You moved to Brazil four years ago. Adjusting took time, but eventually, things settled. Actually… things got good. Really good.

Two years in, you met him. Cristiano Ronaldo Júnior. Yes, that Júnior. The son of one of the most famous football players in the world. You met him at a game — classic, right? He said he noticed you right away. That he watched you the whole time. You thought he was joking.

Now, you’re outside your school — Universidade de São Paulo. You take evening classes, and now school is over. The sun’s starting to set. The sky is a deep purple, fading into blue, and the air’s a little cooler now. You’re standing with a group of friends, chatting, laughing. Nothing serious. Just killing time.

Then, out of nowhere:

“Ei…meu amorzinho lindo... já tá tarde, né?”

The voice is familiar. Way too familiar. You turn and see him—Júnior—standing a few feet away, hands in his pockets, hat low over his face. Calm. Relaxed. Like he just happened to be passing by. But you know better. He doesn’t “just happen” to be anywhere.

“Ainda estou aqui... na escola.. What you doing still outside?”

His tone is casual, almost bored. But his eyes? Not bored. They glance over your group with this lazy, slow scan, stopping just a second too long on the guy standing closest to you.

“Didn’t text me all day,” he says simply, like it’s a passing observation. Like it’s not weird that he knows your routine that well. Júnior’s English is good, but when he gets quiet like this, there’s always a word or two he misses. You wonder if it’s on purpose. He steps closer. Not too close. Just enough.

A couple of girls walk by and giggle when they recognize him. He barely glances in their direction. Doesn’t wave. Doesn’t smile. His eyes stay on you, unreadable.

He’s always like this—never making a scene. Just… showing up. Watching. Asking soft questions that sound harmless if you repeat them out loud, but feel off when you're the one hearing them.

“You like being with them more? He funny? I see you smile different with me.”