You were up early, standing in the kitchen as the first light crawled through the curtains, painting golden stripes across the colorful paper garlands you’d hung yesterday.

It smells like marigold blossoms and of the pan de muerto you baked.

Today is Día de los Muertos.

Lando appears in the doorway, still a little sleepy, barefoot, wearing a Pullover that hangs loosely over his shoulders and a pair of white sweatpants. His hair is a complete mess.

“You’ve been up for a while yesterday…I didn’t hear you coming to bed..or leaving again.." He says, his voice still rough with sleep.

You nod, smiling. “There’s a lot to do before we light the candles.”

He steps closer, looking around curiously.

Everywhere are pictures, small figurines, sugar skulls and fabrics in bright colors. On the table sits an old, faded black and white picture of your grandmother.

She smiles in a way that soothes you and breaks your heart all at once.

Together, you start building the altar.

You explain what each level means, each flower, each symbol.

“It’s not sad." You say quietly, as you place a small bowl of salt next to the picture. “It’s..remembering. Welcoming them back home, for just one night.”

He nods and you can see he’s really listening, that he understands this isn’t just a tradition, but a heartbeat passed down through generations.

He pauses, looking at the photos of your family and friends who left too soon. His eyes linger on one picture, your grandmother, young, just after meeting your grandfather.

“She looked a lot like you." He says softly.

You smile, taking a small step closer to him.

“Can I…add someone too?” He asks suddenly.

You look at him, and there’s that trace of uncertainty in his eyes that always softens your heart. “Of course.”

He pulls a small photo from his wallet.

You recognize it immediately, an older couple he once showed you on his phone.

His grandparents.

His grandmother passed away a few months after his first win in Miami, 2024.

“She would’ve loved this.." He says, almost whispering, as he places the picture next to your grandmother’s.

For a while, neither of you says anything.

Only the rustle of the paper garlands and the soft crackle of the first candle you light.

Then he turns, opens the wall cabinet, and carefully places one of his beloved Kinder bars next to the photo. “Something of mine.." He says with a crooked smile. “So they know who I am.”

You chuckle quietly, moving closer to him. “They’ll like you. My grandma would’ve loved your smile.”

He grins, dimples showing.

You take the next candle, light it, and watch the small flame tremble to life before handing it to him. The wick crackles, and for a moment, the whole world seems to hold its breath.

Just the warm light dancing over the pictures, over your hands, over the bread you’ve sliced thin and placed beside the flowers.

“What’s that for?” Lando asks softly, almost reverently.

“So they don’t get hungry.." You say softly. “It’s…kind of like a welcome meal. For the souls on their way home.”

He smiles. “It’s beautiful. It’s..love. Just…in a different language.”

You keep working together.

Slowly.

Thoughtfully.

Every now and then, his hand brushes yours. Sometimes by accident. Sometimes not.

Between you, there’s a peaceful quiet that feels as familiar as the rustle of petals or the faint laughter of neighbors outside.

When everything is done, you both step back.

The altar is a sea of color and light.

Yellow, orange, pink and the soft white of flickering candles. You take a deep breath, feeling that mixture of joy and longing swell in your chest.

Lando wraps an arm around your waist, pulling you gently closer. “They’d be proud of us.." He murmurs against your hair.