The alarm went off at 6:12 a.m. Not 6:15, as Fábio had intended, because he’d set it incorrectly the night before—too nervous to get anything right, including his own fingers.
He sat up in bed and stared at the ceiling of his tiny studio apartment for about ten seconds, as if the ceiling might tell him something useful. It didn’t. There was a damp stain in the corner that looked like a map of Italy, and Fábio had memorized every detail of it during the sleepless nights when he couldn’t drift off.
Today was his first day as an intern at Monteiro Tech.
He repeated that to himself while brushing his teeth, while putting on the dress shirt his mother had mailed him with a note that read, “You’re going to do great, my son. Eat properly.” And while trying to tame his brown hair, which insisted on falling over his forehead as if it had a mind of its own.
He looked at himself in the bathroom mirror. The shirt was a little too big around the shoulders. His sneakers were the same old pair, worn at the sides but clean. The backpack hanging from the chair had seen better days, but it held his laptop, charger, and three pens—because Fábio was the kind of person who brought three pens to a technology internship.
“You’ve got this,” he told his reflection.
His reflection didn’t look convinced.
He left the apartment at 7:15 a.m., walked down the four flights of stairs because the building’s elevator had been broken since March, and headed toward the subway station with his heart beating a little too fast. São Paulo was already awake, noisy, and packed with people who looked like they hadn’t slept well either. Fábio squeezed into the crowded train car and gripped the overhead rail with his sweaty hand, mentally rehearsing what he would say when he arrived.
“Good morning, my name is Fábio Reis, and I’m the new intern.”
Simple. Direct. Impossible to get wrong.
He got it wrong.
When he arrived at the Monteiro Tech reception area—a huge glass-and-steel lobby that looked like something out of a science fiction movie—he tripped over his own foot while going through the turnstile and nearly dropped the cup of coffee he’d bought on the corner. The coffee survived. His dignity, not so much.
The receptionist raised an eyebrow.
“Fábio Reis,” he said, slightly out of breath. “New intern. Computer Engineering. First day. Sorry.”
She smiled with the practiced politeness of someone who had already seen plenty of interns trip over that very same turnstile.
“Twelfth floor. The others are already there.”
Fábio thanked her, stepped into the elevator, and pressed the button with the finger that wasn’t holding his coffee. The elevator was quiet, fast, and smelled of something expensive he couldn’t name. He watched the numbers climb on the display and tried to control his breathing.
When the doors opened, he found himself facing a spacious, brightly lit corridor with neatly arranged desks and enormous screens on the walls displaying graphs he couldn’t understand. A group of about six young people stood gathered near a coffee station, all wearing the same first-day expression. Fábio felt an immediate wave of relief—he wasn’t the only one who looked lost.
“Hey.” A tall guy with dark skin and a wide smile waved at him. “You an intern too?”
“Is it that obvious?”
“Dude, you’re holding your coffee like it’s a shield. Yeah, it’s obvious.” The guy laughed and held out his hand. “Lucas. Lucas Tavares. Computer Science, third year.”
“Fábio. Computer Engineering, second year.”
“Second year? You’re a baby.” Lucas gave him a light slap on the shoulder. “Relax. I got here twenty minutes early and already spilled water on my pants. Look.” He pointed to a dark stain on his thigh. “Looks like I pissed myself. We’re in the same boat.”
Fábio laughed. It was the first time he’d laughed that day, and the knot in his stomach loosened a little.
The interns were led into a conference room with swivel chairs and a projection screen. A sharp-eyed woman with short hair introduced herself as Marina Lopes, the project manager, and began explaining the internship program with the efficiency of someone who had done it many times before. Fábio took notes on everything. Lucas doodled a stick figure in the corner of his notebook.
“Before we continue,” Marina said, glancing at her watch, “the company’s CEO will stop by to welcome you. He makes a point of meeting every group of interns personally.”
Fábio barely had time to process that information.
The conference room door opened, and Alexander Monteiro walked in.
