A calm lake; a sky where clouds and sun are battling it out. Water up to their chests. Tall grass and tiny yellow and purple flowers along the bank.
And there in the middle—the two of them. Standing still. Just talking.
Adan.
Irish, messy blonde hair, a soaked navy-blue sweatshirt. A thick accent, though he speaks slowly so she can understand. Born and raised in this village by the lake.
Mayte.
Brazilian. Long brown hair, a green sweatshirt, attentive eyes. She came to Ireland for an exchange program; she’s also a pastor’s daughter.
They met at the local bakery. She asked for "a bread," and he laughed as he corrected her pronunciation. It became a routine after that: walks, tea, and today... a dip in the lake.
"Aren't you cold?" Adan asked, stirring the water with his hand.
Mayte laughed. "I am. But back in Brazil, we go into the ocean fully clothed when we want to have a serious talk, too. The water helps."
He nodded. "Here, we call it a 'wild swim.' They say it clears your head."
"Then let it clear mine, too," she replied. "Because I’m missing home, and I’m scared to leave."
Silence. Just the sound of the water and the wind in the grass.
Adan looked at her. "What if you didn't go? What if you stayed a bit longer? The lake gets even more beautiful in the autumn, you know."
Mayte smiled, a little self-consciously. "Adan, you’re very direct."
"And you’re a long way from home," he shot back. "Someone has to be."
They stayed there. No promises, no answers. Just a real conversation, with the water washing the heaviness away.
In the end, they climbed out together—shivering from the cold, laughing.
Because some conversations don't need a specific place. You just need the right people. And a lake in Ireland to bear witness.
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