When The Silence Begins

A Chance Meeting

It happened on a Tuesday. Or maybe it was Wednesday.

The days had started blending together—soft watercolor edges bleeding into each other. The kind of time that only places like Tavira allow, where no one really asks what day it is because it doesn’t change the way the sky moves or the river flows.

I was at the market.

Not because I needed anything in particular. I just liked the way the place smelled—like fresh basil, sea air, and the metal tang of fish scales. The chatter of vendors felt like music I didn’t need to understand. I wandered past crates of oranges stacked like gold, old women selling piri piri and sardine tins, and one stall where a man with no teeth offered me a fig without saying a word.

And then I saw her.

Lila.

She was standing in front of a cheese stall, holding a paper-wrapped wedge of something and squinting at the label like it held a secret. Her hair was down this time—waves loose and wild, a few strands stuck to the side of her face from the humidity. She wore a loose green dress and sandals with cracked soles. The kind of outfit you wear when you're not trying to be anything.

My heart knocked once. Hard.

For a second, I considered walking past. Pretending I didn’t see her. Letting the moment pass like so many almosts in life. But then she turned—slowly, casually—and saw me.

And smiled like it was the most natural thing in the world.

“There you are,” she said.

As if I’d been missing. As if I was supposed to be found.

I walked over, unsure of what to say. The last time we met, she had slipped into my day like a breeze—unexpected, exhilarating, gone too soon. Now she was here again, holding goat cheese and smiling like the week hadn’t hung heavy on me like a damp coat.

“You like cheese?” I asked, stupidly.

She laughed. “Everyone likes cheese. The question is: can you eat this much of it before it melts in your backpack?”

She tucked it into a cloth bag, then looked at me like she was trying to read something behind my eyes.

“You okay?” she asked, softer this time.

I nodded. Then hesitated. “Yeah. I just didn’t think I’d see you again.”

Lila tilted her head. “Why not?”

I shrugged. “You seem like the kind of person who vanishes.”

She smiled at that, but didn’t answer. Instead, she started walking, and I followed. No invitation, no explanation. Just two people meandering through sun and shadow.

We ended up by the river, on a bench beneath a jacaranda tree. Purple petals drifted lazily around us. Boats rocked in the slow current. She took off her sandals and tucked one leg beneath her.

“You seem quieter today,” she said, watching a boy try to skip stones.

“I’ve been thinking,” I said.

“Dangerous hobby,” she teased.

I smiled, then looked at her. “I was looking for you.”

She blinked. Not startled—just thoughtful. “Why?”

I opened my mouth, then closed it. “I’m not sure. You just… stuck.”

She nodded like she understood, then leaned back, arms stretched out across the back of the bench. “You know, I’m not always like that.”

“Like what?”

“Charming. Interesting. A story waiting to happen.”

I laughed. “That’s not what I—okay, maybe a little.”

She looked at me sideways. “People do that, you know? Project their hunger onto whoever makes them feel alive for five minutes.”

“That’s not what this is.”

“No?”

I shook my head. “You didn’t just make me feel alive; you reminded me that I’d been dead for longer than I thought.”

That made her quiet.

The wind played with the hem of her dress. A pigeon pecked at the path near our feet. Somewhere in the distance, someone played a guitar out of tune.

Lila looked at me again, and her voice dropped an octave. “I know what that’s like.”

She didn’t elaborate. And I didn’t press.

We sat like that for a while—beneath the jacaranda tree, beneath the weight of our unnamed things.

Eventually, she stood and dusted her dress. “I’m going to a little place tonight. For fado. You ever heard it?”

“No.”

“It’ll ruin you,” she said with a grin.

I stood too. “That an invitation?”

“Only if you’re okay being a little ruined.”

I smiled. “I think I already am.”

She laughed and walked away barefoot, sandals swinging from her hand.

I watched her until she turned the corner. And for the first time in a long time, I looked forward to the night.