My name is Luiz Felipo Andrade. I'm thirty-six years old, a federal lawyer, Andressa's husband for almost eight years, and father to little Elisa, my seven-year-old girl. To anyone looking in, I have the perfect life.

I wake up every day at six in the morning. I drink a strong coffee, take Elisa to school, review reports at the office, and, when I have time, run a few good kilometers on the treadmill. Andressa usually says I'm too methodical, almost predictable. Maybe she's right. Maybe predictability is my refuge.

Today, as always, I woke up with the alarm vibrating next to the bed. The sound is discreet, but enough to pull me out of unconsciousness. Andressa was still sleeping next to me, her hair spread on the pillow, her breathing calm. For a moment, I watched her. She was beautiful. She always has been. But... something inside me tightened, as if I were looking at someone I should love more than I do.

I felt a strange weight in my chest, an uncomfortable twinge that made me turn my face. I got up, put on my sweatpants, and went down to the kitchen. The routine was starting.

Whole wheat bread, scrambled eggs, a sip of coffee while checking my cell phone—three messages from the department, a notification from Elisa asking for another "princess drawing," and nothing else. I opened the refrigerator, took my daughter's favorite juice, and packed her lunchbox. Even the automatic movements had an almost surgical precision. I knew exactly where everything was, how long it took to boil the water, the right angle to grab the butter without knocking over the jars.

Nothing but the subtle silence of a house that seems in order, but sometimes sounds too empty.

"Good morning, Daddy!" Elisa appeared running, grabbing my waist with her small arms and smiling with all her teeth, except the two in the front.

"Good morning, dear," I replied, hugging her back.

The warmth of her hug was real. It always has been. The only thing that still made absolute sense. Elisa was my world. Maybe that's why I was still here. For her.

Andressa appeared soon after, adjusting her robe, her hair in a messy bun. She kissed me on the cheek and sat at the table, messing with her cell phone, her eyes half-closed with sleep.

"Are you leaving on time today?" she asked, without taking her eyes off the screen.

"I'll try. There's a meeting with the feds about that operation at the port. But I promise I won't be long."

She nodded with a murmur and continued sliding her finger across the cell phone. Silence. That kind of comfortable silence for some couples. For me, it was uncomfortable. It felt like we were following a script. Actors in a play rehearsed a thousand times, where each line has already lost its soul.

And yet, no one was to blame.

In the car, on the way to school, Elisa told me a story about a dragon that learned to sing. She was always making things up. She had a vivid, intense imagination. I listened, smiled, and reacted as if I were completely present. But, inside, part of me seemed to always be somewhere else.

I left my daughter at the school gate, waved to the teacher, and went straight to the office. There, the day dragged on. A pile of papers, reports, formal meetings, and calls that never seemed to end. I resolved a case, contacted the local police station, reviewed files of an international investigation about to cross borders. Something about trafficking in confidential information. Typical.

But, in the middle of the routine, between one report and another, I was invaded by a strange thought. A quick image. A smile. A touch. But from whom?

I closed my eyes for a moment. I tried to remember. The face didn't come. Only the feeling. Warmth. Desire. Pain.

It didn't make sense.

I sighed deeply and returned to work. Maybe it was just tiredness, or accumulated stress. But this wasn't the first time. And, every time it happened, my heart beat faster. As if someone was trying to scream from the depths of my mind.

An echo. A ghost of something I can't name.

At the end of the day, I stood for a few minutes in front of my office window. The sun was hiding behind the buildings, painting the sky orange and lilac. The city lights were starting to emerge, like stars that are too eager.

I thought about staying a little longer. Just to postpone going home. But I couldn't do that to Elisa. She was waiting for me.

I went home. I had dinner with Elisa, told her a story, and put her to sleep. She fell asleep quickly, clutching the bear she got last Christmas.

After putting Elisa to bed, I closed the door carefully and went straight to the bathroom. The cold light came on with a slight crackle. I put my hands on the marble sink and stared at my reflection in the mirror.

There was something in my eyes that bothered me. It wasn't the tiredness. Nor the dark circles. It was... absence.

A kind of emptiness that is not filled with a father's love, with financial stability, with an organized routine. It was something older. More visceral.

I ran my fingers over my face, as if that would help me remember. But remember what?

