The road back home was a whirlwind of emotions. As I drove down the winding road that took me away from the mountains, the image of Adrian wouldn't stop dancing in my mind: his laughter, the warmth of his hands, the way his green eyes seemed to see beyond me, as if they knew a secret I hadn't discovered yet. The connection we had shared on the mountain, so intense and fleeting, had left me with a void I hadn't expected. What had that been? A one-night adventure? Something more? The questions swirled without answers, and each kilometer that took me further away from the summit made my heart feel heavier.

At home, routine tried to claim me, but I couldn't focus. I opened my laptop and, almost by instinct, started searching for Adrian on social media. I only had his first name and a vague description: nature photographer, mountain lover, trimmed beard, and a smile that could melt ice. I searched on Instagram, Twitter, even on hiking forums, typing "Adrian nature photographer" and variations. Nothing. No profile, no photo, no clue. I realized I didn't know his last name, and that small omission now seemed like an abyss. Why hadn't I asked him? I cursed myself for getting caught up in the moment and not thinking practically.

Days passed, and the city, with its noise and rush, only amplified my restlessness. I couldn't get him out of my head. The way he had touched me, how his lips had found mine in the tent's twilight, the whisper of his voice saying my name. It was as if the mountain had woven something between us, something I couldn't ignore. Finally, I made a decision: I would return to the mountain. If fate had brought us together once, maybe it would do so again.

The following weekend, I packed my backpack with more enthusiasm than planning. I didn't know what I expected to find, but the idea of returning to the place where everything had happened filled me with irrational hope. I drove to the same starting point, the trail that had led me to the clearing where I first saw him. As I climbed, each step resonated with memories: the crunch of leaves under our boots, his laughter filling the air, the brush of his hand when he helped me not to fall.

I arrived at the mountain pass at sunset, just as the sky was painted with the same purple and golden hues that had witnessed our night. I set up my tent in the same spot, as if recreating the scene could summon him. I lit a small fire and sat down, waiting, watching the trail with the absurd hope of seeing his figure appear among the trees. But the mountain was silent, more so than I remembered. Only the wind and the crackling of the fire kept me company.

I spent the night there, wrapped in the blanket that still seemed to hold the warmth of his body. At dawn, I explored the surroundings, searching for any sign: a footprint, a note, anything that would tell me Adrian had been there or would return. But there was nothing. The mountain, which had once been a refu...