I wake the next morning with the taste of tequila still burning at the back of my throat and the memory of Gael's eyes refusing to leave me. The party is gone, the music faded, but the silence between us lingers like smoke.
Last night, I almost kissed him. Almost. The word feels like a wound. My lips still ache from the hesitation, my chest tight from the way he said then regret it.
I regret nothing and everything.
Camilla is sprawled across my couch, hair tangled, still smelling like salt and perfume. Juan's jacket is draped over her like a trophy. Diego is nowhere to be found, probably tangled up with that brown‑haired girl he vanished with.
And Gael? He's the ghost in my head.
I remember the way he blocked my path, the way his hand brushed my hair back like he had the right, the way his body leaned close enough to make me forget my own name. I remember wanting him, hating myself for it, and hating him more for making me want.
Chaos. That's what he is. And I'm already drowning in it.
My phone buzzes again. Mateo. The hospital. Reality slams back into me, harder than the hangover. Mom. Dad. Blood. Teeth. The kind of madness you can't drink away.
I press the phone to my chest, eyes burning. I don't want Gael's concern. I don't want his pity. But I know if he walks through that door, I won't push him away this time.
And that terrifies me more than anything. Camilla wakes late, sunlight spilling across her tangled hair. I'm already in the kitchen, trying to distract myself by preparing something simple to eat. The clatter of pans is louder than it needs to be, maybe I want the noise to drown out my thoughts.
Her phone lights up on the coffee table. A message from Juan. "Yesterday we had the best night I could ever imagine. I want to relive it again."
Camilla smirks, doesn't answer immediately. She stretches, then pads into the kitchen, her grin sharp.
"Alma," she says, leaning against the counter, "last night… I made out with Juan. And I think I might want to explore more with him."
I stir the pan, distracted, the words barely registering. "Okay," I mutter, not really listening.
She frowns, catches the distance in my voice. "What's wrong?"
The question cracks me open. Tears sting my eyes before I can stop them. "Everything," I whisper. "I have to fly back to Colombia. Mom's in the hospital. Dad…" My throat tightens. "I can't stay here."
Camilla's smile falters. "When?"
"Later today. Or tomorrow."
She tries to hide her disappointment, but I see it. I hug her, holding on tight. She asks about school, and I tell her I'll figure it out. I don't know how, but I will.
The food is ready. I set the plate down, and Camilla's eyes light up. It's her favorite, tacos al pastor, simple but perfect, the kind of meal that feels like comfort. She laughs, digs in, and for a moment the heaviness lifts.
We start packing together, clothes tossed into suitcases, voices filling the silence. Camilla can't help herself. "Yesterday, Juan kissed me," she says, her grin wicked. "He pulled me close, his hand on my waist, and then he leaned in like he owned the night."
I groan, push her lightly on the shoulder. "Ay Dios mío."
She laughs, delighted. "And what about you and Gael?"
I dodge the topic, folding clothes with unnecessary precision. "Nothing."
Camilla narrows her eyes. "It's clear you two like each other. I just don't know how to prove it."
"Shut it," I snap, but before the words settle, my phone buzzes.
Gael.
Good morning, princessa.
Camilla sees it, her smile spreading like wildfire. I ignore her, pretend it doesn't matter.
Another text. You need food or you good?
And then another. I wish Camilla wasn't in. I could have come and made you regret knowing me . (with a laughing emoji at the end)
My chest tightens. I type back one cold line: Wow. I think I should take you to flirting class because your chat game is low.
Seconds later, his reply flashes. Who says I was? (with a wink emoji )
The wink emoji burns hotter than it should.
Camilla leans over, eyes sparkling. "Tell him you won't be around."
I shake my head, stubborn. "No. I won't be gone for too long."
She sighs, but I can feel her watching me, waiting for me to admit what I won't say out loud, that Gael's words, his presence, his chaos, are already under my skin.
The suitcase feels heavier than it should. Maybe it's the weight of leaving, maybe it's the weight of everything I can't control. Camilla helps me zip it shut, her smile forced, her eyes betraying disappointment she tries to hide. I hug her tight, whispering promises I don't know if I can keep.
"I'll know what to do," I tell her, though the words taste like lies.
She nods, but her silence says more than agreement.
