The End of a Cycle

The End of a Cycle
Sometimes the only true thing in a newspaper is the date.
— Luís Fernando Veríssimo

Ricardo

“What do you have to say?”
Nicolas’s voice snapped me out of my trance, and only then did I realize that everyone in the meeting room was staring at me.
We were discussing details of the new Alcântara Construction project, but my mind was miles away — trapped in a hotel in Brotas, where I had spent an improbable and, apparently, unforgettable night.

“We’re waiting for your assessment, Ricardo,” my uncle Gustavo reinforced, with that calm but firm tone he always used when someone lost focus.

“It seems our chief engineer isn’t in any condition to comment on the project he himself inspected last week,” Henrique mocked, leaning back in his chair with his usual sarcastic look.

I rolled my eyes, but he wasn’t wrong. Lately, I couldn’t concentrate on anything, and that afternoon’s meeting was no exception.
I took a deep breath, straightened my jacket, and stood up.

“I apologize, everyone.” My voice came out as steady as I hoped. “I’ll send a detailed report on the main points by Monday.”

I didn’t wait for answers. I just left the room, fully aware that I was walking out of an important meeting — but unable to care.
At least there was one upside: I no longer thought about Alicia all the time. Now, the problem was that I couldn’t stop thinking about another woman. A stranger. Someone I knew nothing about, except for the memory of honey-colored eyes and a taste that still seemed to linger in my mouth.
Pure cynicism. But it was true.

I didn’t go back to my office. I went straight to the elevator, grabbed my briefcase, and headed down to the garage. Minutes later, I was already driving aimlessly through the streets of São Paulo. Maybe I just wanted to fool myself one more time.



The following days went by quickly. And, oddly enough, I felt more restless with each passing one. Maybe what I needed was another night like that one in Brotas — a temporary distraction to remind me that I was still a living man.
On Friday, Lucas invited me to stop by his office after work. He said he wanted to talk and open a bottle of whiskey. I accepted. That was exactly what I needed: conversation and alcohol.

“So?” he asked, pouring our drinks. “Will you be my best man?”

I smiled.
“Of course, my friend. I wouldn’t dare say no.”

He laughed, pleased.
“Angel’s going to be happy about that.”

I took the glass from his hand, swirling the amber liquid before taking a sip.
“I’m curious to meet her friend,” I said, trying to sound casual.

Lucas raised an eyebrow.
“I can already imagine why.” He walked over to the bar in the corner of his office and refilled our glasses. “Is Henrique still obsessed with the idea that Júlia is the love of his life?”

“He is,” I confirmed, trying to disguise my sarcasm.

Lucas smirked.
“Well, to be fair, Júlia seems a lot more grounded than our friend.”

He leaned back on the couch and added thoughtfully,
“Angel told me she’s been through some really tough times. She’s changed a lot since then.”

I felt curious, not knowing exactly why.
“Tough times how?”

“Apparently, her former boss harassed her, and when she reported him, she ended up paying the price.” Lucas spoke in a grave tone. “She left the company, was left unemployed, and… well, her self-esteem went with it.”

A strange pang hit my chest.
“So she’s unemployed?”

“She is. Angel even tried to help, offered her a position, but Júlia’s proud. She doesn’t accept favors.”

I stayed silent for a few seconds, staring at my glass.
“I could find something for her at Alcântara,” I said without thinking much. “I’m looking for someone to help me with the affordable housing project.”

Lucas chuckled, shaking his head.
“I should record this. ‘Ricardo Alcântara offering help to someone he doesn’t even know’ — that’s a rare sight.”

I rolled my eyes.
“Better get used to it.”

“Seriously now,” he said, still amused. “Do you really think Henrique’s going to miss the chance to get closer to her?”

I frowned.
“He’s already offered her a job?”

“Of course,” Lucas replied, laughing again. “And she turned it down, obviously. Just like she turned down Angel’s help.”

I fell silent, trying to hide the strange disappointment I felt.
“That’s a shame,” I murmured. “Sometimes accepting help isn’t a sign of weakness.”

“True,” Lucas agreed. “But Júlia seems afraid of repeating the same mistakes. And honestly, after what she’s been through, you can’t really blame her.”

I nodded, but my thoughts were already drifting. Between one sip and another, I realized there was something different about the way her name sounded to me. Júlia. Funny how something so simple could stir so much.

“I think you should talk to Angel about the job at Alcântara,” I insisted again. “Unlike Henrique, I don’t know Júlia, and my offer doesn’t come with any hidden intentions.”

“You’re right. If there really is an opening at Alcântara, I’ll talk to Angel. She’s been really worried about her friend.”

We kept talking, but the new information about Henrique’s beloved wouldn’t leave my head. I felt like a complete idiot, because now my thoughts revolved around three women — Alicia, who I hadn’t heard from again, the girl I met in Brotas, and Júlia.

When I got home that night, still lost between my conversation with Lucas and the curiosity to know more about Júlia, I decided to check Angel’s social media. Maybe I’d find her friend’s profile there — the one who, for some reason, I couldn’t stop thinking about.

But before I could even start searching, a headline on the homepage of a news site caught my attention:

“Investigation into bid-rigging scheme points to Senator Guimarães as main suspect; assets frozen.”

My heart raced. I immediately clicked the link and read every line of the article, stunned. When I finished, I followed the related links, trying to understand the scope of the scandal.

“Arrest warrant issued for Senator Guimarães.”

“Senator Guimarães flees the country to avoid arrest.”

With each new update, my sense of shock grew. Guimarães. Alicia’s father.

I dropped the laptop and turned on the TV. Every channel was reporting the same thing: the downfall of one of the country’s most influential politicians. The footage showed police cars, documents being seized, and reporters gathered outside the Guimarães mansion.

I sat on the couch, completely dazed, trying to imagine how Alicia must have been reacting to all that. Did she know? Had she ever suspected the scheme her own father was involved in?

I grabbed my phone, hesitating for a few seconds before searching for her number. I knew I shouldn’t call — we didn’t have anything left — but I couldn’t stop myself. I just wanted to hear her voice, to know if she was okay.

The first call. Nothing.
The second. Rejected.
By the third try, the call didn’t even go through. That’s when I realized: she had probably blocked me.

I stared at the dark phone screen for long seconds, feeling a hollow ache that was hard to explain. It wasn’t just frustration. It was the realization that, no matter how hard I tried, Alicia didn’t want — or need — me.

I leaned my head back against the sofa and let out a long, heavy sigh. Maybe life was trying to show me what I’d been refusing to see all along: some cycles need to end for others to begin.

And suddenly, I thought of the woman from Brotas — the nameless girl who made me forget everything, even if just for one night.
A flicker of peace crossed the storm in my mind, and for the first time in a long while, I felt that maybe, finally, I was ready to move on.