most times, I had to be left behind to rest, my body unable to match the pace of the others. During those times, Vitor would wait with me, his presence a quiet reassurance.

He looked like he was in his own element there. He was used to Brazilian heat and humidity, and the Malaysian climate didn't faze him at all, his skin gleaming with a faint sheen of sweat that only made him more attractive. He emanated energy, always ready to encourage me when I felt too weak, his voice soft and steady in the oppressive heat. I didn't pay too much attention to the fact that he willingly accompanied me. He was just a kind friend... Right?

I changed my mind after a night talk with Parvana and Idunn. They pointed out he was paying too much attention to me, their knowing smiles making my stomach flip with anxiety. At first, I denied it—not because I didn't believe them (they were the most honest and genuine people I had ever known), but because saying no to feelings had become an instinctive response, a way to protect my heart from devastation. I had been hurt before, had learned the hard way that hope was dangerous.

However, the idea took root in my mind, spreading like a vine through my thoughts. I found myself observing Vitor with more attention than before, cataloging every glance, every touch, every word. One of Parvana and Idunn's arguments was his behavior toward them. He was no more attentive to them than to any other females at the camp, and they both belonged to the Earth Love Tribe! His attention was focused on me, and me alone.

And, as if to prove their point, Idunn faked a sprained ankle during one of our treks.

Lanying, not knowing it was a ruse, was highly concerned. We all knew about Idunn's weak bones—she was rather prone to cracks and fractures, her delicate frame more fragile than it appeared. I couldn't leave her alone, so I decided to go back with her, my protective instincts overriding my desire to continue. At that point, Vitor decided he would accompany us too.

I didn't find it strange. I was just grateful that someone experienced and reliable was joining us, someone who could carry Idunn if necessary. As small as she was, there was no way Parvana and I could carry her through the dense jungle.

Idunn revealed her trick only when we were alone in our room, her pale eyes twinkling with mischief. My cheeks flushed red, the heat spreading down my neck and across my chest. I was scared of being teased again—I couldn't take it any longer, couldn't bear the weight of their knowing looks and playful jabs.

Later, lying alone in my bed with a thin sheet pulled over my head, I tried to absorb the conclusion. Vitor had returned with us because I was returning as well. Before I had declared my intention to help Idunn, he hadn't looked like he was going to interrupt his trek. He had been perfectly content to continue, his focus on the task ahead. But the moment I had spoken, the moment I had committed to turning back, something had shifted in him. He had followed me without hesitation, as if there had never been any other choice.

I tossed and turned, trying to calm myself, my heart racing in the humid darkness. Maybe it was just a coincidence? Maybe he had simply been tired and welcomed an excuse to turn back? I forced myself not to overthink it, to push the thought from my mind. I made myself forget the whole matter.

Chapter 5. Humming Washroom Confession Rejected

But over the next week and a half, as I continued to observe Vitor's behavior, I couldn't help but notice that Idunn and Parvana were right. He was definitely more talkative around me than around the others, his quiet voice finding its way to my ears more often than it reached anyone else. He would seek me out during breaks, would position himself beside me during treks, would find small excuses to touch my arm or shoulder when he spoke. Each gesture was subtle enough to dismiss on its own, but together they formed a pattern I could no longer ignore, a constellation of small kindnesses that painted a picture I was almost too afraid to see.

Maybe this was the time to confess. I didn't intend to let my only opportunity slip away, to let fear rob me of a chance that might never come again. Life was so uncertain, and there was no telling whether there would be another chance, another camp, another moment where the stars aligned and we found ourselves alone together. I decided I would muster the courage and explain my feelings to him, lay my heart bare and hope for the best, consequences be damned.

But what about the distance? He lived in the other hemisphere, on a different continent, in a world that seemed impossibly far from my own. How was our relationship going to work, separated by oceans and time zones and the vast expanse of the Atlantic? Just thinking about moving out of China made my heart pound with fear, my palms slick with sweat at the mere possibility of leaving everything I had ever known. Worrying about that, I hesitated a while longer—until I finally gave it a shot, until the need to know overwhelmed the fear of rejection.

On that day, the two of us were taking care of the last-minute laundry, the chore falling to us by accident of scheduling. We stood in the small, utilitarian room, listening to an amateur guitar cover of "Break My Stride" by Matthew Wilder drifting from someone's portable speaker, the tinny notes echoing off the tiled walls. While waiting for the washing machine to complete its cycle, we talked about our plans after returning home, the conversation light and easy on the surface, but charged with an undercurrent I could feel in every glance he sent my way.

To me, it was like discovering another side of Vitor, a glimpse into a life I had never been part of. Our lives converged so much during the volunteering camps, our days blending together in a seamless rhythm of work and laughter and quiet moments, that it was somehow disconcerting to hear he would simply slip back into his life afterward, returning to Brazil and his friends and his routines that had nothing to do with me. Meanwhile, I would despair. I would think about him for weeks, replaying the tape of our conversations in my mind, analyzing his texts devoid of emoticons, staring at the photos of the surroundings he sent me, searching for hidden meanings in every pixel. I just loved him.

And I didn't want to have any regrets. Even though I had no idea how long-distance relationships worked, even though every rational part of my brain told me this was a terrible idea, I didn't want to be haunted by what-ifs for the rest of my life. The words were on the tip of my tongue, waiting for me to speak them, burning to be released.

"Vitor?"

"Huh?" He gave me that inscrutable look of his, the one that made it impossible to read what he was thinking, his dark eyes unreadable in the fluorescent light. He was leaning against the washing machine, his arms crossed, and I could see the faint lines of tension in his shoulders that suggested he was not as relaxed as he appeared.

