Encosta_te_a_mim -

"I used to tell my Clara the same thing," Elias murmured, looking out at the rain. "When the music was too difficult or the days were too long. Encosta-te a mim. We are just two pillars, you see? Alone, we might tip. Together, we make an arch."

"The 500 bus is delayed," Elias said softly, his voice gravelly but kind. "The hills turn into rivers on days like this." encosta_te_a_mim

As the bus pulled away, Elias remained under the arch. He felt a little lighter. He realized that "leaning" wasn't just for the weak; it was the way the world stayed upright. He picked up his cello, felt the familiar weight of it, and realized that as long as there was someone left to lean on—or someone to offer a shoulder—the storm was just weather. "I used to tell my Clara the same

When the bus finally roared through the puddles, the girl stood up. She looked drier, somehow, though her clothes were still soaked. She looked at Elias and reached out, squeezing his hand—a brief, firm connection. "Obrigada," she whispered. We are just two pillars, you see