The airport in Barcelona feels smaller when you've seen enough of the world.
France had been loud, champagne, laughter, my cousins arguing over nothing, my uncles pretending they weren't watching us like hawks. Summer villas. Late nights. No expectations beyond showing up and smiling when required.
Now I'm back.
Standing near the arrivals exit, suit pressed, tie loosened, phone heavy in my hand as I wait for the driver my father insists on sending. I could drive myself. I always can. But in my family, independence is allowed only when it doesn't inconvenience appearances.
People pass me in waves. Tourists. Students. Families reuniting.
Then I feel it.
The impact isn't hard, but it's real, shoulder to chest. Soft where I'm not used to softness.
"I'm sorry."
Her voice is quiet. Warm. Gentle in a way that catches me off guard.
I look down.
She's slightly tall, not fragile but not imposing either. Black hair twisted into a messy bun that looks accidental but perfect, strands escaping like they chose freedom. Her face is beautiful in a way that doesn't try too hard—thin lips, big eyes that look like they have seen too much and still decided to be kind.
Pink top. Soft fabric hugging her waist like it belongs there. Baggy jeans, worn in, comfortable. She looks… real.
I envy her instantly.
She is dressed like she exists for herself.
I'm dressed like I exist for everyone else.
Suit. Watch. Shoes polished within an inch of their life.
"I—" I start to say something. Apologize. Help her pick up the document slipping from her fingers and her Colombian Passport.
But then she looks up.
And I forget what words are.
Her eyes meet mine for half a second too long. There is no recognition. No calculation. Just reflexive politeness.
And that voice again.
Soft. Angelic. Disarming.
I want to say something meaningful. Something normal.
Instead, my phone vibrates.
Father: Tomorrow, there is going be an orientation at the University be present.
The moment fractures.
I could have helped her.
I should have helped her but the driver arrives moments later so I had to leave and get things done.
"¿Cómo está, señor Gael?" he asks as he opens the door. "Todos lo extrañaron."
I sigh, sliding into the back seat.
"Bien," I answer automatically. "Cansado."
The city moves past the window like it always does, beautiful, indifferent. My thoughts drift back to the girl in pink. To the way her voice lingered longer than it should have. To cursing myself why I did not help maybe I could have given her a chance and get to know her. Maybe if she is meant to be I will see her again.
By the time I get home, she was just another stranger, I lie to myself.
Home is exactly as I left it. Too big. Too quiet when it shouldn't be.
I head straight to my room, dropping my jacket, loosening my tie like it's been choking me for hours.
"Gael!"
Daniel's voice echoes down the hall before he appears in my doorway, grin wide, hair a mess.
"You're back," he says. "I'm starting school tomorrow."
I smile despite myself. "Freshman."
"No lo digas así."
"Stay out of trouble," I tell him. "Or I will have to intervene."
He laughs. "Relax. I'm grown up now."
"Your age still ends with teen," I say dryly.
He flips me off and disappears.
The next morning comes too quickly.
Orientation.
I walk into a hall full of freshmen and resist the urge to sigh audibly. My father is already seated in the front row with board members, administrators, people who clap because they are expected to.
I sit beside him. Smile when told. Nod when appropriate.
I am the face of the school.
And I have never felt more invisible.
The first session drags. Applause comes and goes. Names blur.
Then someone says it.
"Valdés."
I stand together with my mom and dad and give a polite wave and smile. That's when I see her.
She's seated in the middle of the crowd. Wearing something blue, soft, vibrant. Her hair is straight now, long and dark down her back. Her lips catch the light, glossy.
She is beautiful in a way that feels intentional now.
Not accidental.
Something sharp and unfamiliar settles in my chest. Ay Dios Mio, I remembered the words I said to myself yesterday. I hope i will not regret setting myself up to the universe.
I don't know her name.
But I know I want to.
The applause fades, replaced by movement of chairs scraping, voices rising, the room finally allowed to breathe. I take advantage of the break to stand, stretching my neck subtly like I haven't just spent the last hour pretending to be interested in things I already know by heart.
I scan the hall again.
She's gone.
The absence irritates me more than it should. I tell myself it's nothing, people move, students leave for the bathroom, life continues but my attention keeps drifting back to the exact seat she occupied, like it's marked.
A lecturer approaches me, hand already extended.
"Gael," he says warmly. "Welcome back."
I shake his hand, smile politely, nod at the right moments. I'm good at this. Too good. The conversation flows without me having to think, my body operating on muscle memory built from years of events like this.
When I look past him again, she's still not there.
Instead, Daniel is.
He's standing a few rows down, talking animatedly to someone just out of my line of sight. I recognize his posture immediately relaxed, open, genuinely engaged. Not performative like mine.
Then the angle shifts. A few moments later Daniel sees me and waves like he saw Maluma. He rushes towards my direction excited to see me and starts talking about how well today is going. Well it is fun for him since he is just starting campus that feeling will brush off just a matter of days. I say to myself while smirking. I try listening to Daniel but I am so exhausted with school for this but something pulled my attention towards the door and I see her again.
