A millionaire stopped there to grab a bite to eat… but found the love of his life on the side of the road…
If a millionaire swore he lost his way because of a chicken croquette, you’d laugh. Until you saw Renato braking his black sedan in the dust of the Serra do Ipê, as if someone invisible had pulled the brakes of destiny.
He was coming from Santa Marina, expensive suit, cell phone vibrating, head full of thoughts. He stopped just to grab a quick bite at a blue canvas stall. But behind the steaming tray, a girl in a flowery apron turned her face… and his world went silent.
— Good afternoon. Want to try some? — she asked, without the slightest sign of amazement.
Renato swallowed hard. — I do… What’s your name?
— Isadora. And yours, city boy?
He almost said “it doesn’t matter,” but the truth slipped out: — Renato. And today I needed to breathe.
The first bite was crunchy, warm, honest. The second was already an excuse to stay. Isadora recounted how she learned to fry from her mother, who dreamed of owning a real snack bar, but how life became difficult after her mother passed away. Renato, without realizing it, revealed what he hid even from friends: a huge apartment, too quiet, and days so full that there was no room left to feel.
When a truck passed by, kicking up dust, she coughed. Renato offered her water, and their fingers touched for a second. It was brief, but it was as if the whole road had seen it.
In the following days, he returned. Always. He traded meetings for that plastic chair in the shade. And Isadora, feigning normalcy, would set aside a tray “for organization.” Until, one cooler morning, she was serious.
“My brother didn’t like it…” she confessed. “He thinks you’re going to leave out of nowhere.”
Renato felt his chest tighten. “And you believe that?”
She stared at the floor. “I’m afraid of what might happen.”
She wanted to believe him, but the previous night had been filled with arguments at home. Her brother had recalled stories of rich men who play around and then disappear. Renato listened without defending himself. He took a simple wooden keychain from his pocket and placed it on the table. “It’s from my childhood. If I fail, you throw it away.” Isadora squeezed the gift and felt afraid to give in.
There, amidst the smell of coffee and hot oil, Renato understood that love isn’t a promise of luxury, it’s a promise of presence. He didn’t touch her; he only left his hand on the table, near hers, as if offering peace.
“Then let’s go at your pace. I don’t want to hurt you. I want to build.”
Isadora took a deep breath, as if choosing courage. “Will you stay today?
” “I will. And tomorrow too, if you want.”
The sun rose, the customers came and went, and, at the end of the afternoon, she closed the stall. Renato helped fold the blue tarp, tying the ropes as if tying up a future. Before getting into the car, he said softly, without pretense:
“Serra do Ipê has become my place.”
Isadora smiled, finally whole. — Then don’t disappear.
Renato nodded. And, as he slowly drove away, the road seemed less dusty and more like a path. Because sometimes destiny doesn’t shout… it just sets up a simple tent in the middle of your rush and waits for you to stop.
“If you believe that no pain is greater than God’s promise, comment: I BELIEVE! And also say: from which city are you watching us?”