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Part I - Como un G
The end did not come with screams or slamming doors. It came like the breeze that dies down in the late afternoon: gentle, almost imperceptible, but inevitable.
Rio was Puerto Rican. She had left her native island a few months earlier, driven by a romantic and somewhat stubborn, perhaps even naive, idea of trying her hand at life as a digital nomad. She worked online, moving from city to city, but still didn't feel at home anywhere. Her life fit into a backpack: a few clothes, her phone and her laptop. She had always had few friends, was more observant than talkative, considered “a bit odd” by those who didn’t know her, too reserved for some things and too curious for others.
Agatha, on the other hand, was a newly graduated architect, just starting her career and full of plans and uncertainties. Like many young people, she still believed in the illusion of being able to shape the world around her, constantly imagining spaces and taking measurements. Despite her vibrant energy, she was not easily swayed and could even be considered shy around strangers, defending herself with her trademark sarcasm.
These two worlds collided and their lives changed. They met by chance at a mutual friend’s birthday party. There was nothing special about that day: background music, wine and beer, small talk. But when they looked at each other for the first time, it was felt as if they recognized one another.
They engaged in a rapid dialogue, full of teasing and double meanings. It was as if an unstoppable force had collided with an immovable object; neither side would give in, but they loved the challenge, the almost-collision. At first, Rio was enchanted by the way Agatha laughed with a little snort that always escaped her when something was too funny, her untameable hair, and her crystal-blue eyes. Agatha, in turn, was drawn to Rio's sharp brown gaze and the quick, witty way she reacted to her teasing.
The party was the spark, and soon their meetings became routine. Both intrigued by each other, they kept wanting to know more; beyond tension. They chose to be together at every place and every event, whether at a bar table chatting, an afternoon coffee, or a whole day at the beach. Time seemed to bend around them, and the inevitable happened: they fell in love quickly, but not lightly. It was as if they had known each other before they met.
The first months were all fire; that desperate urge to live everything at once, to lose nothing. The sex was intense, fierce, wild, passionate, rough, hot, yet careful and affectionate. Agatha loved the Rio’s lightness, the way she saw the world. She found it funny how someone so smart and tech-savvy could have no sense of direction and kept getting lost even when following the GPS. Rio, for her part, felt an unfamiliar kind of safety beside Agatha. She stopped drifting; she no longer wanted to be everywhere at once. Agatha became her anchor, her magnet, the one who made her desire to put down roots.
They fell in love quickly not lightly, but with the intensity of those who recognize something familiar.
Their friends noticed it right away. When they were together, there was a kind of magnetic field around them, as if the rest of the surroundings became less important.
One complemented the other. And, little by little, Rio's curiosity and impulsiveness transformed Agatha's Cartesian routine, while the care and affection made the brown-eyed brunette more and more confident in her decision to stay.
More time passed, and sleeping alone or apart for the night was no longer an option. The decision to move in together came naturally, the only answer to end the torture of being apart. Nights blurred into mornings, Rio's clothes began to spill into Agatha's room, and before long, leaving after breakfast no longer felt right. One afternoon, while folding freshly washed lavender-scented sheets, Rio said, “Your apartment feels more like home than my own place.” Agatha smiled and replied, “Then we should live together.” Simple, direct, definitive.
It was past two in the morning when the two found themselves surrounded by open tabs on Rio's laptop, endless pages of listings, floor plans, apartments photos. Agatha, hair up in a messy bun and glasses sliding down her nose, studied layouts as if were preparing a report.
They decided they would look for an apartment together. The small loft provided by the company was no longer home, and the apartment inherited from her father was no longer enough. They wanted walls that reflected them both.
“This one's no good,” she said, turning the laptop back to Rio. “It doesn't get any light in the morning, and the living room is poorly laid out.”
Rio, sitting on the rug, laughed.
“You always talk about the living room, the layout, the sunlight... I just want a place that can fit lot of plants. I've never had that.”
Agatha raised her eyebrow, half amused, half teasing.
“Plants? You'll end up forgetting to water them.”
“I won't!” Rio protested, laughing. “I've always lived on the move. I've never had a space of my own.”
Agatha was silent for a few seconds. Then she smiled, giving in a little.
“Okay. We'll find a place with plenty of sunlight. You fill it with plants and I'll be responsible for keeping them alive.”
They laughed together.
They continued looking for other options.
“This one is a loft,” Rio said excitedly. “Very similar to where I live now, only bigger.”
Agatha made a slight grimace.
“Loft? You know I hate not having walls, it feels like we live in a warehouse.”
Rio laughed at the comment, knowingly.
Agatha pointed to the next ad.
“This one has two bedrooms, a small but bright living room. The kitchen is awful, but we can renovate it.”
“Renovate,” she said, and they both realized it at the same time. It was no longer about Rio visiting, nor about Agatha inheriting ready-made spaces. It was about choosing, setting up, building something that was entirely them, theirs.
They continued their search. On the screen, the next ad looked too ordinary: two bedrooms, small kitchen, narrow balcony. But as they discussed where the sofa could go and what plants Rio would squeeze into the garden, they realized they were no longer just looking for an apartment. They were imagining their home.
Without even noticing, they moved in, and the apartment became an extension of themselves. Rio finally had plants scattered around the living room, filling the space with her organized mess of cables, hard drives, and software books. Agatha brought order and functionality to the layout of the furniture and her drawing table. Together, they found balance.