"I, uh..." I swallowed hard, my heart pounding against my ribs so violently I was sure he could hear it. My throat felt tight, my palms slick with sweat, and for a moment I thought I might lose my nerve entirely. "There's something I need to tell you. Something I've been meaning to say for a while now."

He straightened slightly, his eyes narrowing with curiosity. "What is it?"

"I believe I have a crush on you." The words came out in a rush, tumbling over each other in their haste to escape. "More than a crush, actually. I think I've fallen for you. Properly. And I wanted you to know, because I couldn't keep it inside any longer."

The words were out. I instantly panicked, my stomach dropping as if I had stepped off a cliff. Why had I chosen to tell him here, in this utilitarian laundry room with its humming machines and faint smell of detergent? Why hadn't I picked a more romantic place, one that would evoke the right mood, one that would make this moment feel special instead of mundane?

But then the panic subsided, replaced by something else—relief flowing through my veins like cool water, washing away the tension I had been carrying for weeks. I had done it. I had told him what was in my heart, had finally given voice to the feelings I had been hiding for so long. I knew that regardless of his answer, I wouldn't have any regrets. I would have been brave, and that was enough.

The washing machine signaled the end of the cycle with a loud beep, the sound jarring in the sudden silence between us. I moved to squat down and take out the clothes, desperate for something to do with my hands, but Vitor caught my wrist before I could move, his grip firm and warm.

I glanced at him, waiting for a response, my heart pounding in my ears. He remained silent, his jaw working as if he was struggling to find the right words. The seconds stretched into an eternity, each one heavier than the last. It was obviously going to be a rejection, and as much as I had expected it, as much as I had prepared myself for this outcome, it still hurt. It hurt more than I had anticipated, a sharp ache in my chest that made it hard to breathe.

"Lanying," he said at last, his voice low and rough, "I need you to understand something."

I braced myself for the blow. "Go on."

"I'm sorry," he said, his eyes searching mine with an intensity that made my breath catch. "I'm sorry because I can't give you what you deserve. But not for the reasons you think."

"That's okay." I did my best to hide the tears pricking at my eyes, blinking rapidly to keep them from falling. "I totally get it. You have more attractive options in Brazil. I'm sure there are plenty of women there who—"

"It's not that." His grip on my hand tightened, and when I looked up, his eyes were burning with something fierce and desperate. "Actually, I like you as well. I really, really do. And I want to be with you. Every single day since Nepal, I've wanted to be with you." His voice cracked slightly on the last words, and I could see the pain in his eyes, the same pain that was coursing through me. "But do you understand what that would mean? You live in China. I live in Brazil. We would be in completely different time zones, completely different worlds. I can't leave Brazil, and you can't leave China. We don't have the money to fly across the ocean every month. Meeting once or twice a year isn't a relationship—it's a fantasy."

I opened my mouth, ready to argue, ready to tell him that I didn't care about the distance, that I would wait for him, that I would do anything to make this work. "But what if we—"

"What if we what?" He released my wrist and ran a hand through his hair in frustration. "What if we try? What if we pretend that love is enough to bridge an ocean? It's not, Lanying. I've seen it happen to other people. I've watched friends try and fail, watched them tear themselves apart trying to hold onto something that was never meant to work from the start. I don't want that for us. I don't want to watch us slowly destroy what we have because we couldn't be realistic."

"But I would rather have this limited, online love with you than a real-life relationship with someone else," I said, my voice trembling. "I would rather have a fraction of you than all of anyone else. Can't you see that?"

He shook his head slowly, his expression pained. "You say that now because you haven't experienced it yet. But what happens when you need me and I'm not there? When you're sick or sad or lonely and I can't hold your hand? When you want to share a meal with me and I'm sleeping on the other side of the world? How long before that hollow feeling becomes resentment? How long before you hate me for everything I can't give you?"

"I would never hate you," I whispered, the tears finally spilling over. "I could never hate you."

"Not intentionally." He stepped closer, and I felt the heat radiating from his body. "But it would happen. Slowly, inevitably. And I can't bear the thought of that. I can't bear the thought of you looking at me one day and seeing only disappointment. I'd rather have you as a friend for the rest of my life than lose you entirely."

I wanted to beg him to at least give us a try, to let us see if we could make it work, to not let the practicalities destroy something that felt so real. But the words wouldn't leave my throat, trapped by the weight of his rejection. He had told me no. And a no was a no. I had to accept that, even if it felt like my heart was being torn from my chest.

"So this is it?" I asked, my voice barely audible. "We just... pretend this conversation never happened?"

"No." He reached out and tucked a strand of hair behind my ear, his fingers lingering on my skin. "I'm not going to pretend anything. I'm going to remember this moment for the rest of my life. I'm going to remember that you were brave enough to tell me the truth, and that I was too much of a coward to let myself have what I wanted."

He paused, his eyes searching mine. "If things were different, Lanying. If we were in the same city, the same country, the same continent—I would pursue you without hesitation. I would court you properly. I would make sure you knew every single day how much you meant to me. But we're not, and I can't change that with good intentions."

I nodded slowly, trying to absorb his words, trying to find some comfort in the knowledge that his rejection came from a place of caring rather than indifference. It helped, but only a little. The ache in my chest remained, a constant reminder of what could have been.

It was awkward during the remaining days, the air between us thick with unspoken words and unfulfilled longing. We remained cordial to each other, exchanging polite smiles and brief conversations, but the easy rhythm we had found was gone, replaced by a careful distance that felt like a wound. He still sought me out occasionally, still found reasons to be near me, but there was a new hesitancy in his movements, as if he was afraid of giving me false hope.

Eventually, we regained our equilibrium while working online on the Earth Love Tribe's blog, our interactions reduced to emails and comments and shared posts. The distance made it easier, somehow. Words on a screen were safer than a face-to-face rejection.