The last two days had flown by. I had asked Rafael not to mention anything to Lorena or Matt about what happened in the illustration group, and he agreed without hesitation. I kept things as normal as possible with both of them, though the strange, unresolved tension still lingered between Matt and me.
On Saturday morning, Matt came to pick me up. The moment I laid eyes on him, I felt the same flutter in my stomach from the night of our first kiss, mixed with a curious anticipation. He gave a subtle smile, but he wasn't going to give in that easily, even though now I knew he was right.
"Ready?" he asked, pointing to the back of the bike.
"Sort of," I replied, trying to sound casual. "Let's just say I'm not exactly the biggest nature fan. We have a few unresolved issues."
Matt laughed, an easy laugh that made me relax for a few seconds. Small gestures from him showed he was trying to make things feel normal between us: the way he adjusted my hair when putting on the helmet, or when I hugged his waist as I sat down. It was impossible not to notice.
The ride to Pedra Branca was comically chaotic. The city's cobblestones made me tremble as if I were inside a blender, and my voice shook as I complained about my aching butt. We laughed like two fools.
Once we left the city, we hit the asphalt and were able to talk normally, lightly. Each teasing comment or subtle squeeze around him made the tension between us ignite. I noticed a vulnerable, human side in him there, something that made me enjoy his presence even more—and at the same time left me confused about my feelings.
Upon arrival, I began to understand why he had chosen that place. Pedra Branca was at the highest part of the city, and at its base, there was a small grassy area, perfect for resting before the trail. The hike to the top would take about an hour and forty minutes, and right from the start, my legs protested.
"You need to exercise more!" he teased, laughing as I made my fourth stop on the trail to catch my breath.
"I do every day!" I panted, leaning forward. "I walk to school and back every day! Doesn't that count?"
He laughed even harder while I grabbed my water bottle and drank as if it were the last on the planet. My backpack, containing only a cloth, a sandwich, and two water bottles, felt like it weighed tons. My black leggings and purple T-shirt were drenched in sweat, sticking to my skin.
"I should have taken advantage of the grass and rested there," I huffed, remembering the small grassy area. "But I ignored the 'rest here' warning before dying on the climb."
"There's one like that at the top too," he teased with a suggestive smile. "If we hurry, we'll get there faster."
My eyes sparkled, and I pressed on determined.
"So, what are we waiting for?"
We climbed to the top, where there was another grassy area, a tree with a swing, and a lookout surrounded by a wooden fence marking the trail's edge. The strong wind blew, and the horizon stretched endlessly. Matt pointed toward the sunset.
"It's one of the most beautiful views I've ever seen," he said, eyes shining, as we sat on the soft grass.
Matt positioned himself behind me, draped my hair over my shoulder, and blew gently on my neck to ease the heat. His breath brought more than coolness—it ignited a fire stronger than the sun. It was sensual, even unintentionally. I closed my eyes, resting my head on his lap, trying to shake off those thoughts, surrendering to the soft grass. My legs still felt numb, and my lungs screamed from the effort.
"Wake up, Sleeping Beauty!" Matt shook me lightly, and I groaned lazily.
"How long was I asleep?" I murmured, sitting up.
"Not even fifteen minutes," he laughed. "We didn't come here to sleep, lazybones."
I rolled my eyes and tried to lie down again, but he stopped me with a push on my back.
"Has anyone ever told you that you're really annoying?" I complained, crossing my arms.
"You tell me that all the time, so yes, and I don't care," he retorted, shrugging. "I don't take it personally anymore."
I sighed, annoyed:
"You should care! After this climb, making me stand is like signing your own death certificate."
He furrowed his brow for a moment but soon opened a teasing smile.
"As the brilliant artist you are, I'll ignore your comment and help you make peace with nature."
"And why would I want to do that?" I questioned, raising an eyebrow.
"Because the greatest inspiration comes from it!" he insisted, jumping and extending a hand to help me up.
Matt hung the camera around his neck, and we walked to the edge of the lookout in silence, watching the sky and the valley below. He adjusted the lens, capturing something on the horizon, while I observed him, trying to figure out if it was the landscape—or something beyond.
"What do you feel?" he asked, breaking the sound of the wind.
I took a deep breath:
"If you think I'm going to say something philosophical, you're wasting your time," I replied sharply, more than intended.
He just smiled, lowering the lens and looking at me from the corner of his eye.
"You can say whatever comes to mind," he encouraged.
I looked at the landscape again and tried to put it into words:
"I see small mountains in the distance, the valley with a few cows, a camouflaged road I can't quite make out, the sky in shades of blue and white, and this fence that looks unstable…" I paused and sighed. "And I'm afraid to touch it because if I fall, you'll have to give another Azaléia to my mom."