Over time, their rhythm settled into place. Every morning, Agatha made the bed with her usual precision. Rio, still half-asleep, brewed coffee, always forgetting a spoon or two, which was always a surprise. On Sundays, they would spend hours in bed, chatting about everything and nothing. They would sing loudly while cleaning the house, laugh at their terrible movie choices, and appreciate the comfortable silence.
They were details, but love was in the details. They cooked together, shared keys, shared silences.
But there were also shadows. And it was there, under the same roof, that they learned more about each other: their traumas, disappointments, dreams, and regrets. They celebrated victories and cried over losses. They explored light and darkness, shared deep pains and fears: Agatha carried a fierce fear of abandonment, stemming from a troubled relationship with her mother, and struggled to talk about her feelings. Rio, on the other hand, was an orphan, and her detachment and aloofness were a consequence of that; she was as closed off as a chest. Each had her insecurities, fears, and flaws, but together they tried to face their conflicts.
One night, the silence stretched on longer than usual. There wasn't exactly an argument, but a succession of misunderstandings born from Agatha's insecurities clashing with Rio's evasive nature. The air seemed thicker than normal. Little things had piled up: unspoken feelings, a curt reply, avoiding conversation, control. Agatha's fingers clutched the hem of her shirt, as if her thoughts were about to spill out, without looking at Rio, her eyes fixed on the television playing softly in the background. Rio tapped her foot on the floor, restless, trying to convince herself that the company's “emergency” still mattered. The unsaid words grew between them, louder than any argument.
Rio noticed her partner's uncharacteristic quietness but didn't press the issue right away. She simply closed her laptop and moved closer, sitting next to her, until their hands touched.
Agatha startled at the touch but didn't pull away. It took her a few minutes to speak, but when she did, her voice trembled:
“I know you love me. But sometimes I feel like you could leave at any moment. Just grab your backpack, your computer, and disappear. As if I were just another stop along the way.”
Rio felt her throat burn, her stomach sinking as if she had swallowed stones. She couldn't answer right away; she just squeezed Agatha's hand as if it were her only anchor. Agatha still had more to say, her voice low, almost a whisper, as if she were revealing a part of herself that she usually kept hidden:
“I know you wouldn't leave out of nowhere, but everyone does, it's always been that way.”
Her gaze hardened, even though it was wet with tears.
“First my father died and left me with a woman who didn't want me.” She looked away, as if ashamed to say it out loud. “I know it's not fair to compare, but I can't help thinking about it every time you shut yourself off and don't let me in... it's like the hole gets bigger.”
Rio didn't answer right away, she squeezed her hand, absorbing it. Then she took a deep breath.
“Agatha, look at me.” She waited until the blue eyes met hers. “I understand, but I need you to know that you're not just another stop.”
She paused, gathering herself. Her brown eyes held Agatha’s, firm and fragile all at once.
“Since I lost my parents, everything has been temporary: houses, cities, people, everything fleeting.” She took a deep breath, her voice faltering slightly. “But when I’m here with you... I feel full. It’s like I finally have a home. I’m not going anywhere.”
Agatha let out a sob, bringing her hands to her face. Rio pulled her close, holding her tight, like a promise made with her whole body.
In each other's pain, they found intimacy. In their embrace on the sofa, it seemed that the whole world could fit there, just the two of them.
Nothing was perfect, but together they learned that even the hardest conversations could become a bridge, not a wall. They were more than willing to fight for their togetherness.
After more than four years together, with a life already built, the change began, discreetly, almost invisibly. At first, they thought it was just a phase. Agatha's work, Rio’s comfort in routine, the rush of everyday life, the growing apathy. But soon they realized that it was not just that: a distance had begun to grow, filling the space between them. Long conversations began to end in a few minutes, topics didn't flow, they lacked interests, gestures of affection became rarer, automatic, almost distracted. They fell into a comfortable routine and couldn't get out of it.
Still, Rio’s love for Agatha was undeniable, a truth beyond question. She loved the absentminded gestures, the laughter, the smile; especially the one that was followed by a snort, the way she made her hair wild, her sharp blue eyes, and how she used sarcasm beyond just a defence. However, something was lost, and she no longer knew how to reach the woman who shared a bed with her.
Agatha still loved her, too, but over time it had softened into silence. Conversations that once flowed effortlessly dissolved into long pauses. She loved her partner's gentleness, the way she tried to make everything lighter, her intense brown eyes, the charming little gap between her teeth when she smiled, her steady presence. But something was missing, not exactly passion, but the closeness that had once felt effortless.
There was no resentment, just distance.
The love remained there, untouched, existing despite everything, while the air between them grew thin and distance crept into the relationship.
And when they decided to separate, it was painful. It was necessary, but even a decision made calmly was not easy. And it was precisely because there was still love that the separation was heartbreaking... that is, love is immovable in time, it no longer knew how to move.
There was no fighting, no angry words. The end was almost like an irrevocable sigh.
They sat on the sofa, each in their own corner, the dim glow of the television reflecting on their tired faces. There was no hurt, but there was certainty: if they could no longer have each other completely, they would have to learn to let go.
Love can only be repaid with love. They had given each other everything they could.
There were no debts left, no promises to keep.
Only the difficult truth that sometimes love is not enough to make you stay.
Agatha broke the silence first, her voice low, almost a whisper:
“I still love you, Rio. But I don't think I know how to stay anymore.”
Rio closed her eyes for a moment, absorbing the words like someone receiving a gentle but accurate blow. When she spoke, her voice was firm but choked up:
“I love you too. And that's why I don't want to hold you back.”
