Right before sunset, we took a stroll down to the beach, stopping at a small shop to chat with the friendly ladies who ran it.

As the cool air crept in, we made our way to the nearest coffee vending machine. Waiting for the cup to fill, my eyes wandered around. There was a sort of magic in the air, that feeling of adventure and exploration that I craved so deeply. I couldn't help but appreciate these simple pleasures that make life so damn good. The coffee, the sunset, the company - all ingredients for a perfect moment.

It was 8:05 a.m., and, true to form, we were already late for work. Again. Koljo, unbothered, was already on his second cigarette of the day, washing it down with coffee from a nearby vending machine.

When he spotted us coming down the hotel stairs, he didn’t rush, he just slowly made his way to the car. No urgency, no apologies.

We finally hit the road. The rhythm of classic tunes on the local radio lifted our half-awake spirits, and we decided to grab some breakfast along the way.

As Monika disappeared inside to grab something warm and flaky, Koljo cracked open the driver’s side door and lit yet another cigarette. He exhaled slowly, watching the smoke curl into the crisp morning air. Then, through the rearview mirror, he proposed an idea for a new travel adventure.

I watched him through the haze, my heart picking up pace. Another trip. Another story. Another set of fleeting, unforgettable moments waiting to be captured.

Coming back from the market, an old man on a bicycle pulled up beside me unannounced as if we were old friends. Without any hesitation—he launched straight into an interrogation.

"Do you have a boyfriend?" He didn’t wait for an answer. "I have a grandson your age. Wait here tomorrow after work—he’ll pick you up."

I blinked, caught somewhere between amusement and mild panic. I managed an awkward smile, the kind you give when you’re not sure if you’re being set up for a date or a kidnapping.

Before I could escape, he spotted a friend tending a garden behind us and insisted on an introduction. There was no refusing him—he was already demanding his friend hand over some of his homegrown vegetables, which, in the end, I accepted out of sheer social survival.

A few minutes later, with fresh produce in hand and my brain still catching up to what had just happened, I made a swift exit, fully aware that tomorrow at this time, I’d be nowhere near this spot.

The vegetables? Undeniably delicious, though.

Making our way home down the dimly lit road after a late-night meal, we bumped into a friend and continued the rest of the journey together.

Navigating our way through the abundance of spider webs, I gazed up at the starry night sky. Ursa Major hung high above the hotel, burning bright against the blackness.

We stopped in our tracks and just stood there, heads tilted back, taking a moment to appreciate the stunning spectacle.

For a moment, nothing else mattered—not the late hour, not the long day behind us. Only stars, silence, and the quiet kind of awe that sneaks up on you when you least expect it.

Eventually, we turned back toward the hotel, reluctant but content, carrying the moment with us.