The next morning, the smell of salt air was stronger than the smell of coffee. Mel walked down the marina road carrying an insulated bag with six containers of lemon sorbet. Aunt Léa had promised Mr. Raul a delivery for the fishermen’s lunch, and Mel had volunteered far too quickly to take it. She only understood why when she saw Theo kneeling on the deck of the Esperança, trying to fasten a small camera to an improvised mount.

Are you filming the engine? — she asked.

Theo looked up.

I’m trying to figure out why it sounds different whenever my grandfather lies and says everything is fine.

From the other side of the boat, Mr. Raul grumbled:

The engine is fine.

Theo pointed discreetly at him.

See?

Mel smiled before she could stop herself. The Esperança was a white wooden boat with blue trim, small enough to feel intimate and old enough to carry stories in every mark along its hull. Mr. Raul had used it for more than twenty years for fishing and short trips along the coast. Mel had spent half her childhood there, usually sitting at the bow while Theo insisted on inventing names for islands that already had names. Back then, it had seemed impossible to imagine that one day they might become almost strangers.

I brought the sorbet — she said.

You saved my lunch — Mr. Raul replied.

And since you’re here, you can save my morning too.

Mel knew that tone.

What do you want?

An extra pair of hands. I’m going to the cove to pick up two crates of nets. It’ll be quick.

She looked at Theo.

He has two hands.

One is holding a camera and the other has forgotten how to tie a knot.

Slander — Theo said.

Mr. Raul held out a life jacket to Mel.

One hour.

Mel should have said no. She had a shift at Bella Vita at noon, still needed to check a delivery, and, more importantly, had already decided that spending too much time around Theo would be a terrible idea. She checked her watch.

Forty minutes.

Deal.

Theo tilted his head.

You negotiate boat rides too?

This isn’t a boat ride.

Of course it isn’t.

The way he smiled made it feel exactly like one. Mel put on the life jacket. The Esperança’s engine began to rumble, and little by little Santa Marina receded into shades of white, green, and burnt terracotta.

From the water, the town always looked smaller. Simpler. Almost easy. Mel sat on the side bench. Theo stayed across from her, filming the outline of the coast.

The wind pushed his hair back and made his T-shirt flap against his body. There was nothing extraordinary about the scene.

Maybe that was exactly why it felt so dangerous. It was easy to forget the eighteen months when Theo was there, on the same boat as before, holding a camera and arguing with his grandfather about framing. As if some things had simply been waiting.

So — Mel said. — People who choose to stay.

Theo lowered the camera.

That’s the working theme.

And what if you find out nobody chose? That it just happened?

That works too.

Very optimistic.

A documentary doesn’t have to prove a thesis. It can change its mind along the way.

She looked out at the sea.

Luxury.

Theo frowned.

What?

Being able to change your mind without looking like you failed.

He was quiet for a few seconds.

You’re talking about college?

No.

Then you’re talking about college.

Mel turned toward him.

You still do that.

Do what?

Think you understand what I didn’t say.

Theo rested his arms on his knees.

I know you.

You knew me.

The words came out harsher than she intended.

For a moment, she thought he would joke or push back.

Theo only nodded.

Fair.

The ease with which he accepted it left Mel without an answer.

Mr. Raul, at the helm, displayed impressive concentration on the horizon for someone who was almost certainly listening to every word.

Mel looked back toward the coast.

Why that theme?

Which one?

People who stay.

Theo took a moment.

Because everyone talks about the people who leave.

And?

Almost no one asks why someone stays.

Maybe because it’s less interesting.

Or because we assume staying doesn’t take courage.

Mel looked at him.

Theo had already raised the camera again.

Was that rehearsed?

Did it sound good?

Annoyingly good.

Then yes.

She shook her head, but smiled.

A few minutes later, they reached a small cove sheltered by rocks. Theo jumped off first and tied the boat to the short pier.

Mel helped Mr. Raul pull out a crate of nets stored beneath an awning. The second was wedged behind a wooden bench that looked as if it had not been moved in years.

Theo — Raul called. — Instead of filming the decline of my spine, come help.

Theo switched off the camera.

That would make a great short film.

And a great reason for me to make you swim back.

Mel laughed.

