Maria Vitória Bocci

"I should be the one asking. This is bangalo number four. It’s reserved for me."

I sat on the bed, and the light finally turned on.

Standing before me was a man with graying hair, though not old. His expression was tired, but not worn. His deep black eyes fixed on me with a furrowed brow. There was something unsettling about his presence—a contained strength, almost dangerous. Tall and imposing, I knew him, and I admired him.

He exuded a rare elegance, the kind you don’t learn—you’re born with it. Every movement was silently measured, yet filled with a natural sensuality, as if the very air around him knew it had to make way. He was beautiful, but in a way that hurt—not because of perfection, but because of the impact. There was charm and mystery in his gestures, desire in his silences, and a cruel beauty seemingly made to be forbidden.

I had raced against time that Wednesday to attend his lecture—two packed buses, running through the halls—just to get a good seat. Everyone wanted to be there. Alexandre Xavier was a respected professional, known for his work and research.

When his eyes met mine, something inside me trembled. It wasn’t just the man before me. It was danger disguised as chivalry, guilt dressed as desire. Irresistible. Indecent. And yet, inevitable.

But that night, he wasn’t just the doctor, the lecturer—he was the kind of man who drew attention without asking permission. The sharp features of his face carried an austere beauty. He held a book in his hand, and for some reason, it seemed familiar.

"You might want to tell me what..." he looked at something above me, then back at me. I followed his gaze.

A sign: Room Laranjeiras. I looked at it too, as if verifying with him. I knew that wasn’t my room.

"...what are you doing here?"

My hands trembled under that calm but alert gaze. The idea that an angry woman could appear at any moment terrified me. I had never been this close to someone so stunning, so intelligent... he left me speechless.

"I'm sorry. Forgive me, sir... I... I thought..."

I jumped up, searching for the dress I had thrown on the floor.

"Girl, where are your clothes?" he asked, turning his face away, clearly uncomfortable.

The ring on the bedside table gleamed in the light, bright and conspicuous.

"I... I didn’t know anyone was here... I just..." The tears returned, brought on by the humiliation.

I put the dress on quickly, nervous.

I tried to explain as I slipped on my boots. It was strange and shameful. In the tension and fear, I could barely think; my hands, my legs—my entire body—were shaking.

He let me stay the night in the bungalow. I fell asleep reading his book. It was morning when he found me in the bathroom. I had barely slept. When he introduced himself, I didn’t know where to hide my face. I looked at him, still lost and embarrassed.

"Hmm… now I remember you. Do you think my body lies?" I laughed weakly.

"I don’t think anything about you, Doctor. I just asked a question that’s been bothering me."

Dr. Alexandre looked at me for a long time. I didn’t remember him being so handsome. But then again… we’d never been this close. He seemed even more attractive now than during those days when his intelligence dominated the university halls.

"Medicine requires us to be correct, detached… not to let ourselves be consumed by personal feelings. That’s all I wanted to know. Is it possible to be a doctor while ignoring all our emotions, even knowing that..."

I saw him swallow hard. He nodded.

"It’s good you didn’t ask me that back then. I wouldn’t have known how to answer," he said, cutting me off with a brief smile.

Those weeks had been hard on me. Everything that was happening was directly affecting my academic life. And even though they were just the final assignments of the semester, I felt deeply hindered in my evaluations.

The doctor seemed to be getting ready.

"Thank you very much," I said, stepping out of the bathroom. I heard the shower turn on just as I reached the door.

As strange as it was to admit, few people had been kind to me in those days. I returned to the singles’ bungalow. I walked in, taking in the mess. The rain was still falling.

I took a long shower. My body ached from the previous day—whether it was from the hike, sleeping on the bathroom floor, or attending a party I didn’t want to go to. I packed my suitcase, ready to leave.

I rushed to the luxurious dining area. The food options were limited. Isis and Thiago were already having lunch. I filled my plate and joined them. The couples were scattered—there were six of them around.

"So you decided to come? I thought you’d be buried in a book," Isis said as I sat down.

"You know perfectly well I don’t live off books alone," I replied, taking a bite of pasta.

"Yeah, I can see that. Are you hooking up with that guy?" Thiago asked, not kindly. I shot him a hard look, and he laughed.

"Thiago!" Isis said, upset.

"There’s no point scolding him if you were thinking the same thing," I said as Isis huffed, annoyed. "Do you know who he is? He lent me the book I’d been looking for."

Isis didn’t bother answering. There were marks on her neck—hickeys, maybe even handprints—and she didn’t seem to care.

"I can’t believe this, Mavi. All you do is study. Don’t you ever think of anything else?" I went back to my meal, ignoring her complaints.

I’m not from a well-off family with a guaranteed future. What did she expect? That I’d have a boyfriend like Thiago? I barely even see him at college. I even suspect he won’t finish the course with us.

Thiago left to smoke. It was a relief to be alone with her.

"So, did it happen?"

I looked at Isis, stunned by the question.

"You’re staying in the bungalow with him. Don’t tell me it didn’t. He’s handsome, right? Really manly."

I shook my head. I didn’t see him that way. Though attractive, Alexandre Xavier seemed like so much more—a confrontational, judgmental, and hasty man. He hadn’t even let me explain. He simply judged me irresponsible. But yes, I was wrong. I was the one who had entered the room he’d reserved.

After lunch, I waited for Thiago to leave. Since he didn’t, I went to the front desk to check out. But the receptionist soon informed me:

"Despite being light, the rain is intense. It won’t stop—it's seasonal. The roads are closed; they’re too steep."

She said it like I had a choice. Staying with a crazy friend and her pothead boyfriend on their improvised honeymoon didn’t sound viable.

I spoke little with Isis at the bungalow. I didn’t want to get in the way, though the trip that was supposed to be for friends made me feel like a candelabrum between kisses, met with monosyllabic replies. It was mid-afternoon when I knocked on Dr. Alexandre’s door. I should at least thank him.

"No, Maria Clara, I’m not going back home."

"Xande, listen to me..."

"I’m listening. But I’m being honest: our marriage can’t be fixed. It’s time for us to go our separate ways. You go your way. I’ll go mine."

"No, Alexandre, please... I know I was wrong, I know..."

The woman insisted on the other end. I stood at the door, listening to a conversation that wasn’t mine. I had nothing to do with them. But I was curious.

"You were wrong, and so was I, Maria Clara. But this can’t be fixed," he said.

I listened for a while. Sleep overtook me. The previous night had taken its toll. I knocked gently. I looked at my phone—barely any signal, just two bars.

"Doctor..." He looked at me directly, his eyes slowly scanning me.

As if looking for something else. I wet my lips, feeling an overwhelming heat flood through me. Alexandre looked at me, swallowing hard. I was surprised at myself, looking at him in that white linen shirt with the open collar, those matching pants—like a god. And even with that gaze on me, everything felt calm. The world.

"Talk later, goodbye," he said, ending the call. He motioned for me to come in.

"I came to thank you, I..." I tried to say. My phone had no calls from my mother, just an unknown number. Who would even call me?

"You look like someone who needs sleep. Wrinkled face, tired eyes..."

I smiled faintly. Yes, I looked exactly like that. I raised the book in my hand.

"If you want, you can keep it a while longer. Sometimes a good book answers more than..."