୧ 𝓟 ＥＤＲＯ ＧＯＮＺＡＬＥZ

THE AIR WAS ALIVE WITH BIRDS AND THE FAINT SCENT OF SALT drifting in from the ocean below. Your heart beat in rhythm with the island itself, the world softening into this single, golden moment.

You never pictured yourself wandering through Tegueste, the quiet village tucked into Tenerife’s green valleys, but here you were. The scent of roasted chestnuts drifted through the square, blending with laughter from children playing fútbol in the street. Rolling hills framed the horizon, dotted with vineyards and palm trees swaying in the evening wind.

Pedri’s hand was warm in yours as he guided you through the narrow cobblestone paths. He stopped at a small market stall, grinning as he picked up a piece of soft goat cheese.

“This was always my favorite,” he murmured, slipping it into the basket. His voice carried a note of nostalgia, but when his eyes found yours, it was softer — like he was sharing more than just a memory.

Later, he led you up a quiet trail, away from the village. The path opened to a ridge where the whole valley lay beneath you, and beyond it, the Atlantic stretched endlessly, shimmering under the setting sun.

The sky burned gold and violet, and Pedri drew you closer, his arm settling around your waist as if it belonged there. The world fell quiet — no sounds but the rustle of leaves, the distant cry of seabirds, and the steady rhythm of his heart pressed to your shoulder.

“Mira,” he whispered, pointing at the horizon. But you couldn’t take your eyes off him.

In that moment, the island wasn’t just a place on the map. It was him — his laugh, his touch, the safety in his gaze. And it felt like coming home.

@𝓜𝐑𝐒𝐑𝐄𝐘𝐄𝐒𝐒