The first thing Fábio noticed was his height. Then his suit—a dark, impeccably tailored one that fit his shoulders as if it had been sewn directly onto him. Then his face. A defined jaw, dark hair swept back with calculated carelessness, and eyes of a color Fábio couldn’t quite make out from a distance—somewhere between brown and green, as if they hadn’t made up their minds.
Alexander Monteiro was thirty-six years old and looked like the kind of man who had been born knowing exactly what to do with his hands.
“Good morning.” His voice was deep and calm, carrying a confidence that didn’t need volume. “Welcome to Monteiro Tech. I’m Alexander Monteiro.”
Fábio forgot to breathe for about two seconds.
It wasn’t just that he was handsome. He had the kind of presence that seemed to rearrange the entire room. The other interns straightened in their chairs. Lucas stopped drawing. Marina folded her arms with a faint smile, as if she already knew the effect he had on people.
Alexander spoke for about five minutes. About the company, about innovation, about how the internship program was a doorway, not a test. Fábio listened to every word, but if someone had asked him afterward what exactly the CEO had said, he wouldn’t have been able to repeat a single thing. He was far too busy trying not to stare—and failing miserably.
When Alexander finished, he walked around the room, shaking each intern’s hand. One by one. Looking them in the eye and saying their names as if he intended to remember them.
Then he reached Fábio.
“Fábio Reis.” Alexander read his name from his badge and held out his hand.
Fábio shook it. His hand was firm, warm, and larger than Fábio’s own.
“Welcome.”
“Thank you, Mr. Monteiro.”
Alexander held his gaze for a second longer than he had with the others. Or perhaps Fábio had imagined it. He probably had. He definitely had.
Then Alexander moved on to the next intern, and the moment was over.
But Fábio’s hand kept tingling.
The rest of the day passed in a blur of introductions, system passwords, an office tour, and lunch in the cafeteria with Lucas, who had already adopted Fábio as his best friend with the ease of someone taking in a stray dog off the street.
“So, what did you think?” Lucas asked, shoveling rice into his mouth.
“Of what?”
“Everything. The company. The internship. The hot CEO.”
Fábio choked on his juice.
“What?”
“Dude, don’t pretend. Everyone noticed. The man looks like he belongs on a magazine cover.” Lucas shrugged. “I’m straight, and I can admit that. No shame whatsoever.”
“I didn’t… I didn’t notice.”
“Fábio, you turned red when he shook your hand.”
“It’s hot in here.”
“We’re in an air-conditioned room.”
Fábio buried his face in his glass of juice and changed the subject.
At six in the evening, he took the elevator down. He was alone. The doors were almost closed when a hand appeared in the gap, making them slide open again.
Alexander Monteiro stepped inside.
They were alone.
For a moment, Fábio felt as if the floor had disappeared beneath his feet. He stared at the numbers on the display as though they were the most fascinating things in the universe. The elevator smelled of that fragrance he hadn’t been able to identify earlier—now he knew where it came from.
They descended in silence. Thirty floors. Fábio counted every single one.
On the fifteenth floor, Alexander loosened his tie with a casual gesture, and Fábio made the mistake of glancing at him from the corner of his eye. It was a simple movement, but there was something about it—the fabric sliding, those long fingers tugging at the knot—that made Fábio look away so quickly he nearly twisted his neck.
The doors opened on the ground floor.
“Good evening, Reis,” Alexander said without looking at him, already walking toward the exit.
“Good evening,” Fábio replied half a second too late, speaking to the man’s back.
He stepped outside. São Paulo’s warm, noisy air hit his face. He walked toward the subway station with his legs feeling a little unsteady.
Inside the crowded train car on his way home, he gripped the overhead rail and stared at his own hand—the same hand Alexander had shaken.
It was still tingling.
Or maybe he only imagined it. He wasn’t sure anymore.
He arrived at his tiny apartment, dropped his backpack on the floor, fell onto his bed, and stared at the damp stain on the ceiling.
His phone vibrated. A message from his mother.
“How was your first day, son?”
Fábio typed: “It was good, Mom. I think I’m going to like it here.”
He placed the phone on his chest and closed his eyes. His heart was still beating far too fast, and he didn’t know exactly why.
A lie.
He knew.
He just wasn’t ready to admit it yet.