The First Meeting
Some people slip into your life like a misplaced bookmark—unexpected, unassuming, yet perfectly fitting. You don’t remember when you met them, not exactly. Maybe it was a rainy afternoon when the trains were delayed, or at a party where the music was too loud for conversation but you understood each other anyway. The best ones never arrive with a declaration. They appear, they linger, and then, one day, you realize you don’t know who you’d be without them.
These are the people I stay for.
Lisbon Afternoons, Sunlight Between Conversations
The café sat on the edge of a narrow street, where the sea breeze carried the scent of roasted chestnuts and salt. We had met by accident, crammed into the same tiny table when the rest of the city had already claimed its space. She had a book in her lap, but she never turned the pages.
“I like watching people more than reading about them,” she said, stirring too much sugar into her espresso.
The afternoon stretched between us like a lazy cat, unhurried and warm. The conversation drifted between memories, half-forgotten dreams, and the small, imperceptible ways a city changes you. I don’t remember saying goodbye. I just remember the way the light hit her face when she laughed.
Istanbul, The Hours Between Midnight and Morning
The city was never quiet, not really. Even at three in the morning, the streets hummed with something ancient and restless. We sat on the Galata Bridge, fishing rods balanced precariously over the railing, though neither of us had caught anything.
“I don’t think I’m supposed to be here,” he said, watching the Bosphorus move below us, dark and endless.
“Where then?” I asked.
He shrugged. “Somewhere I don’t feel like I’m waiting for something to happen.”
I knew what he meant. Some cities are pauses. Some people are too. But that night, in that in-between hour where the world feels untethered, we were exactly where we needed to be.
Cape Town, The Edge of the World
The wind howled across the cliffs, rattling against the rocks below. We had climbed to the top of Table Mountain without saying much, the altitude pressing words back down into our lungs.
At the summit, she sat on the edge, feet dangling over nothingness, arms stretched wide like she could hold up the sky.
“You ever think about how small we are?” she asked.
“Every day.”
She smiled, and for a moment, the whole world felt weightless. Some people remind you of how vast everything is—not in a way that makes you feel insignificant, but in a way that makes you feel infinite.
life 
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