I kill the engine under a secluded spot overgrown with trees and brush. As we pull off our helmets, she hesitates, her gaze locks on the jagged rocks ahead, while I help her get off.
“What is this place?”
“I’ll show you.”
It’s completely empty, which is surprising.
Most locals know about this place, but it’s a well-kept secret from most tourists coming this way. Her mouth sags, her gaze drinking in the tags, murals, and random phrases that stretch as far as the eye can see. It’s rebellious, artful, and full of expression. Something I think she’d appreciate.
We keep walking, winding our way to a higher point where the view stretches out across the quarries and beyond. The city skyline looms in the distance. I lean against a boulder, watching her walk to the edge and take it all in.
“This used to be a working quarry. They used the granite to build a lot of the city. Now it’s a place for climbers, artists, and people like us who need to escape for a while,” I explain as a thoughtful expression appears on her face when she turns to me.
“And how often do you come here to escape?”
“Not as often as I should,” I admit, my eyes locking with hers. “But tonight felt like the right time.”
She smiles.
The kind that’s warm and unguarded.
It hits me like a punch to the chest.
“You’re full of surprises, Diego. I’ll give you that.”
Her words reach me, but her gaze doesn’t. Too busy absorbing the quiet beauty of the quarry.
“Stick around, Iz,” I reply, pushing off the rock to collect her in my arms. “You haven’t seen the half of it.”
She doesn’t roll her eyes this time. She just shakes her head with that same soft smile and turns back to the view. The way her profile cuts against the sky, I decide that bringing her here was my best idea of the day.
“Come on.”
I kiss her head before releasing her long enough to capture her hand to guide her to the next.
“There’s one more spot I want to show you.”
The shadows stretch long and deep across the uneven ground. The path dips and curves, and the trees thin as we approach a secluded alcove nestled against the largest rock face. The graffiti here is different. Less chaotic and more intentional. Murals stretch up the stone in sweeping arcs, their vibrant colors blending into intricate designs that almost glow in the fading light.
“This is it.”
I stop, letting her take it in. She steps closer. Her hand hovers over the smooth surface of a sprawling phoenix painted in shades of gold and crimson. Its wings flare wide, and its feathers shimmer like flames against the gray stone. Below it, a quote is scrawled in bold, black script.
Rise again, no matter the fall.
Her fingers trail just above the paint, careful not to touch, her breath hitching in the quiet.
“It’s beautiful,” she whispers, the words almost lost to the wind.
“I discovered this hiking with my physical therapist. He thought the uneven terrain would be good for building my stability muscles, and then we found this. It’s sort of my mantra.”
“It suits you, especially after. . .”
She turns to look at me, her eyes soft, and something about how she says it pulls tight at my chest. I squeeze her hand, grateful for the moment but not wanting to linger too long in the fading light. The descent is already challenging.
“It’s getting dark,” I murmur, letting her have another moment before guiding us back toward the trail.
The descent is quieter, the fading light filtering through the trees, casting everything in a dusky glow. She stays close, her hand firm in mine, neither of us saying much as we retrace our steps to my bike.
