I have to admit that, for a long time, I didn’t believe in destiny.

  Over the years, I found myself searching for chances to live a romance worthy of the books and movies whose stories I knew by heart: boy meets boy, falls in love, and then fate steps in, pushing them closer until they end up happy together, living a love that feels almost fake for being too perfect.

   In Notting Hill, one of my favorite movies, a famous film actress lives an incredible, genuine romance with a bookstore owner who exists in anonymity. Two worlds so different, yet somehow connected in a way that made it feel like destiny itself was enjoying playing with them both.

   —I’m just a girl, standing in front of a boy, asking him to love her.—

   There’s so much truth in that line. It captures the humanity hidden behind a famous name—one that most people only associate with a beautiful face, endlessly desired by many. Sometimes, when I watched Notting Hill for the thousandth time, I saw myself as William, and David as the famous Anna Scott. For a brief moment, it felt possible to truly believe that two worlds so far apart could cross paths in real life and become one.

   Two polarities of the same reality, lived by two souls whose fate had been written long before they were even aware of it.

   It’s ridiculous to admit that thoughts like these were flooding my mind while I stood in the hotel room, phone in hand, watching Phillip’s Stories. Apparently, he, David, and the others were at the restaurant at that very moment. Since there was still a chance Phillip had posted the photo long after they’d already left, I called Clarice just to confirm whether they were still there—and they were.

  Of course, nine in the morning was far too early to bother anyone. Was this my only chance? I didn’t know. In my head, it felt like my one and only opportunity to get a photo with them, even if it was just their first day in Brazil.

   I hadn’t had breakfast yet, so I figured doing both at once would be a great idea. I’d already showered and found myself waiting for courage to show up. As brilliant as the idea sounded, actually carrying it out required a kind of bravery that seemed to slip away as my nerves brought back that familiar cold feeling in my stomach. Still, the excitement in my chest begged me to move forward.

   I took a deep breath, fixing my hair as I looked at myself in the mirror—and I have to admit, I hated doing my hair. Since it was wavy, keeping it under control back then felt like a sacrifice I didn’t always have the patience for.

   Once I was satisfied, I crossed the room, leaving the suite and heading toward the small living area, where the blanket I’d used the night before—when I rewatched Notting Hill—was still draped over the couch. As I opened the bedroom door, I was met with that awful painting on the hallway wall: an older man wearing a straw hat and a white shirt, staring off into the distance. I never liked that painting. I remember asking my dad countless times to replace it, but he never listened.

   I looked away from it and followed the long hallway, where the brown carpet seemed endless. When I was a child, back when the hotel still belonged to my godfather, I used to get lost in those corridors all the time. I loved running through them as if I were exploring a gigantic maze. I took the game so seriously that once I actually got lost, which led to an embarrassing crying fit as I shouted through the hallways, calling for my godfather.

  I couldn’t help but smile in front of the elevator, remembering Mr. Maurício drenched in sweat from running all over the hotel looking for me. I know I scared a lot of people that day—after all, I was basically a seven-year-old who thought he already understood the world. Still, those memories always managed to make me smile somehow. Whether it was the way Mr. Maurício’s mustache curled as he smiled, relieved to see me alive, or the scolding my father tried to give me while crying from worry.

   I spent only a few seconds inside the elevator, staring at my feet, trying to control my fingers as they trembled. I wasn’t sure if it was nervousness or something else that made me shake inside that mirrored metal box. Anxiety, maybe.

   When the doors opened, relief washed over my body almost instantly, as if seeing the people in the reception hall—and the fans camped outside—somehow grounded me. I barely noticed myself stepping out of the elevator, moving forward with restrained yet euphoric steps.

   Still in the corridor leading to the restaurant, the smell of coffee and fresh bread hit me all at once. Even though I practically lived at the hotel, I’d lost count of how many times I’d passed through there just to breathe in the aroma of freshly brewed coffee, which always seemed to reach me first.

   I stopped at the entrance, taking a deep breath and forcing my body to stay calm. Through the glass panel on the right, the garden lawn and a few scattered trees were visible, the open curtains letting the gray daylight spill onto the square tables. I liked the way it created a sense of warmth in contrast with the yellow glow of the indoor lights—especially with the central chandelier hanging over the room.

   It didn’t take long to spot the table where David and the others were sitting, toward the back, near a golden pillar. David was laughing about something, and… my chest burned.

   Even now, it’s hard to describe the feeling that hit me when I saw him there. It was like a flame warming me from the inside, giving me the certainty that I could take flight at any moment.

   It was strange, because the night before, when Clarice and I stood at the reception watching them arrive, the feeling of seeing him so close for the first time had been almost peaceful. A quiet curiosity—him being close enough that two steps forward would have been enough for me to call his name and ask for a photo. Instead, in that first moment, I simply allowed myself to exist in that brief meeting of two very different realities.

   At the table beside him, Phillip set his napkin down as he held his phone up toward David, who stifled a laugh as he looked at the screen.

   “So,” Clarice asked, suddenly appearing behind me and making me jump, “what’s the plan?”