In the silence that followed, it seemed that both were thinking the same thing: where does love go when it has nothing left to say? Perhaps it would end there, in that small room, in the space that was once their home.
Rio took Agatha's hand one last time, squeezing it gently. Her brown eyes were glassy with tears, fixed on some undefined point in the room. When she finally spoke, her voice was muffled, carrying the last bit of tenderness:
“Cariño... you will always be my home.”
Agatha closed her eyes and smiled, a melancholy smile, when she was called Cariño. Maybe it was the last time her great love would call her that. And that was exactly what made that moment both unbearable and beautiful.
The brunette with sad blue eyes and wild hair took the tearful face of the only woman she truly loved, with whom she shared her light and shadows:
“And you taught me to believe that I could be loved.”
Upon hearing this, Rio did what her bleeding heart needed: she sealed Agatha's lips one last time. It was the end, but also an act of surrender and care, a farewell without resentment.
There were no victories, no defeats. Just two women who, out of love, agreed to set each other free, aware that sometimes loving means letting go.
And yet, what they had experienced, every laugh, every touch, every dawn shared, no distance could erase it. It remained there, silent, eternal, as if love had never moved, but had only learned to be free.
Their friends understood that some things don’t need advice, and yet, deep down, they remained certain that the two were made for each other, complementary.
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Part II- Juro que
Love hadn't vanished; it had merely fallen asleep in silence. Time had done its work of healing: the pain hadn't gone away, but it had left faint, bearable marks. The invisible thread that bound them together vibrated at a low frequency, but it vibrated, nonetheless.
After the breakup, the apartment they had shared felt like a mausoleum, holding all the love they had once felt. Agatha tried to live there alone; it felt like a frozen portrait of what they had been, every corner echoing memories. The plants were drying up around the house; some of Rio’s belongings lay forgotten in a corner, the smell of coffee in the morning lingered. And the photos. Oh, the photos of them together. Frozen smiles, bright eyes, they were moments lived and still vivid. It was almost an affront, as if they were mocking her.
Finally, they decided to sell the home they had built; it held too many memories for a heart that was still bleeding. Months later, when the sale was completed and the proceeds divided, Agatha packed her things and returned to the old apartment where she had lived before Rio.
The idea was to start over without so many shadows, even though she knew it was impossible to forget a woman like Rio just by changing her address. It was like wearing clothes that no longer fit. The walls were the same, but she wasn't. Even so, it was there that she had to relearn how to listen to herself. She threw herself into her work and her focus was recognized: she was promoted and took on projects with greater responsibility. Even so, amid reports and spreadsheets, she tried to hold on to what she loved most: creating spaces, shaping places that could be home to others. Perhaps, without realizing it, this was her unconscious way of caring for her own wound: building homes while trying to rebuild her own.
In the first few months, the loneliness was deafening. She reached out in bed, looking for Rio, but found only emptiness. She made just one cup of coffee. She closed the door, knowing that no one would be waiting for her on the other side. She searched for Rio's scent on her clothes, she kept Rio’s forest green sweatshirt that she had forgotten when packing her bags. The fabric no longer held the scent, but she swore she could smell her ex's perfume every time she hugged it. And sometimes she thought she heard her husky voice softly calling “cariño.” She spent her mornings trying to avoid the silence of the apartment, but no noise could fill the void her life had become. Each day felt even crueller than memories, repeating her absence relentlessly.
But loneliness was persistent, and at a certain point, when the emptiness became too much to bear, she had to face the mirror and seek help. She started therapy and, with effort, began to talk: about her mother, about the neglect she suffered during childhood, about the feeling that she was never good enough. She learned to name her fears and recognize patterns. She discovered that her exaggerated sarcasm was not a lack of love, but a defence mechanism. The process was slow and painful, but she allowed herself to feel anger, sadness, and fragility, becoming more whole. She learned to make room inside herself, to trust that she was no less worthy of love.
Rio, meanwhile, returned to the company loft. It was difficult to exist alone after having been filled to the brim and overflowing. It took her a while to get used to the rhythm without her other half: she made the bed halfway, as if her body had not yet understood that now there was only room for one, she bought too much fruit at the market, she almost called Agatha to laugh at something silly, only to remember that there was no one to listen. She kept a small object of Agatha's for herself: a medallion of the Triple Goddess, which for her became more than an adornment. It was almost a reliquary, a reminder that she had been loved with the strength of three lives. She never wore it, but she liked to hold it, as if it were silent proof that love had not faded.
She decided to leave: she returned to Puerto Rico, as if returning to her point of origin. She continued to work for the same company, but there, in the humid heat of the island, life had a different rhythm. She spent more time with her distant family, relearning how to feel like she belonged there. At night, when the silence was too deep, Rio would go out to take photographs. She wasn't photographing people, but rather capturing structures, facades and open windows. She was an amateur photographer and found comfort in capturing lines and shapes, capturing facades as if seeking to understand Agatha's way of seeing spaces.
She returned to San Juan not to escape, but because she needed to face what she had always carried with her: the loss of her parents, the feeling of being a stranger everywhere. She walked the streets of her childhood, smelled the sea air clinging to her skin, listened to the sound of the waves at night. She visited the cemetery, reconnected with distant relatives, tasted foods that awakened memories of an easier life.
With the encouragement of a cousin, she began therapy. It wasn't easy to open up, but it was necessary and something she should have done a long time ago. She needed to understand her own roots, to face the ghosts that had followed her since childhood. She discovered that locking her feelings away in a chest was not protection, it was exile. And she cried as she had never allowed herself to cry before, until her throat burned and her body shook, she cried as if she were surrendering her burden to the sea. She made peace with her orphanhood: not to forget, but so that she would not be defined solely by it.
