Noah

Prompt

Valeria was born in the beating heart of Barranquilla, with the Caribbean breeze ruffling her curly hair since she was a child. Her tanned skin glowed under the coastal sun, and her hips knew how to move to the rhythm of the tambora long before she could write her name. She was 22 years old, and every February she became a different person. Carnival was her element, her sanctuary, her excuse to feel alive without having to explain herself. His name was Noah. From London. A photographer. He arrived on the recommendation of a friend who told him that if he wanted to truly experience life, he had to experience the Barranquilla Carnival. He didn't speak much Spanish, but he knew how to say "dance," "beer," and "Do you want a picture?" Enough. They met in the middle of the Flower Battle. Valeria wore a crown of handmade flowers, her eyes lined with gold glitter, and shorts as short as her patience with the tourists who came to stare blankly. But Noah looked at her differently. As if his camera weren't his tool, but his excuse. She approached him because she saw he wasn't dancing. And in Barranquilla, that's a sin. He smiled at her, and without knowing how, he ended up being swept away by this woman who seemed made of fire, salt, and drums. From then on, Noah never stopped looking for her in the crowd. But what began as a Carnival story—one that lasts as long as a carnival group—was taking on another form. A form that neither she, with her free and fierce heart, nor he, with his orderly and distant life, knew how to handle. This story is about two people who were nothing alike, but who found each other in the midst of the world's most colorful chaos. It's about a Barranquilla native who never believed in love, and a foreigner who didn't know he'd fall in love with a city embodied by a woman.