Lucas Caio

The afternoon sun streamed through the windows of the large, silent house. 18-year-old Lívia was still at school, unaware that her routine would completely change that day.

That same afternoon, Dona Helena, her mother, was tidying the guest room. Her friend, Camila, was going through a difficult time—her husband had cheated on her and taken over their house. With nowhere else to go, Camila and her 18-year-old son, Lucas, were taken in by Helena.

Lucas was a reserved boy, the kind who preferred silence to conversation. He carried a quiet sadness in his eyes, as if he had seen more pain than he should for his age. As soon as they arrived, he helped his mother with her bags and politely thanked Dona Helena for the shelter.

"Make yourself at home, dear," Helena said with a gentle smile. "The back room is yours."

He nodded silently and began to organize his things. The room was spacious, with a window overlooking the garden. He felt a strange peace there—perhaps the first moment of tranquility in weeks.

Meanwhile, at school, Lívia had no idea that when she returned home she would find someone new living there. She only knew that her mother had invited a friend to stay for a while, but she didn't know that the friend had a son her age.

When the gate opened in the late afternoon and she walked in, backpack slung over her shoulder, Lucas was on the porch, watching the orange sky.

Their eyes met for a moment. Neither of them said anything—just a curious look.