The Simplest Of Glows

1952, a small village in the north of Portugal. The sun rises slowly, painting the sky in golden hues. The fresh morning breeze sweeps through the narrow streets, carrying the scent of freshly baked bread.

Amid this peaceful scene lives Luriana, a woman with a restless heart and a distant gaze. She works at the village's small grocery store, a place where everyone comes to buy essentials and leaves with a new conversation. Despite being constantly surrounded by people, Luriana feels as if her life repeats itself every day, like a clock that neither lags nor rushes forward.

"Good morning, Miss Luriana!" says Dona Amélia, placing a bag of oranges on the counter.

"Good morning, Dona Amélia," Luriana replies with a polite smile.

The truth is, her smile hasn't had its usual brightness for a while now. Luriana feels as if something is missing in her life, but she can't quite figure out what. Maybe an adventure, maybe a fresh start. Or perhaps just the courage to see life differently.

That afternoon, while arranging the shelves, the shop's bell chimes. She turns around and sees a tall man with a curious expression and slightly disheveled dark hair. He observes the products carefully, as if searching for something beyond just food.

"Can I help you?" Luriana asks, trying to guess who he might be.

"Perhaps," he replies with a smile. "I'm Vicente, I just arrived in the village. I'm looking for a bit of everything, really."

She finds it strange. Who is this man who speaks so openly? Who comes to a grocery store looking for a bit of everything?

Vicente picks out a few apples, a loaf of bread, and a jar of jam. When he approaches the counter, he notices Luriana's thoughtful expression.

"Have you ever noticed how these apples shine in the sunlight?" he asks suddenly, holding one up.

Luriana raises an eyebrow, confused.

"They're just apples."

Vicente chuckles, shaking his head.

"No, they're not just apples. Everything has beauty—if you know how to look. The problem is, sometimes we forget to see."

Luriana doesn't respond. What does he mean by that? Since when does a stranger walk into her grocery store talking about apples as if they were stars?

But, for some reason, his words linger in her mind.

In the following days, Vicente keeps returning. He always buys something simple—fruit, bread, tea. But his presence brings something new into Luriana's life. He speaks of the sea as if it were a friend, of the clouds as if they held secrets. And, little by little, Luriana begins to see him differently.

One afternoon, Vicente walks in carrying a small paper bag.

"This is for you," he says, handing it to her.

Luriana looks at him, skeptical, then opens the bag. Inside, there's a small, blue-covered notebook.

"For writing down the beautiful things you see every day," he explains.

She lets out a small laugh.

"You think I'm a poet now?"

"I think you're someone who has forgotten how to see the beauty around you," Vicente replies, looking at her seriously.

Luriana feels a tightness in her chest. No one had ever said something like that to her before.

That night, for the first time in a long while, she sits by the window and looks at the sky. The stars shine like tiny smiles in the dark. She opens the notebook and, without thinking too much, writes:

"Maybe I've been looking at the world the wrong way. Maybe happiness lies in the little things."