Ana sat on the grassy hillside, her fingers brushing the delicate petals of a jacaranda blossom. The tree stood tall, its branches a canopy of purple blooms—a testament to love and longing. Beside her, João gazed out at the rolling hills, his eyes distant.
"Ana," he said, his voice soft, "do you ever think about the future?"
She smiled, her heart fluttering. "All the time. What do you see?"
João leaned back, his hand finding hers. "I see a little house, white walls, a red-tiled roof. And kids—our kids—playing in the yard."
Ana's daydreams mirrored his. "A boy with your eyes, João. And a girl with my laugh."
He chuckled. "And they'll run through fields, chase butterflies, and climb this very hill."
Ana closed her eyes, imagining their children's laughter, the scent of jacaranda in the air. "And at night, we'll sit under the tree, tell them stories of our adventures."
João's thumb traced circles on her palm. "They'll know about Ana Raio and Zé Trovão—their parents who danced with fire, who loved against all odds."
She leaned against him, the grass tickling her skin. "And they'll dream of their own adventures—of love and courage."
João's lips brushed her forehead. "Someday, Ana. Someday soon."
And so, as the sun dipped below the horizon, Ana and João sat under the jacaranda tree—a canvas of dreams, their hearts entwined. The future was uncertain, but their love was unwavering.
As the first stars appeared, Ana whispered, "João, let's make a promise."
He looked at her, his eyes filled with tenderness. "What promise?"
"That no matter what comes," she said, "we'll find our way back here—to this hill, this tree. Our love story will bloom like the jacaranda."
João kissed her, sealing their pact. "Agreed, Ana. Forever and always."
And so, as the night wrapped around them, Ana and João held each other—their daydreams merging with reality. The jacaranda petals fell like confetti, celebrating their love—a promise etched in purple, under the watchful gaze of the moon.