I closed my eyes and took a deep breath. And then, again, came the feeling. As quick as a flash. A touch on my neck. Firm fingers. Panting breath against my skin. A muffled laugh. A moan.

I gasped and opened my eyes with a start.

"What the hell was that?"

I took my hand to my chest. My heart racing. A senseless adrenaline rush.

I smelled it. As if someone had passed by me. A perfume I didn't know... but that my body seemed to recognize. Warm. Woody. Familiar.

I touched my lips, as if I wanted to remember the taste of a forgotten kiss.

Why did that seem so real?

Memories of something I don't remember having lived. As if part of me had been erased.

I lowered my head, rested my arms on the sink, and let the water run. Cold. Freezing. I needed to control myself.

This didn't make sense. I had a life. A wife. A daughter.

And yet... it seemed like half of me was still lost somewhere. A place where someone else's touch made me whole.

Andressa was already in the room, on her cell phone as always. I lay down next to her and looked at the ceiling.

"Is everything okay?" she asked, without looking away.

"Sure. Everything's perfect."

And I lied.

Because, as perfect as my life may seem, there is something inside me that... is missing.

Something I don't know what it is.

But I feel that, if one day I find it... everything will change.

My name is Braian Vieira. I'm thirty-five years old, a cyber technology specialist, and I work as an Interpol agent in Washington. Working here wasn't a plan. It was an escape. Ten years ago, I left everything behind. Or rather... everything that was left.

I'm good at what I do. Hackers, hacked systems, digital tracking — that's my territory. I can decipher complex codes in minutes, track someone with a single IP, and take down entire servers with just a few commands. But as much as I dominate the virtual world, I can't control what I feel whenever I close my eyes and go back to that day.

That damn day.

Today the office was quieter than usual. The air felt heavy, as if something was about to happen. The keyboards typed more softly, almost like a whisper in the emptiness. Sitting at my desk, among screens, cables, and code, I reviewed a report on a group of data traffickers who were moving sensitive information in South America. It was routine, a dangerous routine — but one that kept me from thinking about myself.

Until my cell phone vibrated.

Notification: Urgent Meeting – Room 7. Interpol Global.

I frowned. Urgent meetings are usually not a good sign.

"Hey, going to put on a show in the boss's room?" joked Clarice, my partner and best friend, with a mug of coffee in her hand and her hair tied in a messy bun.

I smiled wryly, trying to hide my discomfort.

"Or I'm going to get called in to screw up nicely, as always."

"You love it, Braian," she rolled her eyes, sitting on the edge of my desk. "The day they put you on vacation, you'll freak out. By the way, it's been about three years since you promised to travel with me somewhere without internet. You never keep your promises."

"A hacker addicted to networks without internet? I'd rather have a suicide mission."

She laughed. A light sound that for a moment made me forget the tension. But it was only for a short time.

I got up, grabbed my tablet, and headed to that room. On the way, the corridors seemed longer. Each of my steps echoed uncomfortably. Inside, two directors were waiting for me. A screen with encrypted graphics flickered softly, while folders with red seals were scattered on the table. The atmosphere was serious. Almost too tense.

"We have a mission for you," began the older one, with a grave expression. "Brazil. Operation in partnership with the Federal Police. Involves data trafficking and possible links with internal federal agents."

Brazil.

My heart skipped a beat in my chest. An offbeat rhythm.

Brazil.

On the outside, I kept my composure. Cold. Professional. On the inside, my world was reeling.

"When do I leave?"

"In three days. You will be responsible for the technological part of the operation. We are already tracking the group's movements, but the network is sophisticated. We believe there is involvement with an even larger organization, which may be operating in several countries, including here."

I nodded. Nothing on my face betrayed the storm tearing me apart inside.

I went back to my room in silence. Clarice followed me, quick steps behind me. She knew me too well to let it go.

"So?" she asked, crossing her arms as she leaned against the table.

"I'm going to Brazil."

She raised her eyebrows. Not... not in surprise. But in concern. She always knew what that name meant to me.

"Braian…"

"I'm fine. It's just another mission."

"It's the country where he…"

"I know."

Silence.

She approached, touching my arm gently. The right touch, at the right time.

"You don't have to be strong all the time, you know? It's been ten years."

Ten years since I lost Luiz. Since that accident. Since I saw my life turn to dust.

