Here's the not-so-long awaited sequel to that clichéd short story I put up a while ago. I wonder if this one is any better...

 Taste 2: Spicy

 

It was another lazy afternoon. The beach seemed crisp and powdery, a shade of bronzed yellow almost, mimicking the voluptuous blondes that were sun-bathing themselves. While the tourists seemed all eyes for the pristine beauty, both natural and otherwise, no one noticed him slip into a wicker chair outside the cabana, overlooking the sea. As the sweet ocean spray wafted in the breeze, Juan España sipped a Cuba Libré, enjoying the breeze. A thin scar ran down his temple, a reminder of his past….

Sao Paolo had always been a discovery for him. The back streets filled with the gaiety of life and the scent of paprika blending in with the maracas, celebrating the vitality of life. And Mardi Gras was just the culmination of the city’s entire energy. She had fallen from heaven, literally, as he had caught her when she fell off her float. One look and he had fallen too, fallen into the passion that seems to run within the very veins of Latin men. She apologised and leapt out of his arms to join the float once again. But he had made his mark and when he lay in bed, he heard the door open and felt her slither in beside him, a smell of paprika and roses melding into him. All night, as the city made merry, they did the same, their passion blazing like the Brazilian sun. The morning brought reality back to them but the bond had been made. He had continued to meet her and their romance blossomed amongst the shaded cafés and streets. She was free-spirited, lively and a woman of impulse and passion, a complete contrast to Juan, who was a quiet, soulful man. Yet they found bliss in their dichotomy as they frolicked all throughout Sao Paolo. The entire world seemed to pale before their love as Juan could not help but dream of their future together. But his dream was shattered one evening when, as they walked back, a hustler stuck a knife in his back and demanded his belongings. Quick as a flash, Juan tried to grasp the man’s wrist and incapacitate him when the hustler swung wildly, scraping his temple. Blinded by his blood for an instant, he did not see him stab her and make off. The world seemed to slow down as he saw the blood gushing from her heart. That night was a blur of activity as he somehow found help to get her to a hospital and rushed her to the Operating Room. He could hear his heart drumming against his chest, blotting out the whole world. All of a sudden, he heard the doors open. All he could make out was the doctor’s silhouette, blood-spattered and ethereal, the light blocking his face…

Juan suddenly felt a hand on his shoulder and a whiff of paprika and roses swept his senses. “You always did love that perfume, didn’t you?” he said, with a hint of smile, looking into the same eyes that had ignited his passion 30 years ago.