She's back in the hall, walking toward her seat. Blue top this time. Her hair is no longer tied up, it falls straight down her back, glossy and unapologetic. Her lips gleam like she has reapplied gloss recently, and for reasons I don't want to examine too closely, that detail lodges itself firmly in my mind.
She sits.
Daniel leans closer to me praising how beautiful she is. My eyes just can't stop looking at her but she notices so that leaves me in tough spot that I have to pretend I am looking at everyone while listening to Daniel.
Daniel calls out her name "Alma!" as he waves at her but this noisy human cannot sit alone he must follow me everywhere. He sits next to me. Alma, I think to myself, soul? her parents really knew how beautiful she will look.
The session resumes, but I barely register it. My eyes keep finding her, even when I tell myself not to. She listens attentively, pen moving across her notebook, brows knitting slightly when something doesn't make sense. She doesn't look bored. She doesn't look impressed. She listens to my speech then looks up again and our eyes meet. Her eyes are angelic.
She looks intent.
When the session ends, chaos erupts.
Students surge forward. Phones come out. Laughter grows louder, higher-pitched. I brace myself instinctively.
Here we go.
Girls surround me like gravity pulled them in hands on my arm, cameras flashing, voices overlapping.
"Just one selfie."
"Gael, over here."
"I love your speech."
"I love your voice."
I smile. I pose. I sign. I do everything expected of me.
But my eyes search the crowd anyway.
She is not there.
Instead, I see her walking toward the exit, bag slung over her shoulder, posture relaxed like she has already decided I'm not worth orbiting.
The realization hits harder than it should.
She is leaving.
Doesn't she like me?
The thought is absurd. Arrogant. Unfounded.
And yet.
Daniel breaks away from the crowd and jogs after her. I watch as he catches up, says something that makes her pause. They laugh. Phones come out.
Numbers exchanged.
Something sharp twists inside me.
What does she see in him that I don't have?
Daniel is charming, yes. Easy. Black hair falling into his eyes, one ear pierced, smile reckless in a way people forgive. He dresses like he doesn't care. Drives his own car. Acts like the world won't ask anything of him.
But I have everything else.
Power. Access. Control.
Why doesn't she look back?
The crowd presses in again, and I wish briefly, irrationally that the floor would open and swallow me whole.
By nightfall, the house feels too quiet again.
I don't eat dinner. I change clothes, trade tailored perfection for something looser, darker. The German girl texts me.
Lena: Where are you?
I sigh.
Lena is… convenient.
Beautiful in a sharp way. Dangerous in a way that never surprises me. She knows the streets. Knows the dealers. Knows which clubs look the other way and which don't.
Her sister owns a strip club near the port.
That's where we go.
The bass vibrates through my bones the moment I step inside. Lights flash. Bodies move. Alcohol flows freely. My friends surround me, seniors who think the future don't owe them something but sleeping with many girls will earn them a value.
Then I see her.
Alma.
She's wearing a dark red slip dress, knee-length, thin straps hugging her shoulders. A leather jacket draped over it like armor she doesn't know she's wearing. Ankle boots. Makeup flawless. Lips dangerous.
She doesn't belong here.
And that's exactly why every head turns.
Oh wait, she is with Daniel. Anger flares hot and fast
One of my friends leans in. "Esa chica es hermosa."
Another adds, "Dicen que es latina."
I say nothing but how did they know she is latina. Am i really interested in her if the only thing i know about her is that she is called Alma from Colombia obviously because why was she holding the Colombian passport and that she is beautiful.
I just watch.
A man approaches her tattooed, older, too confident. Daniel is distracted, making out with a blonde girl near the bar. Jealousy kicks in not fully understanding why but i pushed the girl that was tracing her tongue lazily across my chest, clearly trying to provoke a reaction, but I felt nothing at all. My mind keeps ringing Alma every second and I just want to punch that man that is talking to her but I can't let my intrusive thoughts win.
I don't think.
I move.
I shove the man back hard enough that he stumbles. Grab Daniel by the collar, pulling him away from the girl leaving her stranded and looking at Daniel like there was some unfinished business between them.
"Enough," I snap. "You're leaving."
He shoves me back. "I'm not a child."
"Your age still ends with teen," I say coldly. "Get in the car."
Alma looks startled as I take her hand. The contact sends a jolt through me warm, real, grounding. I guided her into the passenger seat, making sure she was settled before clicking the seat belt into place.
Lena storms toward us, eyes blazing.
"What the hell is this?" she snaps in German.
I ignore her and start driving.
Daniel yells the entire way. Alma is quiet, watching the city blur past.
When I drop Daniel off, I turn to her. "Where do you live?"
El edificio está en la calle frente a la escuela, número 214. She says. I honestly love how she speaks Spanish.
I drive past it.