There were months of shock and repetition, as if their bodies were still searching for presences that no longer existed. It was a mourning that came without anger or resentment, only with the cruel realization of emptiness.
Over time, Agatha began to transform her routine: yoga classes in the morning, stack of books on her bedside table, therapy sessions every week. She started going out with friends again and enjoying her own company. She learned to speak aloud the words she would never have dared to say before: “I'm afraid,” “I miss,” “I need.” Slowly, sarcasm ceased to be her only armour and became just one trait among many. She began to embrace her own feelings, even the most confusing ones, and discovered that she could live without having to prove anything to anyone but herself.
Across the ocean, Rio was rebuilding too. She slowed down, stepping away from the constant hum of screens and code. She began giving informal programming classes to young people, and in that found unexpected peace: it felt like building futures instead of systems. Therapy also became part of her process; she needed tools to stay grounded and keep move forward. She reconnected with old friends but didn't lose touch with friends far away.
Still, despite their different lives, there was always a blind spot. Every time Agatha laughed unexpectedly and let out that small huff, she remembered the way Rio looked at her with those deep brown eyes. Every time Rio saw someone with crystalline blue eyes, her heart skipped involuntarily. Between remembered birthdays and quick messages, the thread between them still hummed quietly. It wasn’t enough to bring them back together, but it also never let them drift completely apart.
Time moved on. Nearly three years passed, separated, growing in parallel. Between them, only occasional messages, simple ones like birthdays or good news. Enough to prove that the invisible thread had not broken, but not enough to rekindle what had been. Maybe the physical absence was something they both needed to mature, but they never completely disappeared from each other's lives. It was more like they didn't dare to rekindle the flame yet but couldn't bear to let it go out completely. The thread hadn't snapped; it had only gone dormant.
Each followed her path in her own way.
After almost two years in Puerto Rico, Rio felt it was time to return. The island had given her roots, but now her heart was calling for change. Her company invited her to lead a new project at headquarters, and this coincided with the inner calling that had been growing inside her. She couldn't explain it exactly, but there was an overwhelming feeling: as if something, or someone, was calling her back.
The reunion didn't have a date yet, but it was already written in small coincidences.
And when it happened, it wasn't planned. The universe chose to repeat their first encounter: another party, other laughter, yet the same chance conspiracy. Only now, there were scars, marks, and maturity. The laughter in the background, the music, the parallel conversations. Coloured lights cut across their faces, creating shadows that looked like memories.
Then their eyes met. The same eyes, but not the same women.
They didn't need words to understand that the invisible thread between them was still humming.
Rio froze, as if seeing a ghost. Her chest tightened. Agatha felt a mix of heat and chill running through her body. The world around her slowed down. It was the same feeling from years ago: butterflies in the stomach and quiet calm at the same time.
Their steps moved at almost the exact same pace, as if their bodies remembered before their minds did. They walked slowly toward each other, with no hurry. The music, the conversations, everything around them faded away.
“Agatha?” said Rio, with a quiet smile curving her lips, somewhere between surprise and affection.
“Rio...” replied Agatha, startled, trying to catch her breath.
They hesitated; both caught in the fragile stillness between recognition and disbelief. A small laugh escaped Rio, breaking the tension. She stared at the blue-eyed woman dressed in a navy-blue suit.
“I think we should introduce ourselves again,” she said in an amused tone.
“Introduce ourselves again?” Agatha raised her eyebrow, a faint smile forming. She could hardly believe that the woman in a white button-down mini dress, her hair loose, eyes smiling before her lips did, was the same Rio, still capable of turning awkwardness into charm.
“Yes.” Rio said, making a theatrical gesture, as if bowing. “Hello, my name is Rio. I like plants, lazy mornings, and strong coffee. How about you?”
Agatha laughed softly but genuinely.
“Hello, Rio. I'm Agatha. I like drawing, sarcasm, and coffee... but not as strong as yours.”
Rio laughed long and lightly, her eyes widening with curiosity. The laugh seemed to shift the air between them, a sound Agatha didn't realize she had missed until she heard it again.
They raised their glasses, sealing that moment.
“Nice to meet you!”, Rio said, her voice warm.
Agatha smiled back, feeling something familiar fill her chest. It was like breathing again after holding her breath for so long.
Rio took a slight step back, as if framing the moment, though her smile never faded. Her gaze swept over Agatha almost as if checking that time had truly passed.
“I didn't expect to see you here,” she murmured, the words sounding almost casual.
Agatha paused before answering, adjusting the sleeve of her suit, a small gesture, but one which betrayed her nerves.
“And is that a bad thing?”
Rio chuckled softly, tilting her head. “Not at all.”
Agatha arched her eyebrow, smiling slightly. “Good to know.”
The air between them shifted again, heavy with something old and familiar. Rio, with a half-smile, looked away, as if not wanting to prolong the tension, but her fingers drummed restlessly on the glass.
She looked back at Agatha, as if measuring the distance between them and the noise around them, which now seemed too loud.
“It's a little... chaotic here, don't you think?” she said, gesturing toward the music and loud conversations.
Agatha followed the gesture with her eyes, then looked back at Rio with quiet amusement.
“Since when do you not like chaos?”
Rio smiled slightly, as if she had been caught. “Guilty. But...” she tilted her glass, “maybe I could use a bit of calm.”
Agatha let out a short laugh as she glanced around, and the sound seemed to ease something in both their chests.
