The rain tapped against the window, a gentle lullaby that wrapped around Pedro and Fernanda as they sat on the worn-out couch. The TV murmured in the background, forgotten—a black-and-white movie playing scenes of love and longing. But Pedro and Fernanda had their own story—a tale of stolen moments and whispered promises.
Pedro's arm rested along the back of the couch, his fingers brushing Fernanda's shoulder. She leaned into him, her head finding the crook of his neck. The room smelled of coffee and old books—a comforting blend that cocooned them from the world.
"Fernanda," Pedro said one evening, his voice low, "do you ever wonder about our future?"
She chuckled. "All the time. What do you see?"
Pedro 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."
Fernanda's daydreams mirrored his. "A boy with your eyes, Pedro. And a girl with my laugh."
He chuckled. "And they'll run through fields, chase butterflies, and climb this very hill."
Fernanda 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."
Pedro's lips brushed her forehead. "They'll know about Juan Cantor known as 'the Diablo'—their father 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."
Pedro's thumb traced circles on her palm. "Someday, Fernanda. Someday soon."
And so, as the rain tapped against the window, Pedro and Fernanda sat on the dorm room floor. He dipped his brush into the palette, mixing colors—the purple of the jacaranda, the gold of forgotten sunsets.
"Pedro," Fernanda whispered, "what if we fall asleep here? Just for tonight."
He chuckled. "Under the jacaranda tree of our memories?"
"Yes," she said. "And when we wake up, maybe we'll find our forever."
And so, as the night wrapped around them, Pedro and Fernanda drifted into dreams—a future unwritten, a love rekindled. The black-and-white movie flickered, but their story—their kiss—was vivid, colorful, and real.
