I had met her in the city of oranges. We had both joined the advertising agency, and we were kind of new in that world. Yes, we had been around people connected to the business. She had graduated in marketing and advertising, and I had worked in radio. But we weren’t experts.

Those coincidences brought us closer. And to top it off, they assigned us projects where both of us were involved. We made a good team. Three more people joined that team — two girls and a guy. We worked, we had fun, and we made money.

Since I was the one with a car, they always came to me to help with the rides. Basically, I was the driver. I was never selfish, so I never said no. I wasn’t going to break apart for giving them a ride.

Suddenly, I realized that I kept leaving her last, no matter whether her house was far or not. I dropped everyone else off first, and she was always the last stop. That gave me a chance to talk more with her, to invite her for a coffee, an ice cream, whatever. I just loved being with her — and besides, that woman was insanely hot.

One afternoon, as usual, I took her home so she could have lunch. I needed a haircut. When she went to get out of the car, she did the usual farewell ritual: the goodbye kiss, just a simple kiss on the cheek. But that day the devil was loose — and I stole a kiss from her. Our lips collided, and I swear: I saw a flash, like when an angel comes down. I was speechless, frozen — and she laughed and said goodbye, stuttering.

That’s when a beautiful relationship started. We were coworkers — and partners in life. One day, I told her I didn’t want to live in the little orange city anymore, that I didn’t see my goals happening there, and that the best thing was for me to move to the capital because opportunities were everywhere. And the funny girl said she would go with me. I didn’t take her seriously — I said goodbye anyway. Turns out she wasn’t lying.

One week after I moved, the crazy one called me and told me she was already in the capital — she had moved in with her cousins in Altamira. The news almost gave me hiccups. It made me happy — and scared me at the same time. We went out again, doing the delicious little things people do when they go out, and one day we got the idea to go to Parque del Este. Like two innocent kids.

We walked, we jogged, we ate — and somehow we ended up in the grass. Suddenly, there were hugs, some kisses, and I told her: “I love you, negra.”

Damn it… the “black one” was my ex. She was blonde.

And the referee screamed: Own goal!

That’s it — my five minutes are up.