“And where do you plan to find calm during Jen's birthday party?”
The celebration was taking place on a rooftop glowing with warm lights and candles on the tables, the air scented with wine and mint.
“There.” Rio nodded slightly toward a corner with low sofas, set apart from the crowd and the speakers. “Come with me?”
Agatha hesitated for a moment, as if weighing the decision. But Rio's gaze gave her all she needed to hear, and the hesitation melted away.
“Sure,” Agatha replied a little too quickly, and Rio smiled, satisfied, that little smile that Agatha remembered loving.
They walked together, an invisible thread still pulsing between them. Their shoulders brushed lightly on the way, an almost accidental touch, almost as if their bodies were searching for each other again.
They sat close, not too close, but the distance felt fragile, ready to vanish with the slightest movement. The breeze from the rooftop passed between them, carrying a comfortable silence before any words were spoken.
From above, the city spread out in lights, and the deep sound of music reached them muffled, blended with the distant hum of conversations. The air smelled of wine and cinnamon, and there was something intimate about that dim light.
“So... what have you been up to?” Rio broke the silence, resting her arm on the back of the sofa, leaning slightly toward her, fingers idly tracing the rim of her glass
Agatha took a deep breath before answering, as if organizing her thoughts.
“Working too much, as usual. I got promoted. More responsibility, more headaches.” She took a sip of wine, toasting her own irony. “But I still find time to create.”
Rio watched her as she spoke, with a look that seemed to hear more than just the words. A slow smile formed.
“I knew you'd be in charge soon.”
“Funny...” Agatha turned her face to face her, with a sharp half-smile. “I imagined you’d still be trying to avoid leading anything at all.”
Rio laughed softly, shaking her head.
“Sharp as ever, m’lady,” she said, still smiling.
The nickname sounded all too familiar, and for a moment, time seemed to stand still.
They still knew each other so well. The sound was light, but it made something in Agatha's chest tighten.
“And you? I heard you left town.”
“Yeah,” Rio nodded. “I spent a while in San Juan. Joined a project teaching programming to young people…I loved it.” Her eyes glowed with that quiet enthusiasm that came only when she talked about what she loved. “I swear, I never knew you could learn so much by teaching.”
“So, are we talk about the Professor Rio Vidal?” Agatha teased softly.
“In a way, yes. Lilia... you remember her, right?”
Agatha nodded, the director of the department where Rio worked – Mrs. Calderu who had always been maternal despite her authority and had never hidden that she rooted for two of them.
“She called me back to work on developing new software. This time I agreed to lead the team. And I'm starting the junior apprenticeship program.”
Agatha watched her for a moment, noticing the small changes: her calm tone, the contained gesture, the quiet confidence that had not been there before.
“So... you're really back.” she said, it sounded more like a sigh than a statement.
“I'm back.” Rio looked back at her, her brown eyes steady, filled with that sweetness so typical of her.
Something inside Agatha settled, a silent click she hadn’t expected. Her thumb traced the rim of the glass, as if to disguise the urge to close the space between them.
“Temporary or for good?” she asked too light to hide the tension underneath.
“For work...for now.”
Agatha tilted her head slightly, studying her face. There was something between the lines, a quiet opening in Rio's tone that said more than her words.
“For now...” she repeated, testing the weight of it.
Rio held her gaze for a moment before adding, softly, “Depends.”
Agatha looked up, curious. “Depends on what?”
Rio gave a sly smile, glancing away for a second before meeting her eyes again.
The answer came slowly carrying a quiet weight: “On having a reason to stay.”
The words hung in the air for a moment, clear enough to be understood, subtle enough to need no explanation.
Agatha felt a small smile form, along with that familiar sparkle in her eyes.
“You're still terrible at the whole subtlety rodeo” she said, her voice low, almost a laugh.
“I've got nothing to hide.” Rio leaned a little closer, her voice softer now, warmer.
Her light perfume mingled with that of the wine, and Agatha forgot how to breathe.
The space between them was a thin line, ready to disappear.
The silence between them was not heavy; on the contrary, it seemed to suspend time.
Rio twirled the gin glass in her hands, distracted, but her eyes never left Agatha's. The way she held it, with her thumb pressing against the rim of the glass, was the same as always, a detail Agatha noticed and it made her smile.
“You cut your hair,” Rio said suddenly.
Agatha smiled; her hair, once long and rebellious, now brushed just below her shoulders in softer waves.
“I wanted something a little more practical. What do you think?”
“It's...” Rio searched for the right word, a slow smile coming. “You're still beautiful.”
Agatha laughed, tilting her head slightly, pleased.
“And you...” her eyes scanned the white dress, the buttons, the bare shoulders. “...still know exactly how to get attention.”
Rio bit her lip, amused, but there was something serious in her gaze.
“So you still notice.”
“Hard not to” Agatha replied without thinking, an old reflex. She lifted her glass to her lips, as if she could hide what she had just said.
The wind carried again the sweet scent of the plants in the rooftop corner, and Agatha adjusted the sleeve of her suit, the same nervous gesture as always, involuntary, recognized by Rio before she even realized she was smiling.
Between one laugh and another, their knees brushed again, now without pretence.
Neither of them moved away.
“You know what's funny?” Rio leaned slightly closer, her arm still resting behind her. “It feels the same as when I first saw you.”
Agatha raised an eyebrow, curious.
“On Alice's balcony?”