"Sometimes I think if I had gone after him…" my voice faltered for a second. "Maybe…"

"Braian." Clarice interrupted me, firmly, but gently. "You did what you could with what you knew. With what you felt. And you had the right to run away. But maybe now…"

"Maybe now it's time to face the past," I completed, with a bitter little smile. "Or maybe it will swallow me alive."

She squeezed my hand, firmly.

"Then I'll be here when you come back. Whole or in pieces."

I smiled, this time sincerely. Because that's what Clarice was. My safe haven since I left everything behind.

That night, I stayed up late reviewing case files. Maps, suspicious profiles, bank transactions. But my mind wandered.

Images I was trying to forget came to the surface. The sound of his laughter. The way he said my name, always with irony and sweetness mixed. The warm touch, the urgent kiss. The sleepless nights. The promises whispered between sheets and secrets.

And the accident.

Going back to Brazil was like opening a chest sealed with too much pain, love, and memories.

But I would go.

And something told me that the past was about to collide with the present.

The apartment was dark, silent. Only the city light entered through the high windows, painting soft lines on the wooden floor. There was a smell of electronics and loneliness in the air.

I threw my jacket on the sofa, dropped my cell phone on the kitchen counter, and went straight to my room, feeling each step as an echo of what I left behind.

I was still agitated after the news.

Brazil.

Luiz.

I sighed deeply, trying to ignore the familiar tightness in my chest. But in that silence... it was impossible.

I opened the closet door and reached for a cardboard box on the top shelf. It was old, worn, with "Things I shouldn't touch" handwritten on the side. I smiled humorlessly. I've always been ironic with my own feelings.

I sat on the edge of the bed and opened the lid slowly. Inside, pieces of a time I tried to erase. Old letters, movie tickets, a broken keychain in the shape of a lightning bolt... And then, there it was.

The photo.

The only one that survived that time.

Me and Luiz. Sitting on the grass of some university, him in sunglasses, looking at me with that lazy and charming smile. I had my arm around his waist, as if it were the most natural thing in the world.

And it was.

That's what we were. Natural. Intense. Inseparable.

Until we weren't anymore.

"You still live in me, you know?" I murmured, looking at that face frozen in time. "As much as I try to move on... no one has ever been you."

The cell phone vibrated in the kitchen. I didn't go see. Nothing mattered now except that memory. I lowered my head, rested my forehead on the frame of the photo, and closed my eyes.

How could I survive losing you?

I stayed like that for a few minutes, in absolute silence. Only the sound of my heart and heavy breathing. Until something inside me moved. A kind of strange agitation, as if an invisible thread had been pulled.

Brazil.

Something told me that this trip was not just a mission.

It was a reunion.

Even if with ghosts.

Or maybe...

Maybe with something I thought was dead.

But that, deep down, never stopped breathing inside me.

Luiz was in his home office, surrounded by papers, but his mind wandered far away. The lamp's light cast soft shadows on the walls, while the clock hands insisted on reminding him of the passing time. He tried, in vain, to revise the agency's report—but the words seemed scrambled, as if they were in a language he no longer understood.

From the next room, Andressa's voice lulled Elisa to sleep with a lullaby. It was a scene that should bring peace. But everything in Luiz seemed restless.

As if on impulse, he got up from the chair and went to the bookshelf in the back, where old boxes had been resting for years, untouched. They were covered by a thin layer of dust, memories of a time he himself couldn't say when he had started to forget.

Upon opening one of the cardboard boxes, he found college notebooks, an athletic t-shirt with his name embroidered on it, a black and white photo torn in half. But what caught his attention the most was an old, metallic keychain, shaped like a stylized motorcycle helmet. On the back, an almost erased inscription was engraved in cursive:

"Forever us, B."

He frowned, confused.

""B...?"" he whispered, turning the keychain between his fingers.

He felt a shiver run down his spine. It awakened something—but he couldn't name what. It was as if a memory was there, behind a locked door. He knew he had felt that object before. That engraving seemed intimate, promising. But at the same time, it was a complete mystery.

He squeezed the keychain in the palm of his hand and took a deep breath. A slight headache formed, throbbing behind his eyes. The emptiness inside him grew—and with it, a bitter sense of loss.

"Why does this, which should just be an old object, make me feel like I'm losing something..."