The three of them pushed the bench. The moment it moved, a small rusty tin fell to the floor.

It made a metallic clatter.

Mel crouched first.

Is this yours?

Mr. Raul glanced at it.

If it was on the Esperança, it’s probably yours. Both of yours.

Theo stepped closer.

On the lid, written in permanent marker that had almost faded away, were two letters.

M + T

Mel went still.

No.

Theo’s eyes widened.

I can’t believe it.

Don’t open it.

He was already opening it.

Theo!

Too late.

Inside were folded papers, two broken keychains, a few shells, a bracelet made of blue thread, and a note covered in clear tape.

Theo picked up the bracelet.

I made this.

It was awful.

You wore it for months.

I was thirteen. I had no standards.

You’re still cruel.

Mel pulled out the note.

At the top, in the crooked handwriting of a thirteen-year-old girl, it read:

THINGS TO DO BEFORE EIGHTEEN

She let out an incredulous laugh.

I had completely forgotten about this.

I hadn’t.

Mel looked at him.

Theo corrected himself:

I mean... I remembered it existed. I didn’t remember where it was.

Sure.

He leaned closer to read over her shoulder.

Below the title were ten items.

1. Sleep on the beach without getting caught by the adults.
2. Eat four flavors of ice cream in the same day.
3. Watch the sunrise at Ponta do Farol.
4. Get caught in the rain on purpose.
5. Learn to steer the Esperança.
6. Go to a party in another town.
7. Spend twenty-four hours without a phone.
8. Tell a secret that feels scary to say out loud.
9. Leave without forgetting this place.
10. Do something neither of us will be able to explain afterward.

Theo pointed to the last one.

Number ten is incredibly specific and completely useless.

You wrote that.

How do you know?

I was thirteen and I already knew how to use punctuation.

Is that argument going to haunt me forever?

Probably.

Mel ran her thumb over the paper.

Some of the items had small pen marks beside them.

Others were still blank.

Suddenly, it stopped being only funny.

It was strange to find such an old version of the two of them tucked away inside a tin.

Two teenagers convinced that eighteen was far too distant an age to ever feel real.

We never finished it — she said.

We also weren’t eighteen.

We are now.

I’m nineteen.

Technically, you missed the deadline.

Theo took the list from her hands and read it again.

You haven’t.

Mel’s smile faded.

I have seventy-one days before I leave.

Theo looked up.

Yesterday it was seventy-two.

Congratulations on the math.

There’s time.

For what?

He lifted the paper.

To finish it.

Mel laughed.

You came back two days ago and now you want to pick up a list we made when we were thirteen.

I’m not saying it’s a good idea.

That doesn’t make your proposal any better.

Number ten practically requires a bad idea.

She tried to keep a straight face.

She failed.

Theo smiled, and for a few seconds it was frighteningly easy to remember what things had been like before.

Mr. Raul walked past them carrying the second crate.

If you two are going to discuss adolescence, do it while helping.

Theo picked up one of the nets.

Did you know this was here?

I’m old enough to know that some things are meant to be found at the right time.

Mel narrowed her eyes.

That sounds like the answer of someone who knew.

It certainly does.

And he kept walking.

Your grandfather has gotten mysterious — Mel murmured.

He always was. He just got older and realized he can call it wisdom now.

On the way back, the tin stayed on Mel’s lap.

Theo set the camera on the bench and began interviewing his grandfather.

He asked how long he had owned the boat, what his longest trip had been, why he had never sold the Esperança, and whether he had ever thought about living somewhere else.

Mr. Raul answered everything without looking directly into the lens.

Did you ever want to leave? — Theo asked.

Raul spent a few seconds looking at the horizon.

Everyone does at some point.

Then why did you stay?

Because I stayed.

Theo smiled.

Terrible answer for a documentary.

Ask a better question.

Mel muffled a laugh.

Theo tried again.

Do you think people stay because they love a place?

Mr. Raul thought about it.

Sometimes.

And the other times?

The boat moved slowly over the water.

Raul rested one hand on the helm.

No place is beautiful when you’re forced to stay there.

Mel lifted her head.

Theo did too.

Mr. Raul continued:

Beauty needs an open door.

Theo stayed silent for a moment.

That’s going in the film.