She starts talking not even noticing that i drove past her apartment. I just wanted to hear her voice, to steal a few moments with her before dropping her off. I didn't know if I'd ever get the chance to speak to her again. She talks about Colombia, how her mother has a lot of debts. Mentioned her father who drinks and hits her mother without caring if the kids can see. A mother who survives and siblings; Mateo and Mila. About her leaving Colombia because staying there meant drowning her.
At some point, she starts crying.
I pull over.
She collapses into me when I hug her, skin soft, hair smelling like something floral and dangerous. I remove the seat belt to make sure she is comfortable. I tell her she can't change her past by crying, only by chasing her future.
She looks up at me and says, "Okay, dad," jokingly.
My heart skips a beat.
She looks at my mouth like she wants to kiss me.
I want it too yes but I don't.
I push her back gently. Buckle her seatbelt. She looks at me confused of my actions. "Aren't you the guy who had a girl seducing you with her tongue? All over your chest?" She says. I started smiling, thinking to myself that she had noticed me.
"I can't do that, not while you're drunk. I don't want you to hate me tomorrow. I want to make good use of you once you get better," I said, teasing, letting out a soft chuckle.
She hit my chest gently, playfully, but kept her body close. Her beautiful eyes roamed over me, and I could see everything she wanted. I knew exactly what she wanted—but I couldn't give it to her. Not yet. I had to drive.
When I drop her off, I kiss her forehead.
"Behave," I tell her softly.
She watches me leave.
Later, I sit in my car, door open while smoking my vape.
Thinking about Alma and the stories she told me, about how unfair life has been to her.
Lena calls, shouting in German and I tell her I'm coming and stop talking to me in German not unless you want to teach me.
I go to her, the air between us thick with tension. Clothes came off slowly, almost ceremoniously, as our bodies pressed closer. Our lips met in a long, teasing kiss, hands exploring, the silent seduction hanging in the room.
But I couldn't sleep. My mind kept ringing with thoughts of Alma every moment. Lena's soft snoring made it worse I never liked the way she acted like she owned me when we weren't even dating.
The birds outside chirped, my signal to leave and get ready for the day.
Back home, breakfast is loud.
My mother Isabel smiles, "Buenos días, hijo."
"Morning, mamá."
Daniel comes down the stairs and one can tell he has a hangover. He asks about Alma.
"I don't know," I say. "Dropped her off last night and went on with my night"
"How about you call her."
I head upstairs after tapping Daniel on the back, telling him to eat and rest. The smell of eggs and toast downstairs doesn't tempt me. I've already been awake too long, thinking too much, running through the chaos of last night and the questions I can't ask out loud.
I glance at my phone and remembered I don't have Alma's Number. Not even a clue. I could ask Daniel for her number, but something in me resists. I don't want to depend on anyone else to get information about her. This is… mine.
I shower, letting the water wake me fully. Steam rises against the tiles as water runs through my short, blonde faux-hawk and I close my eyes, imagining the warmth of her hair, the softness of her voice. It's stupid. Dangerous. I tell myself to stop. I tell myself that she's just a freshman, a girl I happened to notice.
Breakfast downstairs is barely tolerable. Daniel is munching mechanically, groaning occasionally. I push toast aside, sip black coffee, and pretend the conversation is mundane. My mind keeps drifting. I can't let it.
Then I make a decision.
I grab my keys, slip into my car, and drive to where I know she lives. The streets of Barcelona blur past, sunlight bouncing off buildings, early-morning commuters in their rhythms but nothing registers. Only her.
When I arrive, I park and approach the door, knock once. A soft click of disbelief as it opens.
She's there. Alma Cruz. Slightly taller than I expected, black hair messy but still perfect, eyes wide as if she's just seen something dangerous… and she has. Me.
"Gael?" she says, a hint of confusion in her soft voice.
I step inside lightly, careful not to overstay as my gaze scanned the whole room.
"I came to check in on you," I say, producing a small container of fresh food. "Figured you might be alone. Thought you would need this. For the hangover."
She blinks, holding the door slightly open as if unsure if I was okay or not. I ignore the question in her eyes. I don't linger.
Before I leave, I glance at her, voice even but firm.
"Give me your contact. I will need to check in again."
Her lips part, but no words come. She takes my phone and dials her number there not sure if I will ever reach out. I'm gone before she can blink properly.
She stands there, staring after me, holding the food like it's a bomb, utterly speechless.
Did I just… get owned without signing a contract?
I don't answer that. I just drive away, hands tight on the wheel, heart quietly thudding in a way that makes me think she might be the only person capable of stealing my focus like this.
And for once, I didn't apologize. I picked up my phone carefully, staring at her number, and a slow smile tugged at my lips it felt like Drake himself was riding shotgun. I saved the contact, typed in Alma, and let the smile take over completely. Before I knew it, I was driving through the streets of Barcelona, the breeze brushing against me, and I didn't want the moment to end.