aashkidd
São Paulo. The crowd, the convention... then the silence. And somewhere in the midst of it all, gestures that never learned to lie.
They had grown used to brushing against each other without ever colliding, to loving without letting the words slip out.
On set, everything seemed predetermined, the lines, the blocking, the glances, yet between them, nothing ever truly followed the script.
The unscripted moments, the smothered laughter, the stolen kisses, and that instinctive way they had of reaching out: a hand finding an arm, a touch lingering longer than it should, as if guided by a quiet, burning urge to hold on just a second more. It was their language, one they never had to learn.
Then the show ended, the cameras went still.
But some stories don't fade when the last episode airs.
Between conventions, long silences, and unexpected reunions on the opposite side of the world, they kept existing in their own way. Not always together, not quite apart.
They drifted back to each other, brushing past, remembering, in the spaces between two flights, in hotel-room quiet, in stolen glances no camera ever caught.
Some truths are performed under the lights,
others, the real ones, whisper their way beyond the script. And sometimes, it's those... the words they never performed.