   If my body had been filled with peace while watching David, Clarice dragged me right back into the chaos of anxiety, making me laugh softly.

   “What plan?” I asked, rubbing my hands together.

    “Oh, come on, Pedro. I know you.”

    I rolled my eyes.

   “Okay… maybe I have a plan,” I murmured.

   She looked at me for a moment, then pressed, “So? What is it?”

   “I’m just going to make them notice me, ask for a picture, and—”

   “And then you’ll ask David to marry you, turning your fanfic into reality?” she cut in, sliding her arm around my shoulders and squeezing my arm.

   “What fanfic?” I asked, furrowing my brow.

   “Oh, please. Weren’t you the one who posted on Instagram saying David was your husband, he just didn’t know it yet?”

  Clarice let out a mocking laugh. I held my breath for a second, stopping myself from saying what immediately came to mind.

   “I’m kicking you out of my close friends, Clari.”

  She laughed, hugging her tablet to her chest as she pulled me forward, removing her hand from my shoulder.

   “Go grab your table before you lose it,” she said. “This place is about to get packed.”

   The table she got for me was uncomfortably close to David’s, which made my anxiety spike. It felt like the air had left my lungs as I sat down, doing my best not to glance sideways at his table—something easier said than done.

   “Your dad asked me to stay at the reception again,” she added. “So no crazy fan behavior, okay?”

   I thought it ridiculous how everyone at the hotel treated me like a child. I wasn’t one. Sometimes I acted like it, sure—but that was mostly to annoy my dad when I was bored. Like the time I thought it would be fun to make everyone dance the Macarena by the pool in exchange for a ten percent discount on their stay.

     Even though everyone had fun dancing, I ended up having to clean the carpet on every floor between the twelfth and the seventeenth.

   “Where is he?” I asked Clarice. “I thought he’d be around today.”

   “Don’t you talk to your dad?” she teased. “WhatsApp’s been around forever, you know.”

   “Tell him that,” I shot back with a shrug.

   Clarice checked her watch and straightened her uniform.

   “I have to go. I’ll ask Edu to bring—”

   “You don’t have to babysit me, Clari.”

   “Are you sure?” she laughed softly, ruffling my hair.

   It was a silly thing, but so typically her that the moment felt strange when she didn’t do it. I looked ahead, and my attention went straight to David. He had his arm resting on the table, his hand propped under his chin, the two rings on his fingers catching the light as he smiled calmly at Phillip’s phone.

   I took a deep breath once again. I didn’t want anyone to think I was there just to stare at him, so I picked up the menu and pretended to read it—even though I knew it by heart. I peeked over the top, trying to steal another look at David.

   He was wearing a black T-shirt, the chain around his neck with the blue arrow pendant visible outside his shirt—something rare. David always wore that necklace, though most of the time it was hidden beneath his clothes. He ran a hand through his golden hair as he laughed at something Phillip said.

   You get it, right? David is like the Disney prince they don’t have—and never will.

   I don’t want to sound like a hopeless fan obsessed with his idol—even though this story might suggest otherwise—but I’ve always seen his smile as the sun after a rainy day, lighting up everything around him, and… I don’t know. There was something about him that left me hypnotized. Truth is, I still get hypnotized by his smile.

  Three minutes later, I was biting into my bread and sipping the good coffee with milk. There was something about the hotel’s bread that made it incredible, even though César, the baker, once told me there was nothing special about it. His bread was, without a doubt, the best I’d ever had.

   While devouring my second roll, I decided to check if Giovanna was online. She was—and I didn’t waste any time:

Me: 

 Gih!!!

 You won’t believe this.

 David and the others are here at the restaurant.

 They’re real!

Giovanna: 

 Oh my God, Pedro, have you gone to bother them already??

 Do you even know what time it is?

Me:

 Yes. Time for David to come to his senses and ask me to marry him lol.

   I held back a laugh, forcing myself to look away from my phone—and when I looked around, I noticed Phillip and David staring at me. They quickly looked away, though. Apparently, I hadn’t been laughing only at the messages, like I’d imagined.

   I’d been sitting at the table for less than ten minutes, and already it probably looked like I was some kind of lunatic laughing to myself. A complete weirdo.

   Amid the heat rising in my stomach, my phone vibrated in my hand:

   Giovanna:

    Bestie, stop deluding yourself. David probably doesn’t even know you exist.

    Me:

   Technically, that’s not true.

   I’m pretty sure they saw me!

   Giovanna:

   Poor them. They must be terrified of you.

   As I started typing a new reply, my vision blurred and my chest burned. Surrounded by the scent of coffee lingering in the air, I tried to take a deep breath and placed my phone on the table. I closed my eyes, focusing on calming my breathing.

   No matter how hard I tried, I couldn’t draw air in through my nose. I opened my eyes again and looked around. Everything was still blurred, while the heat in my stomach intensified at the same time my chest felt tight and expanded.

   I needed to find Clarice.

   I inhaled slowly, turning my body as my legs began to tremble. I tried to stand, but they didn’t respond to my command.

   I tripped over the chair—and in the next instant, my vision went completely dark.