They both remembered at once. The party had been more chaotic, full of 90s rock and easy laughter. Agatha in a plain grey T-shirt, jeans, and Converse, Rio in a Metallica T-shirt and a messy bun. Rio remembered those bright blue eyes and the wild hair down her back, that one she spent the whole night trying not to touch, and now she was doing the very same thing. Two girls far too absorbed in each other to realize what they were beginning.
It was as if those younger versions of themselves were still there, watching from afar, once unguarded and raw, now poised and marked.
“Only now a little more elegant, and not on Alice’s balcony anymore…” Agatha added, her gaze steady, unflinching.
She remembered how they had drunk beer for hours on that balcony and how she had fallen for Rio the moment their eyes lingered too long.
And maybe that was exactly what was happening again.
“And yet...” Rio let the sentence fade, as if the words were unnecessary.
The silence that followed was too heavy to be just silence. Rio's gaze lingered longer than it should, and Agatha felt her heart quicken. She looked away toward the city lights, but the stubborn smile remained, giving her away.
Without realizing, Rio reached out to brush a strand of hair from Agatha´s face, the same automatic gesture born from years of closeness. When she noticed, she stopped midway, chuckled softly, and pulled her hand back, hiding it behind her glass.
“Old habits, huh?” she murmured amusedly.
Agatha followed the movement with her eyes, her smile now open.
“Some aren't meant to be forgotten.”
Rio pressing her tongue against her cheek, looking away for a moment. She tapped her foot lightly, nervous, a detail Agatha remembered well: whenever she was trying to hide her anxiety, her body betrayed her.
“You're still dangerous with words,” Rio said, her voice low.
“I prefer to think it's part of my charm,” Agatha replied, raising an eyebrow. Her tone wasn’t accusatory; it was almost tender.
Their glasses were set down on the table, forgotten, and the space between them no longer seemed convincing. With every short laugh, their shoulders brushed lightly, as if their bodies were tracing an old map.
“So long without seeing you...” Rio said slowly. “and somehow, it feels like nothing’s changed.”
“Maybe that's proof that certain things... endure,” Agatha said softly, smiling.
For a moment, neither said anything else. The distant noise of the party crept back in, but it seemed to come from another world. There, in the lit corner, time once again held its breath.
The silence returned, but it wasn't heavy. It was charged, as if every passing second pulled them closer.
Rio rested her elbow on the arm of the sofa and leaned a little closer to Agatha, imperceptibly shortening the distance between them. As if the space between them was too irresistible to maintain.
“You know,” she began in a whisper, “sometimes I think about how everything has changed. Not just who we are, but who we are together.”
Agatha looked away, gazing at the city, but unable to avoid feeling the warmth of her presence. Her fingers touched her glass almost without realizing it, turning it slowly.
“It did change,” she replied, with a calmness that seemed rehearsed, “but not the way I imagined.”
Rio's foot kept moving slowly, almost without her noticing. Agatha watched the movement, noticing every detail: the tension in her toes, the slight tremor in her ankle. It was such a small gesture, yet so full of meaning.
Without thinking, Agatha placed her hand on Rio's knee. The touch was gentle, steady and careful. Rio didn't move away, just took a deep breath, as if weighing the moment.
“We don't need to rush,” Agatha murmured, her voice barely above a whisper. “We have all the time in the world.”
Rio closed her eyes for a moment, as if engraving those words, then opened them again slowly, gazing at Agatha.
“You always know how to calm me down” she said softly, almost as if sharing a secret.
Agatha smiled, a smile that was both teasing and tender.
“I could say the same about you.”
Rio kept her eyes on Agatha. For a moment, the silence between them stretched, heavy with memories, desire, and longing, leaving only the contrast of their eyes: Rio's deep brown meeting Agatha's crystalline blue.
Agatha held Rio's knee more firmly, the touch becoming an anchor in that instant. A shiver ran through Rio's arm, and her breathing slowed. Almost unconsciously, she leaned in, drawn to something inevitable.
With their faces close, before any contact, Rio let her fingertips slide into Agatha's hair, tucking a strand behind her ear, as she usually did. A faint tremor rippled through Agatha's body; she closed her eyes briefly, letting the touch sink into her skin. A small, involuntary smile appeared on her lips.
In response, she brought a hand to Rio's face, gently tracing the curve of her jaw, recognizing the familiar softness of her skin. A quiet sigh escaped Rio, barely audible.
“Rio...” Agatha murmured, her voice low, almost stifled.
Rio gave a sideways smile, saying nothing; then her lips touched hers, at first soft, delicately. It was like a restrained electric spark, awakening memories long kept hidden.
Agatha stayed still for a heartbeat, absorbing that touch, before Rio pulled back just enough to meet her eyes. A faint, teasing smile played on Rio’s lips, her fingers still resting on Agatha’s face, unwilling to let go.
Rio drew back only enough to breathe, her lips still close to Agatha's. Brown eyes met blue ones in a silent exchange, laden with unspoken words. A soft, playful smile curved on Rio's mouth, and she bit her lower lip, as if holding back laughter.
“If you want me to stop, just say the word” Rio whispered, her tone low and teasing.
Agatha didn't answer right away. She just looked: first Rios lips, then her eyes, and then back again. Her heart beat faster, her breathing deepened. A faint smile appeared at the corner of her mouth, and her voice came out in a warm and quiet:
“You wouldn't dare stop now.”
That was enough. Without hesitation, Agatha leaned forward, deepening the kiss. A simple brush of lips wasn't enough for what had been stirred. It was as if time had folded over them, years collapsing into an instant. A shiver ran down her spine the moment she touched Rio again. Their lips opened with restrained urgency, Rio's fingers tangled in Agatha's hair, pulling it gently, feeling the texture of it.
