Edgar Pêra’s film school was having a party at the Restaurante Califórnia, and my neighbor and I appeared just as the festivities began. Edgar gave us beijinhos and a boisterous, “Divirtam-se.” I turned to my neighbor for a translation, she whispered, “Go, have fun.”
The restaurant buzzed with the excited chatter of student filmmakers, actors, and friends, a hum of creativity and heady conversations. moved through the crowd like a hummingbird amid a kaleidoscope of blooms, her camera held aloft as she deftly captured candid moments with an artist’s deft touch. I, on the other hand, found myself retreating to a dimly lit corner. My friend moved through the crowd with ease, capturing candid moments with her camera, while I sat in the dimly lit corner, nursing a glass of red wine and offering polite smiles to strangers.
It was a wrap party of some sort or perhaps the kick-off of a new project. Edgar himself stood at the front of the room, passionately talking about reality tunnels and the nature of perception. His words washed over me as I focused on the couple at my table, their intimate whispers and gentle touches creating a small, private world amidst the chaos. Watching them, I felt a pang of longing, an echo of my own loss. My mind drifted to my friend who had died, and the warmth of their presence that I missed so deeply.
Feeling increasingly out of place, I took another sip of wine, letting the warmth spread through my chest. My thoughts drifted, hazy and unfocused, flitting between the past and present. Didi’s laughter caught my ear, pulling me back to the room. There was something about her — a vibrant energy that was hard to ignore. She seemed to glow in the dim light, her smile bright and infectious. I felt a strange pull towards her, something I couldn’t quite name.
Just then, Didi appeared beside me, her hand warm on my arm. “Come on,” she said, pulling me gently to my feet. “We’re going to drink tea.”
I began to protest, my eyes ready to roll, but she cut me off with a playful grin. “The stuff is magic. Oh, don’t give me that face. Trust me.”
I laughed. “Is an evening tea ‘the fun you can have in Lisbon’ you mentioned earlier?”
As we walked out into the cool, crisp night air, I realized with a start that after a month of knowing each other, we had never formally introduced ourselves. “You know,” I said, laughing a little, “we’ve been passing by each other for a month now, and I don’t think we’ve ever told each other our names.”
She laughed too, the sound bright and infectious in the twilight. “Oh my god, you’re right! I’m Nabia, but everyone calls me Didi.”
“I’m Victoria,” I replied, shaking my head in amusement. “It’s nice to meet you, Didi. Officially.”
“Nice to meet you too, Victoria. Now that we’ve got that out of the way, let’s get that tea.”
We continued down the cobblestone streets, the sound of distant laughter and music following us. Despite the absurdity of our belated introduction, I felt a strange sense of camaraderie and anticipation. For the first time in a long while, I felt curious about what lay ahead.
Turning a corner to a small street she said was once called Beco do Fala-Só, she held my hand and gave it a reassuring squeeze, her warmth and energy a comforting presence in the cool night. As we walked, I couldn’t help but feel a confusing mix of emotions — grief, attraction, and the flicker of something new and uncertain. I wondered if my mind was playing tricks on me, projecting old desires onto new faces. But for now, I chose to follow Didi into the night, letting her lead me into whatever came next.
