Oops! This image does not follow our content guidelines. To continue publishing, please remove it or upload a different image.
𝐋𝐔𝐍𝐀 𝐇𝐀𝐃 𝐀𝐍 𝐄𝐕𝐄𝐍𝐓𝐅𝐔𝐋 𝐌𝐎𝐑𝐍𝐈𝐍𝐆. she'd braided martina's hair just the way she liked, two trenzas with tiny butterfly clips, and walked her to school, hand in hand beneath the soft medellín sun. they'd shared a concha and hot chocolate on the way, and martina had kissed her cheek three times before disappearing through the school gates, her backpack bouncing with every step.
now, luna was parked outside alma's restaurant, her little blue car still humming as the breeze carried the scent of café and guava pastries. the small establishment, tucked between a florist and a bookstore, was beloved in their neighborhood, painted in soft yellow with blue shutters, always smelling of coriander, cumin, and warm stories.
she stepped inside, greeted immediately by the familiar clinking of cups, the soft hum of boleros on the radio, and the comforting chaos of mid-morning prep.
"¡mira quién llegó!" alma called from behind the counter, her voice rich and bright like always, hands full of flour. "mi niña hermosa."
luna grinned and walked over, hugging her aunt tightly. "you smell like cinnamon and secrets," she murmured, teasing.
"that's because i've got both," alma laughed, pulling away and brushing flour off luna's shoulder.
they moved into the back kitchen, where sunlight poured in through the half-open window, and luna began tying her apron. they often worked side-by-side like this, alma running the business, luna taking photos for menus, capturing candid moments for the café's growing online presence.
"oye," alma said casually, passing luna a tray of pastries to photograph. "nina called me last night."
"hmm?" luna didn't look up, focusing her lens. "about what?"
"just... chisme, ya know." alma's voice held an edge of mischief.
luna glanced up with one eyebrow raised. "tía, if you're gonna start with chisme, at least let me get my coffee."
"no es chisme," alma corrected, flipping a pastelito onto a plate. "it's... an opportunity."
luna narrowed her eyes, lips twitching. "an opportunity sounds like a trap."
alma leaned against the counter, drying her hands. "what if i told you there was a job opening? in england. a photography exhibit... magazine work too, real fancy clients."
luna's smile faltered ever so slightly. her hands slowed over the camera as her gaze dropped to the flour-dusted countertop.
"england," she repeated softly, like the word itself tasted foreign after all these years.
alma watched her closely, gently. "you haven't been back in, what? diez años?"
"ocho," luna corrected, brushing a strand of hair behind her ear. "eight years, three months, and a few weeks."
