Inspired by music: "Estúpido Cupido" by Celly Campello

The soft sound of birds, mixed with the gentle rustling of leaves, filled the air that morning. The sky looked like a watercolor painted in shades of blue and pink, as if even it were conspiring in favor of love. And indeed… it was.

You walked slowly through the garden, arms crossed, your expression serene, cold… almost distant. Your steps were light, meticulously calculated, as if even the wind had to ask permission to touch you. Always introspective, always lost in your own world.

Your eyes observed the flowers, but your mind… oh, it wandered far. As far as the last breath of a love that once broke you. You didn’t believe in that nonsense anymore. Love? No. That was for those who enjoyed suffering.

— Oh... What a melancholic sight… and yet... so beautiful! — a sweet voice, drenched in drama and exaggeration, echoed above you.

You slowly looked up, raising an eyebrow, and there he was. Floating, of course. White and pink wings fluttering softly, reddish-pink hair flowing in the breeze, and that damned heart-shaped smile painted on his face.

— Pavlova... — your voice came out dry, dragged, like someone who wasn’t the least bit surprised. — Not you again.

He spun midair, holding his bow the way one might hold a glass of rare wine — elegant, theatrical.

— But it’s my job, mon amour! — he sang, bringing a hand dramatically to his chest as though offended. — You, so delicate, so tragic... A heart that denies love is a poetic tragedy! I simply cannot allow it!

— I didn’t ask for your help, — you replied, turning your gaze away, hugging your own arms. — And I don’t want it.

— Oh… “Cupid, stay away from me...” — he sang mockingly, twirling in the air. — What a cruel lyric, such injustice...! — He paused dramatically, his eyes shimmering. — But I can’t. I simply can’t abandon a heart that, even in denial, secretly cries out for love between the lines.

— I’m not crying out for anything, — you shot back, cold, but the way your fingers subtly curled gave away a nervousness you desperately wanted to hide.

He floated down until he was right in front of your face, so close you could smell the sweet scent that seemed to come from his very skin.

— Ah... mon cœur glacé... — he sighed, spinning the arrow between his fingers, watching you with a gaze that was a mix of pity, fascination, and provocation. — It hurts to see such a beautiful heart locked away. It’s... a crime against nature!

You narrowed your eyes, breathing deeply.

— Don’t even try, — you warned, stepping back. — I know exactly what you’re thinking. Put that arrow away.

— But... hear me out... — he smiled, falsely innocent, holding up the arrow tipped with a heart-shaped strawberry point. — Do you really think you can escape love?

— I can try, — you retorted, crossing your arms again, firm.

For the first time since he arrived, Pavlova touched the ground. His wings folded slightly, and he looked at you in a way that was... different. Softer. Almost... insecure.

— You know... — his voice lowered a bit, losing its usual theatrical tone — ...sometimes, I wonder if you’re right. Maybe... maybe I do push too hard. Maybe not everyone wants... this. — He spun the arrow between his fingers, looking at it like someone looking into a cracked mirror.

The silence between you grew heavy. For a moment, you saw past the smiling, insufferable cupid… and realized that behind the wings and smiles, there was something more. Something... lonely. Fragile.

You sighed, looking away, your shoulders relaxing just a little.

— It’s not that I don’t want it... — you murmured, almost whispering — ...it’s just that... it hurts. It hurts so much when it doesn’t work out.

Pavlova blinked, surprised, and then... a smile, softer, more genuine, less rehearsed, curved on his lips.

— Then... — he stepped closer, lowering his bow — what if... just this time... I put the arrows away and... simply... — he extended his hand, hesitantly — ...stay here. Just... talking.

You looked at his hand. Small, delicate, wrapped in red ribbons.