The Time to Restart

Chapter 2: Coffee with Carla

The café where Carla and I occasionally met wasn’t exactly my first choice. It was always bustling, with tables too small for the weighty conversations Carla insisted on having, and a menu filled with sweets and cakes I could never quite finish. But Carla loved the place, and sometimes it was easier to yield. Today felt like one of those days when the comfort of routine needed to be disrupted.

I arrived a few minutes early, giving myself time to choose a table by the window. I watched the world outside: couples strolling hand in hand, people rushing by with shopping bags, young folks glued to their phones, oblivious to everything around them. To me, the city felt like a distant stage, one where I had no desire to perform.

Carla arrived, as always, with a broad smile and a shopping bag swinging on her arm. She was my complete opposite. While I avoided new experiences, Carla embraced everything life had to offer. And, as usual, she came with a story.

“You won’t believe it!” she exclaimed the moment she sat down. I already knew what that meant—a long tale was on its way. I simply smiled and gestured to the barista, ordering my usual latte.

“What happened this time?” I asked, feigning interest. It was part of our ritual: Carla would talk, I would listen, and time would pass.

“I broke up with Márcio!” she announced dramatically, as if it were a surprise.

I blinked. Márcio was her latest boyfriend, one among a growing collection from the past few months. Carla had a relentless streak when it came to relationships, always searching for the perfect fit, though the pieces never quite matched.

“Again?” I asked.

“Yes, and this time it’s for real,” she replied, fiddling with the menu, her gaze distant. “I realized he doesn’t understand me… he doesn’t understand my ambitions, my plans.” She sighed and shook her head.

Ambitions. Plans. Carla always had many, and I felt exhausted just trying to keep up. Meanwhile, I couldn’t even recall the last time I had a plan that wasn’t about paying bills or taking Feline to the vet.

Carla launched into a detailed recounting of her breakup with Márcio, starting from the first sign of trouble, through the inevitable arguments, and ending with her decision to finally cut ties. I listened patiently, as always, while she gestured animatedly, turning every moment into a scene from a play.

When her story reached its dramatic conclusion, her eyes turned to me, expectant, as if my life, too, must have undergone some grand upheaval.

“And you?” she asked, her eyes gleaming with curiosity. “How’s everything with you?”

Ah, the question. I always hesitated before answering, because my response was as predictable as the question itself.

“Oh, the same as always,” I said, shrugging and glancing toward the window.

Carla gave me that look I knew too well—a mix of concern and mild frustration. She was always trying to nudge me toward some change, but it never worked. Still, she never gave up.

“You need something new,” she said, with the conviction of someone who believes they’ve found the answer to all my problems. “What do you really want to do with your life?”

I sighed, sinking into my chair, searching for the right words.

“Carla, I’ve tried a lot of things. Right now, I’m fine with the way things are. I’m not looking for complications,” I said, avoiding her intense gaze.

She paused, studying me, before speaking again: “But what about your dream? You still haven’t found it!”

There it was again—the dream. I had heard that word more times than I could count. What was it about today, anyway? It felt like everything and everyone wanted to remind me of some grand lost dream, as though I owed a debt to a version of myself that no longer existed.

I rolled my eyes, smiling faintly.

“Who says I need to have one?”

Carla laughed, a light and optimistic laugh that always made me uncomfortable.

“Everyone has a dream, Camila,” she said, gesturing emphatically. “Maybe you’ve just forgotten yours.”

I shook my head, resisting the urge to dive back into that familiar argument. We were stuck in the same loop. For Carla, the world was brimming with opportunities, just waiting to be seized. For me, it was a monotonous string of identical days. Maybe I had lost something along the way, but I wasn’t sure what, nor did I feel the need to find it.

Our coffee arrived, and Carla started on another story, this time about a potential career change. I listened, or at least I tried to. But my thoughts kept drifting back to the bouquet sitting at home, and the mysterious card that came with it. The words “For you, with all my affection. From someone who believes in your dreams” echoed in my mind. The handwriting—firm, elegant—carried a silent weight, as though each word had been chosen with care. There was no signature, just the enigma that now lingered over me, unsettling in its ambiguity.