Without saying anything, he put the keychain in his pants pocket. There was something there. And even without understanding why, he needed to keep it close.

Federal Police Headquarters – Central Auditorium

The next day, Luiz walked through the corridors of the Federal Police headquarters with firm steps, but his mind was still in turmoil. The interagency meeting promised to be long and full of protocols. Agents from Europol, Interpol, representatives from the FBI, federal delegates... all gathered to discuss progress in joint investigations into transnational organized crime activities.

The atmosphere was formal, tense. He greeted some colleagues, kept a low profile. He tried to concentrate, to push away the disconnected thoughts from the night before.

He was about to sit down when the double door opened and a new team entered.

And then, as if time had frozen for a moment, Luiz looked.

His eyes met Braian's.

The world fell silent around him. His breath caught. His body froze.

Braian also stopped. He stood motionless in the doorway. His gaze landed on Luiz like a sure arrow. He didn't even blink. His heart was beating too hard, and the ground seemed to have disappeared beneath his feet.

For Luiz, it was as if a lightning bolt had struck through his chest. There was no immediate recognition. But there was something. Something visceral.

"Why is he looking at me like that...? And why does this man's gaze give me the feeling that... I'm about to remember a forgotten dream?"

Braian swallowed hard. The Luiz in front of him was not the same man he had kissed in the rain years ago, nor the one he shared nights of affection and getaways with. He was another. But still, he was there. Alive. Breathing. And the smell... God, the smell was still the same.

The meeting began, but no one was really paying attention.

Glimpses crossed each other. Brief, tense. Braian avoided direct contact, afraid of exploding inside. Luiz tried to understand why this stranger awakened so much restlessness in his chest.

Part 3 – The Unknown Feeling

Corridor – after the meeting

Luiz was walking distractedly through the corridors when he stopped in front of the coffee machine. Next to him, Braian.

For a second, the silence was so dense that you could hear the sound of the machine preparing the coffee like thunder.

""Lawyer Luiz Felipe,"he said, extending his hand, trying to sound formal."

Braian turned his face slowly. There was a slight tremor in his body.

""Braian Vieira, Interpol.

The touch between their hands was brief, but something crossed them. Like an electric spark that ran through both of their bodies. Luiz was static. A heat rose from within, inexplicable.

He tried to disguise it, but failed.

""Have we... met before?"" Luiz asked, staring into Braian's eyes.

Braian hesitated. His eyes sparkled, full of everything he couldn't say.

""Maybe in another life.

Luiz smiled nervously, not knowing why. Something hurt. Something echoed deep in his chest.

"If this is what they call deja vu, then why does it hurt so much?" — he thought.

"It's still you..." Braian thought.

Headquarters Rooftop – Late Afternoon

The wind blew warm, gently swaying Braian's dress shirt. The sun painted the sky with golden and orange tones, but his heart beat as if he were in the middle of a storm.

He leaned on the rooftop railing, looking at the distant horizon.

The pain consumed him.

"He's alive."

"Luiz."

But he was no longer his Luiz. The look was the same—but empty. The lack of recognition hurt more than any mourning he had ever felt.

His hands trembled. His body seemed fragile, as if about to collapse.

He took a deep breath. He closed his eyes.

""You really are here, aren't you?"" he murmured to the sky. ""But what about me? Where did I end up in you?

The memory of the touch returned like a discharge. The way Luiz's fingers trembled when they touched his. The lost look, as if searching for something... that he himself didn't know.

And Braian was there. He always was.

Memories came back in an avalanche:

Luiz's smile lying on the couch, his laugh after the first clumsy kiss. The scar on his right shoulder. The way he hugged him during cold nights, as if he were home.

And now, all of that seemed to have been deleted from his life.

""I wonder if, if I touch him one more time... will he remember?"" he whispered.

His whole body screamed to run to him, hold him, beg him to remember. But his mind held him back. He needed to be rational. Professional. Strong.

But the pain... was something else.

""I've thought about you all these years... and now that I see you, it's like I'm just another unknown face in your path.

He closed his eyes again, pressing his fists against the cold concrete of the rooftop. He fought back tears.

His voice still echoed in his mind:

""Have we... met before?

Yes, Luiz. You've seen me before. You loved me before.

And I... never stopped loving you.

And for the first time in years, Braian didn't know what to do.