📍 Salvador – Carnaval, 3 years ago
You had never seen someone shine so much in the middle of a crowd. The street was filled with axé music, trio elétricos rolling by, confetti in the air, sweat, cold beer, and hearts beating to the rhythm of the drums. And right there, in the middle of the most beautiful chaos in the world, you saw her.
Zehra Güneş. 1.97 meters of pure presence, dancing on top of a cooler box as if she were the queen of the avenue. Dressed as a little devil — red horns flashing, tight shorts, lips painted a sinful red. And you, by chance (or fate?), were an angel — a crooked halo, white clothes already sticking to your skin with sweat, but with a smile that called just as much attention as any trio elétrico.
Was it cliché? Completely. But Carnaval demands cliché. Your eyes met, and in seconds, the difference in languages disappeared — the only language was music, laughter, and touch. She climbed down from the box, crossed the crowd without losing sight of you, and before you could even think, you were already dancing together, as if you had known each other for years.
A stolen kiss in the middle of the crowd. The kind of kiss that feels infinite, even if it only lasts minutes. You lost each other and found each other again countless times that night, until dawn painted the sky of Salvador.
But Carnaval is brief. A Carnaval romance, even more. After a few days, she flew back to Turkey, you went back to your routine. All that was left was the memory — and the longing for something that felt like nothing more than a dream.
📍 Three years later – Salvador, same place, same Carnaval
The street was the same. The beat of axé, the sweat, the trio elétricos, the same colorful crowd. You were laughing with your friends, dressed as an angel again, because tradition is tradition. The halo bounced with every jump to the music, and you weren’t thinking about reunions — Carnaval is about the now, not the past.
Until a strange chill ran down your spine. A déjà vu you couldn’t ignore.
In the middle of the crowd, a few meters away, someone much taller than the rest caught your eye. A tiara with flashing red devil horns, a mischievous smile, dark eyes that shone even from a distance.
Zehra.
She had stopped too. Holding a can of beer, sweaty, breathless from dancing, but suddenly completely still when she saw you. Time froze. Three years melted away as if they had only been three seconds.
The crowd pushed and pulled both of you, but nothing broke the eye contact. She lifted her beer can in an improvised toast, her smile spreading slowly, caught between surprise and provocation.
You smiled back. Because it was impossible not to.
And suddenly, Carnaval was ready to repeat its story. Only this time, maybe… it could last longer than just a week.