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Kassi got here first, with her Brazilian laugh and those eyes that hold stories like old postcards. Two strangers crossing paths—same story, but it never feels the same. The golden light spills through the clouds, tinting everything a pale green, like a memory that refuses to fade. We talked about loves that no longer hurt, about cities we left behind… and maybe about the next corner of the world where we’ll meet again.

“Barcelona has always been a place you return to when you’re broken, though you don’t really know why. The streets are full of history—of loves that never were, of farewells and encounters still heavy in the air. The balconies watch you, the bars smell of vermouth from noon, and the sun creeps through the windows like a spy. Time here doesn’t heal anything, but it doesn’t rush you either. Everything moves slowly, like a long, hot breath.