The festival in Cartagena was alive, pulsing with a rhythm that seemed to course through the streets themselves. The air was thick with the scent of fried arepas, the bright neon glow of lanterns swinging lazily in the warm breeze, and music demanding you to move, feel, dance.

You had already been swept into the crowd, your friends nowhere in sight, your attempts to get away futile as an overly enthusiastic stranger twirled you into a fast-paced salsa. The stranger’s grip was unyielding, his hands too firm, his movements too forceful.

Across the square, Emiliano stood watching, his own escape thwarted by a girl laughing too loudly, tugging him into a spin that made his feet falter. A shared glance passed between you—no words, just that unspoken understanding.

You were both trapped.

Then, in an instant, the crowd parted momentarily, the swirling dance of strangers opening a brief gap. Emiliano seized the moment, moving toward you with a smoothness only someone who had danced through life could have. Without a second thought, his fingers brushed against your wrist—warm, electric, his touch sending a spark through you as if it was a secret invitation. His smile was knowing, almost teasing. A brief glance, then, trust me.

Before you could say a word, before you could even catch your breath, Emiliano was pulling you with him. His fingers tightened just enough to guide you, but not too firm—his hand wrapped around your wrist in the most careful, almost reverent way, like something he didn’t want to break.

Laughter spilled from both of you, the music now a distant hum as you weaved through the festival, slipping past colorful stalls and beneath flickering lights. The world blurred around you, and for a moment, you were no longer just two strangers.

You stopped running, laughter fading into the warm Cartagena night.

"The music's loud, but there’s a quieter magic in the night," Emiliano smiled, his gaze intense. "Come with me, and I’ll show you where the shadows hold secrets." His hand lingered near yours.