Foolishness

Foolishness
 Júlia
Utterly unaware of what was happening around me, lost in the sensations that the stranger’s kiss stirred in me, I felt my heart race when his tongue slid into my mouth with firm intent, deepening the heat that was already consuming me.
When his fingers tangled in my hair — my weakest spot — the last shred of reason I still had reminded me that we were in a bar, surrounded by people. That thought alone was enough to make me pull away.
“Wow! That looked like a movie kiss,” said Jéssica, the bartender, with an amused smile.
She was watching us closely, and surprisingly, I didn’t feel embarrassed. I laughed too, blaming my lack of inhibition on the alcohol.
“The check,” he said, his voice firm — more like a command than a request.
Jéssica quickly brought the receipts, and he paid both before I could react, handing her the money with a generous tip.
“Keep the change,” he said, and she grinned even wider, waving us off with a cheerful “Come back anytime!”
I didn’t insist on splitting the bill. The reminder that I was now part of the unemployment statistics was enough to silence any trace of pride. Regret began to creep in — for walking into that bar, for drinking like there was no tomorrow, for letting myself go.
I only realized I was about to leave with a stranger when I felt his hand close around mine. The touch was firm but gentle. He led me outside, and I followed without question — until I heard my own voice ask:
“Where are we going?”
“To my hotel,” he said simply, directly.
“I don’t like that arrogant tone of yours,” I shot back, more to disguise my nerves than out of any real indignation.
He gave me a sidelong glance, a faint smirk on his lips, and kept walking. And I kept walking beside him, despite all the reasons I knew I shouldn’t.
We walked hand in hand through the quiet streets of Brotas, like a couple. I still didn’t know his name, yet I couldn’t bring myself to pull away.
All I wanted was to escape my own reality — to forget the painful conversation I’d had with my father earlier, the humiliation, the rejection, the fear.
The man beside me hadn’t promised me anything, but for some reason I couldn’t explain, I trusted him. Maybe it was the alcohol. Maybe it was loneliness. Maybe it was just the desperate urge to stop thinking.
I knew I was being reckless, but I went along anyway. Tomorrow, I’d pay the price.
“Don’t overthink,” he said suddenly, breaking the silence.
I frowned in confusion, and he added softly, almost in a whisper:
“You’re frowning. I bet your thoughts aren’t good ones. Let’s forget everything — just for tonight. Tomorrow, we can go back to fighting our inner battles.”
He stopped walking, and before I could answer, he cupped my face in his hands, looking straight into my eyes, as if trying to convince not only me but himself too.
I nodded slowly. And just when I thought he’d take that gesture as an answer, he leaned in and kissed me again.
This time, I didn’t resist. And in that moment, I truly forgot everything — the problems, the guilt, the past.
All that existed was the warmth of his kiss and the strange, comforting feeling that for the first time in a long while, I wasn’t running from anything… I was just allowing myself to feel.
“We’re here,” he murmured, pulling back but still holding my face gently, his gaze steady on mine.
It took me a few seconds to understand where we were. When I looked around, I recognized the hotel — the most expensive and sophisticated one in town. The grand façade, the soft lighting, the valet service — there was no mistaking it.
It only confirmed what I’d already guessed the moment I first saw him: he was rich.
But I pushed that thought aside. It didn’t matter.
All I wanted was to make the most of what was left of that night — without thinking about who he was or what would come after.
Tomorrow, we’d go back to being strangers again, each following our own path, as if nothing had happened, as if that encounter had been nothing but a random accident in some bar.



When we stepped into the lobby, I felt the contrast between the hotel’s quiet comfort and the distant noise of the street. The air was cool and fragrant, and the soft sound of a piano filled the space, blending with the muted echo of our footsteps on the marble floor.
He approached the reception desk, asked for his room number with the ease of someone who was already staying there, and moments later, we were heading toward the elevator.
The silence between us was almost tangible. I could hear the sound of my own heartbeat, fast and unsteady, as if it wanted to break free from my chest. I couldn’t tell if it was nerves, curiosity, or sheer surrender — maybe a bit of all three.
As soon as the elevator doors closed, he turned to look at me again. That gaze… intense, calm, and filled with a kind of quiet determination that completely disarmed me. Without a word, he leaned in and kissed me.
This time, the kiss was slower, more deliberate. His hands slid gently down to my waist, and I felt the heat of his touch through the thin fabric of my dress. The world seemed to dissolve around us.
When the elevator stopped, he pulled away just enough to intertwine his fingers with mine. He led me down the silent hallway to the room.
Inside, the lights were soft, and the air-conditioning carried that subtle, expensive scent that somehow matched him perfectly. I watched as he set the key card on the table and slowly turned to face me.
“There’s still time to change your mind,” he said, his voice low, almost a whisper.
For a moment, I considered it. I could walk out. I could thank him for the night and leave.
But I didn’t.
I stepped closer and placed my hand on his chest, feeling the steady rhythm of his heart beneath my fingers.
“I don’t want to change my mind,” I said.
He drew in a deep breath, as if holding something back, then kissed me again — this time with full surrender, as though my answer had broken the last bit of restraint between us.