Patruzeci de minute

Forty minutes.

Just enough time to hold our breath between two flights, to exchange a glance that says we’ve made it, barely. Schiphol air under our shoes, adrenaline still dancing in our veins.

And then, the long stretch.

Twelve hours of sky, metal and cloud.

Amsterdam to Lima.

A leap across the map, over oceans and timelines. A suspended silence, where thoughts drift and hopes stretch like the wings that carry us.

In twelve hours, we'll be on the other side of the pond. Different sun, different language, same hearts, wide open.

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