"The Love That Scares Me!"

Helena Duarte woke up every day at the same time. Not because she liked routine, but because predictability was a safe place.

The alarm rang at six thirty, as always. She opened her eyes slowly, staring at the white ceiling, taking a deep breath before getting up. There was something comforting about knowing exactly how the day would begin.

In the kitchen, the smell of fresh coffee filled the quiet space. Helena enjoyed that moment when the world demanded nothing from her.

She sat at the small table, holding the cup with both hands, closing her eyes for a moment. She thought of nothing. Or almost nothing.

Her phone vibrated on the table.

Lívia: You disappeared yesterday. Are you alive?

Helena smiled slightly and typed back.

Helena: I am. I just needed to stay quiet.

The reply came quickly.

Lívia: Too much quiet becomes a hiding place.

Helena sighed. Lívia always knew exactly where to touch.

Helena: I’m not hiding. I’m just not looking for trouble.

Lívia: Since when is feeling trouble?

Helena didn’t reply. She got up, washed her cup, and got ready for work. She preferred not to put names on things. Names created expectations. Expectations created pain.

On her way to the office, traffic moved slowly. Helena watched the people in the cars around her, imagining stories that didn’t include her. Couples arguing. Someone crying on the phone. A man smiling alone. She felt outside of it—not from loneliness, but by choice.

The office was on the eighth floor of an old building, with large windows and natural light. Helena liked the space. It was organized, quiet, functional. Just like her.

While organizing some documents, she heard voices in the corridor. Low laughter, approaching footsteps. She didn’t immediately look up. Curiosity usually brought unwanted things.

Then she heard a different voice.

Calm. Deep. Unhurried.

Helena raised her eyes.

He stood near the door, speaking to the manager. Tall, relaxed posture, hands in pockets. Not handsome in an obvious way. There was something subtle about him. A way of being present without taking up too much space.

The manager pointed toward Helena.

She felt his gaze meet hers.

For just a second.

But it was enough to stir a strange discomfort, like something had shifted without making a sound.

The manager stepped away, and the man walked toward her desk.

Good morning. You’re Helena, right?

His voice was even calmer up close.

I am, she replied, keeping her tone neutral.

Caio Azevedo. I’ll be responsible for some projects in collaboration with you.

Helena nodded.

Nice to meet you.

Likewise.

There was a brief silence. Not awkward. Just… suspended.

Caio broke the silence.

They told me you’re very organized.

She raised an eyebrow.

They were right.

He smiled slightly. Not a big smile. Almost a gesture.

I like that. Makes everything easier.

Helena didn’t answer. She simply indicated a chair.

We can start whenever you like.

Caio sat down, opened the folder he carried, and began talking about the project. Helena listened attentively, taking notes, focused. But something about him kept her alert. Not because of the work, but because of his tone. The way he explained things unhurriedly, as if time was always on his side.

At one point, he paused.

Do you prefer working like this, in silence? Or do you like exchanging ideas while organizing?

The question caught her off guard.

I usually work better in silence, she replied honestly.

Caio nodded.

All right. If you change your mind, let me know.

He resumed talking about the project, as if nothing had happened. Helena felt a small tightness in her chest. She wasn’t used to someone respecting her boundaries without trying to push them.

When the meeting ended, Caio closed his folder.

I think that’s it for today. Thanks for your time.

She nodded.

See you.

Caio stood, took two steps, then paused.

Helena?

She looked up again.

If at any point it seems I’m invading your space, it’s not my intention. You can tell me.

She blinked, surprised.

All right, she replied, unsure of what exactly to say.

He smiled again and left.

Helena stood for a few seconds, staring at the closed door. A faint, almost imperceptible unease stirred inside her. She didn’t like the feeling. She grabbed her phone and typed to Lívia.

Helena: I met someone today.

The reply came immediately.

Lívia: Someone like… someone?

Helena: Someone too calm.

Lívia: Does it bother you?

Helena thought before replying.

Helena: Yes.

Lívia: Why?

Helena: Because it doesn’t hurt.

Across the city, Caio walked toward the elevator, hands in pockets, expression thoughtful. He couldn’t explain why that woman had marked him so quickly. Maybe it was her contained way of being. Or her overly attentive gaze. Or the strange sensation that she was always ready to leave, even while standing still.

The elevator arrived. He entered alone.

As the doors closed, Caio thought that some people don’t run because they don’t want to love. They run because they have loved too much.

And Helena Duarte, he felt, was exactly like that.

F4BRIZIOF!