She walked like Jericoacoara belonged to her.

Some places choose their people.

Ana moved slowly across Jericoacoara beach, where the dunes meet the sea.

The wind shaped everything — the sand, the waves… her hair.

Golden light wrapped around her body as the sun dropped lower.

She didn’t look at anyone.

But everyone noticed.

Especially me.

There was something deliberate in her pace.

Like she knew exactly who was watching.

And exactly when to acknowledge it.

She didn’t smile.

She didn’t need to.

You’ve only seen a fragment.

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