Agatha caught Rio’s lower lip between her own, a nearly instinctive gesture, before sliding her fingers to her neck, feeling the warmth and tension of that moment.
Their tongues met in a slow, reverent rhythm; no rush, no struggle, only contained desire. A deep heat spread through both their chests, as if every touch stored years of longing. Their hands remained in place, steady, anchoring each other, as they sat together and let the weight of their reunion dissolve into that intense kiss.
Their knees touched again, firmly this time, while the world around them seemed to dissolve, leaving only them and the weight of that reunion. Agatha closed her eyes, smiling against Rio's lips, while their hands remained intertwined, holding on to that moment as if it could last forever.
Agatha drew back slowly, as if she needed to absorb everything that had just happened. Her fingers still rested in Rio's hair, caressing it gently.
Rio opened her eyes slowly, meeting Agatha's gaze with a soft, content smile. Her brown eyes reflected something Agatha couldn't quite name.
“So...” Rio murmured, almost unwilling to break the moment, “does this mean something?”
Agatha smiled slightly, her gaze lingering on Rio’s lips before returning to her eyes. It was a smile that carried both tenderness and defiance.
“A new beginning,” she whispered, her voice low as her thumb gently traced Rio’s cheek.
Rio exhaled, letting her head rest against Agatha's shoulder. The contact spoke louder than words.
And finally, the invisible thread between them pulsed again with full force.
-----------------------------------------
Agatha stared at Rio for a few seconds, as if trying to memorize every detail: the curve of her lips, the intense shine in her brown eyes. Rio, in turn, couldn't look away, as though she were imprinting every second of that moment into memory.
The air between them seemed thicker, warmer. Rio’s hand slid along Agatha's arm, slowly tracing its way up to her shoulder, pressing gently before caressing the curve of her neck. Agatha closed her eyes, exhaling softly, tilting her face toward the touch.
Without breaking eye contact, Rio leaned in again, her lips met Agatha's lips once more, this time deeper, heavier with longing. Agatha responded immediately, her hands finding Rio's face, fingers tangling in her soft, silky hair.
The touch intensified, their hands exploring with familiarity. Agatha slid one hand behind Rio’s neck, feeling the heat of her skin beneath her fingertips, while her other hand traced down her arm to the waist. Rio let out a soft groan, breaking the kiss, and let a smile escape against her lips before deepening the contact again.
Their knees stayed pressed together, their bodies moving closer still, the warmth between them almost tangible. The heat emanating from them was almost palpable. Agatha felt her heart race as her breath mingled with Rio's.
Rio bit Agatha's lower lip, gently pulling her closer, and whispered between kisses:
"I missed this… I missed you."
Agatha breathed against her mouth, letting out a murmur:
"Me too… more than you can imagine."
The kiss grew more demanding, more urgent. They knew each other too well to pretend otherwise. Agatha pulled Rio closer, feeling her body tremble under her touch; Rio responding, sliding her fingers down Agatha's waist to the curve of her hips, drawing them even closer, unhurriedly.
The world around them seemed to disappear. There was no more party, no more rooftop, just them, two bodies that recognized and claimed each other.
Rio took a deep breath; her body still pressed against Agatha's. A shiver ran down her spine as Agatha's fingers curled snugly around the back of her neck more tightly. For a few seconds, they stayed like that, static, as though the whole world had frozen around them.
"If we're going to continue...” Rio murmured, her voice low, husky with desire, “…we need to go somewhere else."
Agatha smiled, biting her lower lip. "Then let's go. My place isn’t far."
Rio smiled knowingly; she remembered Jen and Agatha lived close by.
Without breaking contact, Agatha stood up, Rio rising with her, their bodies still intertwined. One last silent look sealed what was about to happen. Agatha grabbed her purse, and they walked out almost wordlessly, their gesture thick with urgency: hands that couldn’t stop seeking each other, touches that lingered as they crossed the rooftop.
They reached Jen by the exit. The hostess smiled, instantly catching on.
"You're not leaving now, are you?" Jen joked, tilting her head.
It was obvious she'd noticed their joined hands, their flushed faces. Their friends had seen it coming, always been only a matter of time.
"We need to go," Agatha said softly, glancing at Rio. "But thank you for the party."
"And, once again, happy birthday, Jen," Rio added, still holding Agatha’s hand.
Agatha smiled, and they shared a brief, sincere hug, an unspoken agreement. Jen waved, grinning knowingly.
Their intertwined hands seemed a silent promise. Neither of them looked back as they crossed the gate of Jen's building. The night air was cold, but their skin burned; they walked quickly, as if stopping might break the spell that had just been reignited.
Two blocks later, they arrived at Agatha's old apartment. The walk was quick, their fingers intertwined, warm hands that didn't want to let go. With every step, they exchanged meaningful glances, as if the world around them had disappeared.
When they reached the door, neither hesitated. Agatha unlocked it and pulled Rio inside. The familiar scent hit immediately: coffee, a light touch of vanilla, and old memories. The sound of keys on the table felt distant.
Rio moved closer, slowly, with the confidence of someone who knew every reaction the other might have. A dense silence settled before their lips found each other again; there was no need for restraint now.
Agatha felt her body react before her mind. She touched Rio's face, her thumb tracing the outline of her mouth, and let out a breath so soft it was almost a whisper.
