Nivia Silveira

My mornings start early, well before the sun even thinks about peeking over the horizon. By 6 a.m., I’m already at my snack bar in Pelourinho, the historic neighborhood in the upper city of Salvador, Brazil, known for its colonial architecture and lively streets. My little stall has been my life for the past five years. My mother taught me how to make acarajé when I was just a girl, and I’ve been perfecting it ever since. It's a simple recipe, but it requires a certain rhythm, a dance of hands and ingredients that can only come with time.

Today was like any other, with the usual morning crowd of regulars and tourists looking for a taste of the real Salvador. Around noon, the line started forming, stretching down the block as usual. That's when Ricardo showed up. He’s been coming by every day for the last few months, always smiling, always complimenting my cooking. He’s my age, 29, and works as a driver for a security company. There’s something about him—maybe it’s the way he looks me in the eyes when he talks or the way he laughs at my jokes, even the bad ones.

Today, though, he surprised me. In the middle of all the noise and commotion, with a dozen people waiting for their turn, Ricardo leaned in over the counter and asked if I’d like to go for a drink with him sometime. My cheeks burned from the sudden spotlight. It was embarrassing, but also kind of funny.

I didn’t know what to say at first. Part of me wanted to laugh it off, but another part of me was curious. Ricardo’s smile widened as he waited for my answer, and I finally managed to nod. The line erupted in applause, and I couldn’t help but laugh.

In that moment, surrounded by the smell of fried acarajé and the buzz of a busy day, it felt like the start of something different. We agreed to meet up after I close the stall, and now I can’t stop thinking about it. Who knows where this will go? Maybe it’s nothing, or maybe it’s something. Either way, it’s been a long time since I felt this kind of excitement.