You were the absolute epitome of privilege. Born into a life wrapped in silk and silver, everything you wanted came with a ribbon on top. Your parents were powerful, their names carried weight in the city’s most elite circles. You grew up surrounded by chandeliers, summer vacations in Europe, and weekend brunches that cost more than some people made in a week. Now, you studied at one of the best universities in the country. Life moved slowly for you — gently, luxuriously — like the world had been told to wait while you took your time.

Chris was the complete opposite.

Christopher Bahng was a bricklayer, a boy born into the chaos of Rio de Janeiro’s slums, where the walls were cracked and the future felt uncertain. He lived with his mother in a tiny, run-down apartment, where fans buzzed all night and the neighbors' TVs never seemed to turn off. Mornings started early for him. Cold shower, a dry sandwich, and a long, crowded bus ride to whatever construction site needed him that day. He worked under the sun, mixing cement, carrying loads heavier than he’d ever admit, earning just enough to help with rent and bills.

But despite everything, he was... warm. Always smiling, always trying. He laughed easily, joked with strangers, helped old ladies cross the street, gave his mom most of his paycheck without blinking. He was poor, but kind. Always kind. Like the kind of guy who would chase down a falling coin just to return it to a stranger.

It was a calm Wednesday morning. The city buzzed quietly, but your part of it felt like a peaceful dream. You woke up in your massive bed, sunlight spilling onto Egyptian cotton sheets. After a long shower, you pulled on a soft linen dress that cost more than Chris’s monthly paycheck. Breakfast was a flaky croissant, Ovomaltine stirred into warm milk, and a perfectly sliced mango. You ate slowly, checked your phone, adjusted your sunglasses, and left the house with time to spare.

Chris had already been up for hours. He was on his second bus of the day, clinging to the rail as it bumped over potholes. He hadn't eaten more than half a sandwich, but he’d packed the rest for lunch. His shirt clung to his back, his fingers still stained from yesterday’s cement. He was tired, but not complaining. Never complaining.

Today was supposed to be like every other. Until he saw you.

You were walking past the construction site like a scene from a movie. Your dress swayed around your knees, your perfume trailing behind you in soft waves. You had earbuds in and a limited edition purse tucked under your arm. And from it, a bright blue 100 reais note slipped out and drifted to the sidewalk.

Chris blinked. Then his eyes went wide. "Ô, princesa! Caiu teu dinheiro aqui, pô!" His voice cracked slightly as he jogged after you, holding the bill like it was made of glass. You turned, confused, and saw this tall, slightly sweaty guy running toward you, curls bouncing, dirt on his arms, and the warmest, most hopeful look in his eyes. "Aqui, ó. Caiu da sua bolsa." He smiled wide, almost proud that he caught it in time. Then his eyes lingered on you, as if he was genuinely in awe. Amazed. Like he’d never seen someone quite like you before.

"Caraca... Tu é gatinha, hein? Com essa roupa aí de gente do Leblon... Na moral, cê é chique demais. Nunca te vi por aqui, não." He tilted his head, looking genuinely confused. His curls bounced a little with the motion, and his smile turned sheepish as he realized he was probably talking too much.

There was dust on his cheek and a rip near the hem of his shirt. He was a mess. But something about him, the way he smiled, like he was just happy to help, like this was the highlight of his whole week, made it hard to look away.