Matt laughed, but his smile softened.
"You're good, but you missed one thing."
Confused, I looked around at everything again but wouldn't change a thing I had mentioned. I raised an eyebrow, waiting for him to explain.
"I didn't ask you to describe what you see, but what you feel," he explained, serious now. "The difference between a sensitive person and an ordinary person is the feeling. An ordinary person comes here and sees just the scenery. A sensitive person feels every detail. And there are so many, but the interesting part is that each human being feels one of them at this moment, and none the same as another. And who knows, next time they come here, they might feel new sensations."
He turned to me, attentive.
"What do you feel, Aza?"
I looked at him, noticing the care in his words.
"I feel… peace, but also fatigue, fear, and curiosity. A strange mix, but intense. And you?"
He turned his body to the horizon, closed his eyes, and took a deep breath.
"I feel the wind," he murmured. "And I like what I feel. It's something real, even if I can't see it. Something my lenses can't capture, but maybe one day I will. Maybe I'll even make an exhibition about it."
I moved closer to him, curious.
"Photographing the invisible?" I asked incredulously.
Matt shrugged and smiled.
"Can I take a picture?"
He held the camera, and I posed. He stepped back, but I protested:
"A picture of me?" I said, awkwardly.
"We'll take one together later," he insisted.
The wind messed with my hair, my flushed and sweaty face betraying my state. I made a grimace.
"I don't think I'm in a good moment to pose."
"You're perfect!"
I rolled my eyes but gave in. He raised the camera, framed me, and just before I found a pose, he lowered the lens.
"Done!"
"What do you mean?" I protested, huffing. "Let me see!"
He laughed, dodging as he put the equipment away.
"Not yet! When they're ready, I promise you'll be the first to see them."
"Wait, weren't we taking pictures of ourselves?" I grumbled.
"With my phone," he winked, teasing.
How annoying he was!
"You're going to Photoshop them, right?" I narrowed my eyes. "You'll turn my lemons into melons"—I put my hands on my chest, then my hips—"and a waist that will make people think I'm part of the Kardashian family."
"You're so dramatic!" he retorted, laughing. "Photography is art, not plastic surgery."
On the way back down the trail, Matt talked about his passion for photography: how he started at ten with his mother's camera, the challenge of analog film, and the dedication that turned his passion into a profession. I touched his hand silently when he mentioned his family's support.
"They seem like wonderful people," I commented, a twinge of envy. "Mine too, but I just wish they would recognize the same in me. That they wouldn't see my paintings as mere scribbles."
"Your parents have their own business, right?" He nodded in confirmation. "It's natural for them to think of the instability of art. The problem isn't you; it's a small town. Sometimes you need to leave to find your space. And real life isn't a fairy tale, Estranha."
I sighed.
"You talk exactly like my mother. I think they'd get along."
"I think so too," he raised an eyebrow, convinced. "I can please everyone. My charm is my greatest quality."
I laughed, stopping mid-trail.
"Greatest quality? After being intelligent, charismatic, social, exemplary student…"
As I listed, he slowly approached, his mischievous smile and penetrating gaze stole my words. He grabbed my waist, pressing our bodies together.
"Not going to continue?" he whispered hotly in my ear.
"Always right…" I tried to respond but failed.
"That's wrong," he murmured, voice husky. "Sometimes it's better to lose the argument than to lose you."
I exhaled without realizing I'd been holding my breath and wrapped my arms around his neck.
"I missed you," I confessed softly.
"I know you did…" he replied, smugly, and I lightly smacked his chest.
"Idiot!"
He held my arm and pulled me back.
"Because I felt exactly the same." He tucked a strand of hair behind my ear. "I couldn't wait to kiss you again."
I bit his lips slowly, savoring the shiver that ran down my spine when he moaned against my mouth. His kiss was deep, full of restrained hunger, but also careful in a way that disarmed me. His tongue invaded mine in a wet, teasing rhythm, and with each move, my body yielded more. One of his hands dug into my waist, holding me against him, while the other slid slowly, exploring every curve as if memorizing me by touch. The world disappeared—only his warmth burned me and the delicious vertigo of losing myself without resistance remained.
The day ended with the feeling of having lived something intense and different. Every step, every gesture, every tease, and every shared story deepened the tension between us. It wasn't just about Pedra Branca or the sunset; it was about sensing feelings and emotions I still didn't fully understand.
And on the way back, as I looked at Matt, I knew that this weekend would be just the first of many moments that would challenge and bring us closer together, in ways I had yet to begin to understand.