12mt sacochila

Frederico was a chef by trade, but deep down, he was an artist. he mixed flavours the way a poet does with words _ first in his imagination, then on the plate. the kitchen was his quiet stage, where every aroma told a story, and every recipe was a love letter to the world. he glided through Lisbon on his blue vespa, backpack on his shoulders and a light heart. the city knew him well: the world seemed perfectly seasoned. and he smiled it was as if life kept reminding him of lightness he was always searching for _ and that sweet dizziness that comes with unexpected encounters. on one of those golden-lit days that Lisbon wears so effortlessly, he crossed paths with Clara. by chance - or maybe not. a mutual friend introduced them at a sunny café near sé. Clara had just arrived from Italy, staying in Lisbon for a while. she had the curious gaze of someone ready to explore, and the melodic accent of someone who carried music in another language. their eyes met, and for a moment, time paused. seconds stretched into hours. there was a beautiful kind of silence between them, wrapped in shyness. they started talking _ slowly, easily. with each question, each smile, they gently unfolded each other like a surprise box. she spoke of Italy like someone describing a dream. he spoke of Lisbon´s flavours as if they were characters in a story. what began was an unlabelled kind of friendship, light, fluid, and as beautiful as a clear sky after the rain. the days began to taste different. every place felt magical an ordinary street became a scene, a terrace turned into a stage, a coffee became a ritual. they laughed, they talked, sometimes they stayed quiet, but even in silence, something passed between them. Clara noticed the phrase on his backpack early on. one of those afternoons, sitting by the river tejo, she said: _ i like that phrase. it’s like the backpack is saying it for you... Frederico smiled. _ maybe it is. some days, i really do feel like that... like i just want to hold someone’s hand and get dizzy. she didn’t answer. but she smiled. Frederico, who had always created through taste, started to live through feeling. and Clara, who had only come for a short stay, began to realize that sometimes, it’s in the unexpected encounters that time stretches out and the soul finds home.