Lívia's first month in Lisbon was a blur of new experiences and profound loneliness. The residency was everything she'd hoped for—challenging, inspiring, full of opportunities. Her colleagues, including Inês, welcomed her into their circle, and soon her days were filled with design workshops, site visits, and late-night conversations about architecture and urban planning.
But the nights were harder. Returning to her small rented room, she was acutely aware of the emptiness. The vibrant city outside her window felt like it belonged to someone else. She was an observer rather than a participant, separated by the grief of her breakup.
Inês noticed her withdrawal during a group dinner. "You're a million miles away tonight."
"Sorry," Lívia forced a smile. "Just tired."
"Or missing someone?" Inês guessed gently. When Lívia didn't deny it, she continued, "Long distance is hard. Especially when you're both building separate lives."
Lívia nodded, surprised by the understanding. "We didn't just break up. We... took a break. Whatever that means."
"It usually means you're too afraid to admit it's over," Inês said, not unkindly. "Or too scared to admit you want it to continue."
The observation hit closer to home than Lívia wanted to admit. That night, she pulled out her phone and scrolled through photos of her and Camila—hiking in the mountains, dinners in São Paulo, lazy mornings in bed. The memories felt like they belonged to another person, another life.