Now, sitting in their shared apartment, Clara opened the .m4a file again. She skipped to the three-minute mark. If she listened closely, past Matheus & Kauan’s harmonies, she could hear a faint, distorted laugh buried in the track.

As the live track faded into the sound of recorded applause, they stayed right there—two people who became a 'we' simply because they happened to stand in the same row, under the same song, at the exact right time. Que sorte a nossa.

Every time she hit play, the first thing she heard wasn’t the guitar, but the roar of ten thousand people. It was a wall of sound that smelled like summer rain and cheap stadium beer. It was the sound of the night her life shifted.