Aimless

Aimless
Ricardo
I woke up in a miserable state. The bathroom mirror confirmed what I already felt: a moral and physical hangover. I took two painkillers, a quick shower, and went back to bed.
It was Sunday, and even though I usually worked from home—a habit formed by a life of constant travel and deadlines—today I wasn’t in any condition to open my laptop.
As the project director at Alcântara Construction, my routine revolved around site visits, meetings, and endless spreadsheets. At work, I was flawless. In my personal life, a walking disaster. I had few friends—just my cousins Henrique and Nicolas, and Lucas, who had become a good one.
I made a strong coffee and tried to sleep again, but it didn’t come. I was tired—not just physically, but of the feeling of being stuck in the same loop: work, avoid thinking, and fail miserably at forgetting Alícia. No woman interested me. None.
Before I realized it, I was packing a bag. Monday would be a holiday, and for the first time in a long while, I just wanted to disappear. Driving aimlessly sounded better than spending another day torturing myself inside that apartment.
I threw a few clothes into a suitcase and hit the road. I drove for hours, unhurried, watching traffic thin out as São Paulo faded behind me. I only stopped for lunch and gas, then kept going, not really knowing where I was headed.
By late afternoon, a road sign reading Brotas appeared ahead, and I decided that was far enough. The small town, quiet and surrounded by nature, felt like the perfect refuge for the kind of exhaustion I was carrying. I asked for a hotel recommendation at a gas station, chose the first one they mentioned, and went straight there.
After showering, I tried to rest, but my mind wouldn’t let me. Alícia was still there, taking up every corner of my thoughts. I realized, bitterly, that she had become an obsession—and I needed to end it before it completely destroyed me.
I decided to go for a walk. I didn’t want to talk to anyone. I ignored all calls from my cousins. If they hadn’t gotten the message yet, now they would: I just wanted silence.
Night had already fallen when I found a bar with soft music and enough people to make me feel anonymous. I went in.
There were laughs, the clinking of glasses, and the tempting smell of fried snacks. I chose a stool at the counter—the perfect spot for someone who just wanted to drink without being noticed or, worse, getting unsolicited advice.
“Double whiskey, neat,” I said, without looking up.
The bartender—a pretty, smiling woman—served me efficiently. I downed the drink in one go and set the glass back on the counter.
“Another,” I said in the same flat tone.
She raised an eyebrow but said nothing. When she poured again, I heard her amused voice addressing both me and someone sitting beside me, whom I hadn’t even noticed.
“Are you two in some kind of competition?” she asked, crossing her arms behind the bar.
I turned my head, curious—and that’s when I saw her.
The woman next to me was young, maybe just over twenty, with dark curly hair that fell over her shoulders and honey-colored eyes that seemed to shimmer under the amber bar light. She had that kind of effortless beauty that didn’t demand attention but captured it anyway.
She smiled playfully before replying,
“If it’s a competition, I’d like to know what the prize is.”
That teasing remark pulled an involuntary smile from me.
“And who’s going to decide the winner?” I asked, feeling my competitive side wake up along with something else I couldn’t quite name.
The bartender laughed, shaking her head as she poured two more drinks—one for each of us.
“Well, I can say who’s had more so far—I’m the one filling your glasses,” she said with a playful wink. “Name’s Jéssica, and I’m here to make sure you two stick to the mission for tonight.”
The woman next to me lifted her glass, meeting my gaze with a mischievous spark. After a short exchange with Jéssica, she declared,
“May the most resilient one win.”
I tapped my glass against hers with a soft clink.
“Deal.”
And for the first time in a long while, I realized that maybe the night I thought was lost… was only just beginning. I watched her raise the glass to her lips, sipping slowly, her eyes locked on mine as if testing my limits. That look unsettled me more than the whiskey itself.
“I don’t usually lose challenges,” she said, setting her glass back down, her tone hovering between laughter and provocation.
“Good,” I shot back. “It’d be a shame to waste that kind of talent on a drinking game.”
She raised an amused eyebrow. “Waste talent? You talk like drinking is an art form.”
“Some days, it is,” I said with a shrug, and she laughed. The sound—light and genuine—hit me harder than I expected.
It had been a long time since something so simple had sounded so… alive.
Jéssica watched us with a knowing smile, and I decided not to break the moment. I signaled for another round.
“The same for both of us.”
“Trying to get me drunk, is that it?” she teased, resting her chin on her hands.
“Not at all. I’m just being polite.” I paused. “And maybe a little curious.”
“Curious about what?”
“About someone who challenges a stranger in a bar, unafraid to lose.”
She laughed again, but this time it came with a sigh.
“Maybe because losing doesn’t scare me as much anymore.”
There was something in that sentence that made me look at her more closely. For a second, I saw a trace of weariness in her face—a faint shadow behind the brightness in her eyes. But she hid it quickly, taking another sip and changing the subject.
“And you?” she asked. “Are you here running away from someone… or something?”
I smiled faintly. “Running from myself, maybe.”
“How cliché,” she teased. “I bet you’ve said that to plenty of women.”
“Never to one sharing a drinking challenge with me,” I replied, and she laughed again.
We fell silent for a while, listening to the soft music filling the bar. The pianist played something that seemed to fit perfectly with that unlikely encounter.