The kiss was deep, full of longing and recognition. It wasn’t the tentative touch from the party anymore, it was the reunion of two souls who already knew the way. Their hands met over backs, shoulders, in hair. The world shrank to breath, skin and memory.
Between kisses and quiet sighs, Agatha tangled her fingers with Rio's and led her to the bedroom, almost stumbling from urgency. Every gesture felt familiar, yet completely new.
The touch began soft, almost a recognition, and soon deepened. Their hands moved with restrained intensity, as if trying to reclaim years in seconds. Agatha slid her fingers through Rio's hair while Rio closed her eyes, holding Agatha's waist, surrendering fully to the kiss,
The apartment suddenly felt too small to contain the weight of that reunion.
Agatha's hand slid along Rio's arm, up to her shoulder, pulling her closer. Rio responded with a smile that mixed desire and recognition, her fingers already tracing the line of Agatha's neck, holding her firmly.
Agatha cupped Rio's face, memorizing every curve, every detail. Rio sighed softly against her mouth, a sound carrying three years of silence and pent-up desire.
They pulled back just enough to breathe, their eyes still locked.
Rio's hand found its way beneath Agatha's blouse, gliding over warm skin, drawing a soft sigh. The motion was deliberate, precise, as if each second could be frozen in time. The black blazer yielded under the touch, fabric sliding slowly from her shoulder. Agatha closed her eyes, biting her lip, and answered by undoing the buttons of Rio's dress, opening them one by one.
The tension thickened, every touch reminded them of what they had always known about each other. Rio's hand slid down Agatha's waist, tracing it with gentle firmness. Agatha responded by pulling her closer, their bodies pressed together.
"I want you" Rio whispered, her voice low and trembling with emotion.
"So do I," Agatha replied, holding her face and kissing her again, deeper this time.
The kiss became more intense, more urgent. Their tongues met in a delicate, precise rhythm, without struggle, yet full of surrender. Their hands roamed over every inch of exposed skin, holding, squeezing, guiding.
Rio trailed kisses down Agatha's neck, leaving a trail of warmth, while Agatha arched toward her, enveloping her even more. Their bodies fit together as if made for each other.
Agatha laced her fingers through Rio's and pulled her toward the bed, nearly stumbling in her haste. Muffled laughter faded down the hallway until they reached it.
Without ceremony, Agatha gently pushed Rio down, but Rio reversed the gesture with ease, letting her fall back onto the mattress.
The weight of Rio's body pressed over hers, warm, urgent, kisses trailing down her neck, her chest, as if she were mapping every inch of familiar terrain anew. Agatha arched beneath her, her hands sliding down her back, lightly scratching, begging for more.
The rhythm was slow, provocative, but charged with intensity. Their tongues met in wet kisses that left them both breathless. Rio's hips pressed against hers in an instinctive motion that drew muffled sighs from Agatha.
When Rio's mouth descended her abdomen, placing soft, lingering kisses, Agatha bit her lip, trying to hold back the sound that escaped. But Rio lifted her face, her brown eyes shining, and smiled mischievously.
"Don't hold back." she pleaded in a low, husky tone. "I want to hear you."
Agatha let out a loud moan, her head falling against the pillow, surrendered. Her whole body arched in response, asking for more, begging for more. Rio obliged with her mouth, with her tongue, with an almost fierce devotion. Each moan was a victory, each tremor proof that nothing had changed between them.
Agatha pulled at Rio's fingers, guiding her, yet losing herself in the waves of pleasure. Rio knew exactly where to touch, when to press, when to tease. The bed creaked slightly beneath their rhythm, but nothing silenced the warm sounds escaping Agatha's lips.
It wasn't long before Agatha's body arched again, a rough, breathless moan escaping her throat. A tremor rippled through her skin, she closed her eyes, surrendering to the tide taking over. For a moment, time seemed – heavy breaths, pounding hearts, the faint creak of the bed – only the sensation of overflowing pleasure remained.
Still trembling, Agatha turned, pulling Rio atop of her. Her fingers caught at the back of Rio’s neck, drawing her into a deeper, claiming kiss, with her taste still lingering. The kiss was fiercer, charged with raw urgency. The blue-eyed brunette, now on top, pressed her body against the Latina's, making it clear that she was in control.
Rio groaned against her lips, yielding to her touch, unable to resist her dominance. Agatha's hands moved with need and certainty, as if trying to return every sensation at once. Her fingers traced and pressed, reading every reaction, sensing exactly where to press to elicit each sigh. It was as if Agatha knew where the edge, and how to cross it.
Rio surrendered, smiling between gasps, her body bent under Agatha, small moans escaping more freely.
The rhythm quickened, the air between them thickened until everything seemed to revolve around that single, consuming touch. A shiver ran through Rio, a deeper moan escaped as she reached orgasm.
Between kisses and faster breaths, Agatha whispered, almost breathless: “It's you. It's always been you.”
Rio closed her eyes, hugging her tightly, as if this gesture itself confirmed it. What bound them wasn’t just physical, it was more, it was intimacy built.
The room filled with their sounds – kisses, groans and breaths – until slowly, the rhythm faded, giving way to calm.
They loved each other through the night. They learned and rediscovered one another.
And suddenly, all the absence of years before seemed to dissolve, there was still so much to say, so much to live.
There were no promises, only the clear feeling that the thread between them had never broken, it had merely fallen asleep, waiting.
No words were needed. Love hadn't asked permission, it had never truly left. It simply reignited what had once been lost.
Their time apart had been a necessary pause, a silence that allowed them to find their rhythm again. Because Rio and Agatha were inevitable.