No, it isn’t. My hair is a mess.

The camera is in my hands.

Exactly. You can still delete it.

Mel smiled, but the sentence stayed with her.

Beauty needs an open door.

Maybe that was exactly what no one in Santa Marina understood when she said she wanted to study somewhere else.

As if wanting another place meant rejecting this one.

As if loving the town required staying there forever.

But Mel loved Santa Marina.

She loved the slow mornings, the smell of the sea, the square, Bella Vita, the voices she recognized before she saw the faces.

And precisely because she loved all of it, she wanted to know who she would become away from there.

When they docked, Theo caught hold of the tin before Mel stepped off the boat.

Can I keep this?

She pulled it back.

Not a chance.

Half of it is mine.

The tin was on your grandfather’s boat. Legally, it belongs to him.

Mr. Raul walked between them.

Legally, I want no part of this conversation.

Theo laughed.

Then we share custody.

Mel raised an eyebrow.

How does that work?

One item at a time. Whoever chooses the next one gets the list.

You just invented that rule.

Every tradition starts somewhere.

This isn’t a tradition.

Yet.

Mel looked at the paper again.

The sensible thing would have been to put the tin away, go back to the ice cream shop, and forget the whole idea.

She already had one countdown.

She did not need a second list complicating her days.

Instead, she took the blue bracelet from the tin and handed it to Theo.

You start.

He looked at the bracelet, then at her.

There was something different in his expression.

Satisfaction, maybe.

Or surprise that she had agreed so easily.

Theo looked back at the list.

Ponta do Farol.

What?

Number three. Sunrise.

I open the ice cream shop tomorrow.

The day after tomorrow.

That too.

Do you open every day?

Almost.

He thought for a moment.

Then before you open.

Mel stared at the sky, already far too bright for any conversation about sunrise.

You do know that means waking up at four-thirty in the morning.

I live with a fisherman.

I work with ice cream. We’re different species.

Theo held out his hand.

Day after tomorrow. Four-thirty.

Mel looked at his hand.

The list looked like nothing more than an old piece of paper.

A teenage game.

Ten things they had written before they understood what it meant to leave, to come back, or to miss someone.

Maybe that was exactly what made it dangerous.

She shook his hand.

Four forty-five.

Four-thirty.

Four-forty.

Deal.

He took one second longer than necessary to let go of her hand.

Mel pretended not to notice.

So did Theo.

When she returned to Bella Vita, the lunch rush had already begun.

Aunt Léa asked no questions.

Coming from her, that was far more suspicious than any interrogation.

Mel worked until late afternoon trying not to think about the list inside her bag.

It did not work.

Whenever there were a few seconds of silence, she remembered number ten.

Or Mr. Raul’s words.

Or Theo’s hand holding hers a little longer than necessary.

But number three was the one that kept insisting.

Watch the sunrise at Ponta do Farol.

At the end of her shift, Mel opened the blue notebook.

She crossed out 71 and wrote 70.

Seventy days until Santos.

Seventy days until college.

Seventy days until she left behind the town she knew so well that sometimes it seemed to know every possible version of her too.

Right beneath it, she wrote:

3. Ponta do Farol — day after tomorrow, 4:40 a.m.

She stared at the line.

It was only a sunrise.

Only one item on a list they had written at thirteen.

Only Theo stepping back into spaces she had spent eighteen months learning to leave empty.

Mel closed the notebook.

Her phone buzzed on the counter.

Theo.

She hesitated before opening the message.

 

About Ponta do Farol... I need to tell you something.

Mel frowned.

The three dots appeared on the screen.

They disappeared.

They came back.

Then another message arrived.

 

Actually, I should have told you a year and a half ago.

Her heart beat faster.

Mel began typing what?, then deleted it before sending.

The third message arrived first.

 

You never knew why I didn’t come to the square that last night.

Mel stopped.

For eighteen months, she had believed she knew.

Theo had simply chosen not to show up.

It was the only version that made sense.

Or at least it had been until that moment.

Another message appeared on the screen.

 

I’ll tell you when the sun rises. But there’s something you need to know first.

Mel waited.

The three dots appeared.

They disappeared.

They came back.

She held her breath.

Then one final message arrived.

 

That night, I didn’t go to the square because I...