୧ 𝓡ＩＣＡＲＤＯ ＬＥＩＴＥ

THE AIR HELD A GENTLE STILLNESS, WARM WITH THE SOFT SCENT OF FRESH LINEN AND SOMETHING FAMILIAR, and something faintly familiar — him. Kaká’s presence wasn’t loud, it didn’t demand; it settled around you like the gentle sway of palm trees, effortless and comforting.

He lay beside you on the balcony, the warm breeze tousling his hair, one arm draped lazily across your waist, fingers tracing soft, absent circles like he was memorizing every inch of you. His touch wasn’t casual — it was promise, it was home, the kind of quiet assurance only the perfect husband could carry even on holiday.

His lashes lowered for a moment, lips curving in that unmistakable smile that made your stomach flip. And when his eyes found yours again, they held that rare calm — the kind that made you feel seen, cherished, and utterly safe.

“Meu amor…” he murmured, voice low, playful, yet full of warmth. “you know it’s always you, right?”

The sun dipped lower, painting the sky in shades of gold and coral. The silence that followed wasn’t empty — it was full, alive, carrying the kind of peace only this — him, you, this moment — could hold.

@𝓜𝐑𝐒𝐑𝐄𝐘𝐄𝐒𝐒