Alexandre Xavier

I went out in search of a heater, since the room didn’t have one. When I returned, I found an intruder in my bed.

He or she was curled up under the blanket, breathing lightly, as if they had claimed the space without the slightest shame. I frowned, but the light went out again.

“Damn these technologies... They never work properly for us,” I muttered, complaining about the sensor.

“Who’s there?” asked a young female voice, leaving me perplexed. Had I entered the wrong room? I instinctively checked my pockets, a common habit when I feel uncertain.

“I should be the one asking. Who’s there? This is bungalow number four. It’s reserved for me.”

Before I could finish, the stranger sat up in bed, triggering the sensor at last. My gaze instinctively locked in place as I realized she was completely naked.

She was a stunning sight. Her damp dark hair, like a moonless night, cascaded over her shoulders as if each strand had a life of its own. Her brown eyes, almost amber, gleamed intensely like rare gems, with a deep gaze that seemed to hold a thousand secrets, inviting anyone watching to lose themselves in their depths.

Her upturned, delicate nose gave her an air of pride, while her full, sensual lips formed a silent invitation, their perfect curve exuding a subtle sensuality. Her shoulders weren’t visible.

Though her breasts were small, her figure was full of grace and softness, like a fairy—or perhaps a witch—with a determined look as she stared seriously at me.

The white blanket clung to her lower abdomen, creating a beautiful contrast, until she stood up, completely naked, ignoring me, revealing the harmony of her curves that could not go unnoticed. Everything about her seemed balanced, a reflection of natural beauty that was both mysterious and captivating.

She stumbled over her own dress while trying to put it on hastily. Her face was overtaken by panic. After getting dressed, I sat down, trying to understand her situation. A friend had left her outside, she tried to explain as she got dressed.

I recognized her from somewhere—her face was familiar.

“Can you explain what…”

“I was just trying to spend the night. I thought this bungalow was empty. I'm with Isis, my friend, but she… damn… her boyfriend came and they… they…”

She gestured while pulling her dress over her body. “I’m not a thief, I just…”

She tried to justify herself, clearly nervous as she put on a pair of brown boots. Her tone was defiant.

She wasn’t someone who would go unnoticed. Her long, damp black hair reached down to her waist. Her eyes were intense, as if hiding much beneath the surface.

“Are you sure you’re just here for a night’s rest—or for something else, miss?”

I had always considered myself a good judge of character. I wouldn’t rule out any possibilities.

“I’m not a whore. I’d be if I were your daughter!” she snapped, sharp in her defense.

“If I had any daughters, things might be different. But since I don’t, that’s not a problem for me,” I replied calmly, watching her raise her eyes to me as she tied her right boot.

“You can keep the bed. I don’t intend to sleep, especially if you're actually in trouble.”

She hesitated for a moment before speaking.

“Hmm, thanks for the offer, but I’m not who you think I am,” she said, walking toward the door. “Pervert!”

I chuckled softly. Did she really think I could be a pervert? What gave her that idea?

I watched her for a moment, studying her impulsive and careless demeanor.

“A good night of sleep and rain might not be so bad for an irresponsible girl.”

She paused, hand on the doorknob. Her breathing wavered, as if considering my words. Then she turned slightly, casting me a look filled with something I couldn’t immediately define—defiance, irony, or exhaustion.

“Irresponsible?” Her lips curled into a crooked smile.

“Maybe. But not to the point of blindly trusting strangers.”

She turned the knob, and for a moment, I thought she was really going to leave. But she hesitated. A cold gust of wind rushed into the room as she opened the door, making her shiver.

“Unless you’d rather risk the night out there,” I teased, seated in the armchair and returning to my book.

She let out a sigh, weighing her options. Her fingers tightened around the hem of her dress, and without a word, she closed the door again.

“Just until the rain stops,” she murmured, as if trying to convince herself.

I rested my elbow on the armrest and observed her with curiosity. Her thick thighs stood out in the dress, even though it wasn’t tight or short enough to highlight them.

“Of course! Just until the rain stops.”

I had the feeling I knew her from somewhere, but there had been so many faces.

She stood silently, glancing around, rubbing her arms, clearly uncertain. Uninterested in a conversation, I went back to my reading. On trips with Heitor, this kind of situation wasn’t unusual. I had learned to ask for separate rooms. I understood her discomfort and, maybe, I even knew her friends. Perhaps they were the same ones who had arrived earlier, arguing and kissing when I was still at the reception.

A guy with synthetic dreads, ear gauges, and a freckled redhead.

Some time later, I looked away from the book, suspecting she had passed out from too much alcohol—but what I saw surprised me.

“You shouldn’t go through other people’s things without permission,” I warned when I saw her sitting in the other armchair, deeply absorbed in one of my books.

But she didn’t move, seeming oblivious to everything else.

It wasn’t a book with annotations—at least not yet. Seeing her so engrossed made me wonder if she liked reading and if she truly understood what she was reading.

Outside, the rain continued to fall. I imagined the book was more interesting to her than looking at me. Hours passed, and when midnight arrived, my back began to ache. I closed the book and stood up.

“Aren’t you going to sleep?” she asked, raising her eyes to me with a faint smile, still holding the book.

“Am I bothering you? Of course, please, I’ll…”

She hesitated.

“I’ll return it tomorrow, if you’re not reading it, of course. I looked everywhere—bookstores, websites—but it was sold out.”

She said it with such regret that I laughed.

“I haven’t read it yet,” I said, watching her eyes return to the page.

“I didn’t know irresponsible young women enjoyed reading about…”

“And I didn’t imagine old perverts read at all,” she muttered, staring at the book.

“I’m not a pervert!” I replied firmly.

She chuckled softly, almost mocking.

“And I’m not that irresponsible. I’m just… not in a good place right now. Coming here with that friend was my only option... but never mind.”

She placed the book on the nightstand and walked toward the door again.

I got up and picked up the limited edition book. Only fifty copies had been brought to Rio de Janeiro—I hadn’t found it in any stores or online libraries.

“Enjoy the reading,” I offered, extending the book toward her.

She paused, hesitant, then gave a brief smile. Her eyes shimmered subtly.

“Maybe not… It’s raining outside,” she explained.

“I didn’t tell you to leave,” I remarked, eyes still on the book.

She took the book, her eyes gleaming, then went straight to the bathroom.

“That’s too much. Are you crazy? You’re…”

But she had already closed the door.

“I promise not to bother you,” she said from inside.

I lay down, still unsure if I was dealing with a madwoman or just someone lost.

The next morning, I woke to the staff announcing that breakfast was being served. I’d been at that hotel for a few days already.

After a few moments of silence, I looked around. The ring was still on the nightstand, undecided about returning it to my finger. I got up slowly, recharged by the quiet. I needed these days to think, reflect, and study my situation.

As I walked toward the bathroom, I stopped when I saw the girl asleep on the floor, curled over her knees, her hair splayed over her legs. The book was resting on her lap.

I approached, slightly concerned, and touched her arm.

“Hey…?”

She stirred, sleepy.

“Oh… I must’ve dozed off…” she murmured, voice thick with sleep.

“Did you really spend the night reading?” I asked, trying to understand.

She hesitated.

“I…” she stammered.

“No need to apologize. Come on, get up,” I offered my hand.

She held the book tightly before accepting my help. When I pulled her up, her whole body came with her.

“You can’t keep sleeping in positions like that. It’ll hurt your body in the future.”