As Carla talked, a subtle tension began to coil in my shoulders. It was as though thinking about the flowers had stirred something inside me. A part of me wanted to ignore it, to leave the card untouched until the flowers withered. But another part—smaller, quieter, but insistent—was curious. And perhaps that was the part that troubled me the most.

“Don’t you think it’s time to change something in your life?” Carla suddenly asked, pulling me back into the conversation.

I blinked, shaking off the distraction, but the unease lingered like a shadow. I sighed, shrugging.

“Maybe.” It was a vague, automatic response. But even as I said it, I felt a knot tighten in my stomach, a familiar tension. What if something did need to change? Something I had tucked away, like that elusive “dream” Carla always spoke of?

Carla waited, her eyes expectant. At that moment, I allowed myself a brief lapse in focus, my gaze following the waiter as he passed by, searching for an escape from the conversation. Then, almost without thinking, I spoke.

“Oh, by the way...” my voice trailed off, hesitant, as though I were thinking aloud. “I received some flowers this morning.” I waved my hand dismissively. “Just a silly thing. I don’t even know who they’re from.”

Carla’s eyes widened, and she leaned forward, her curiosity instantly piqued. “What do you mean, flowers?” she repeated, her eyes gleaming. “And you’re not curious?”

I shrugged, trying to downplay it. “It doesn’t matter, Carla. It’s just... odd.”

“Doesn’t matter?” She looked incredulous. “Mysterious flowers show up at your door, and you’re not even the tiniest bit curious? Seriously?”

I laughed lightly, shaking my head. “Maybe a little... but...” I paused, unsure of how to explain. My gaze dropped to the floor.

Carla interrupted, her hands gesturing enthusiastically. “Of course you’re curious! Who wouldn’t be? And what if it’s something important? Are you really going to tell me you’re not even tempted to find out?”

“I just don’t want to get my hopes up,” I said, rubbing my shoulders as if trying to ease the tension building inside me.

Carla gave me a knowing smile. “Ah, so that’s it. You’re afraid of getting disappointed. But trust me, Cami, this could be the start of something interesting.”

I rolled my eyes, smiling, but something inside me twisted. Carla’s enthusiasm was infectious, but exhausting too.

“Still, don’t you think it’s worth finding out who sent the flowers?” she pressed, her tone casual yet persistent.

I laughed again, shaking my head. “Do you really think I’m going to do that?”

“Why not?” She spread her hands dramatically. “What have you got to lose?”

I fell silent, thinking. Maybe there was something worth discovering. But another part of me was frozen by the fear of the unknown.

“Okay, okay,” I conceded, with a nervous laugh. “Not now, but... maybe someday.”

Carla smiled, satisfied. “Come on, doesn’t it give you butterflies to imagine what could be coming?”

Her words left a weight in the air. After we said goodbye and Carla hugged me tightly, as she always did, the bouquet returned to my mind with even greater force. Who could have sent it? And more importantly, who believed in my dreams when I had long since abandoned them?

I walked home slowly, the weight of the unknown pressing down on me. Feline greeted me at the door, as always, his steady presence a comfort. As he leapt onto the couch and curled up, I looked at the bouquet again.

“At least you never change,” I murmured, stroking his soft fur.

I sighed deeply, sinking into the armchair as uncertainty settled like a heavy blanket. For a moment, the room was still. Then, as if something called to me, my gaze returned to the flowers. The white lilies, delicate and silent, seemed to watch me, their subtle perfume filling the air. The curiosity, once suppressed, now felt stronger.

Slowly, I leaned forward, resting my hands on the armrests, preparing to rise. Feline watched, unmoving, as if he too was waiting for something. I approached the table, feeling the coolness of the floor beneath my bare feet. The note was there, quiet, waiting.

With a deliberate motion, I picked it up. The words remained the same—unchanged, yet now filled with new meaning.

“For you, with all my affection. From someone who believes in your dreams.”

For the first time, I allowed myself to think: What if Carla was right? What if there was still something to find?

With trembling hands, I placed the note back on the table. Maybe tomorrow I would do something about it.

Maybe tomorrow.