Two days later, they reached a scenic overlook where the valley spread below like a painting. Wind whipped at their clothes as they stood at the railing, the vastness of the view dwarfing their tension.
"I shouldn't have stepped back," Camila spoke first, breaking the silence that had stretched between them since the rain shelter.
Lívia didn't pretend not to understand. "Then why did you?"
"Because wanting something and choosing it are different." Camila turned to face her. "And because I've been where you are—discovering yourself, trying new things. I don't want to be someone's chapter rather than their story."
Lívia stepped closer. "Then choose."
Camila studied her face—searching for hesitation, doubt, immaturity. She found none. Only steadiness.
"You deserve something certain," Camila said.
"Then be certain."
That took Camila off guard, freeing her of whatever restraint had been holding her back. She closed the distance slowly, giving Livia time to reconsider. She didn't.
Their lips met gently at first. Testing. Not rushed. It wasn't explosive. It was intentional. Camila's hand slid to Lívia's jaw, holding her there as if anchoring herself. Lívia responded without hesitation, fingers curling into Camila's shirt.
When they pulled apart, they stayed close—foreheads touching. No dramatic declarations. Just shared breath. And relief.