At the airport, the world blurs. Neon signs, announcements, strangers rushing past. I keep my head down, clutching my phone like it's the only anchor I have left. Mateo's voice echoes in my mind, Mom's in the hospital. Dad's madness.
I board the plane with tears burning my eyes, and I don't look back.
**Gael**
I'm lying on my bed, staring at my phone, waiting for Alma to text. The wait drags longer than usual. Every minute feels heavier, like silence pressing against my chest. I scroll through old messages, wondering if she even likes me, if last night meant anything, or if I'm just imagining the tension between us.
The thought of her apartment clicks in my head. Maybe she's there. Maybe I'll see her, hear her voice, anything to break this emptiness. I grab my car keys and drive, the engine growling like it knows my impatience.
When I arrive, I notice a middle‑aged woman peeking through the window across the street. She looks like a little girl admiring her next‑door crush, eyes wide, curious. I shake my head, push the thought away, and head to Alma's door.
I knock.
Camilla opens, her hair messy, her expression sharp.
"Can I see Alma?" I ask, trying to sound casual, but my voice betrays me.
"She's not around," Camilla says.
I assume she's at work. "Where does she work?"
"Lumen," she replies, leaning against the door frame. "But she's not there. She'll be out for a while."
I persist, my chest tightening. "Where is she?"
Camilla sighs, her eyes softening. "She's on her flight to Colombia."
The words hit me like a blade. "Why?"
Camilla steps aside. "Okay. Come in. You're in for a story."
I follow her inside. She serves me tea, the steam curling between us like smoke. Her voice lowers, heavy with truth.
"Alma's dad… Hector. He likes violence. He beats her mom, Marisol, every time he's disappointed at work. Marisol is his punching bag in human form. And when he's drunk, it's worse."
I grip the cup tighter, the heat burning my palms.
"Marisol has a huge debt," Camilla continues. "That pisses him off even more. And Alma? She's abroad studying while all this is happening. She never liked home. Hector wants to marry her off to the biggest drug dealer back there, just to get dowry money and crawl out of poverty."
My stomach twists. The words feel unreal, but Camilla's tone leaves no room for doubt.
"Why can't they divorce?" I ask, my voice rough.
Camilla shakes her head. "It's not easy. It would bring disgrace to them both. And they can't even afford a lawyer."
I run my hand through my hair, frustration burning in my chest. I know people come from poverty, but I never imagined Alma's story would be like this. It's traumatizing just to hear it. And suddenly, last night makes sense, the drinking, the chaos, the way she carries herself like she's always braced for impact.
Camilla watches me, her eyes narrowing. "Don't stress yourself. I can give you her address back in Colombia. You could visit her."
Her words hang in the air, heavy with possibility. I stare into my tea, my mind racing. Alma isn't just chaos. She's surviving a storm I never saw coming. And now, I understand why she fights so hard, why she never lets anyone too close.
But I want to.
And I know I can't let her face that storm alone.
I can't sit still. I really want to know how Alma is doing. Camilla gave me her address yesterday and my minds keeps thinking about what Camilla shared yesterday. I then spot Daniel playing video games on the TV and I approach him. I asked about Alma and he told me that he does know she is in Colombia. She had called him before she left. That made me wonder why she just told him but not me. Then I think to myself if I go alone, she will fight me. She always does. But if Daniel is there, her best friend, her anchor, maybe she will listen. Maybe she won't see me as the enemy.
"Come with me," I tell Daniel, my voice firm. "If things get bad, she will need you. She trusts you."
He hesitates, then nods. And just like that, the decision is made. Colombia.
The flight is long, but my mind is louder than the engines. I post a photo when we land nothing dramatic, just the skyline, a caption that says Cali. I don't know why I do it. Maybe I want her to see. Maybe I want her to know I'm here.
And she does. She likes my story. For a minute it made me nervous but whatever happens happens.
Alma has seen the post. I imagine her eyes widening, her breath catching. She wonders. She always wonders.
Minutes later, Daniel's phone rings. Alma.
I watch him answer, his voice soft, familiar. "Yeah, Alma. We're here. In Colombia."
Her laugh filters through the speaker, warm, relieved. She talks to him like the world isn't burning, like she can breathe again.
I stand there, listening, my chest tightening. She never talks to me like that. With me, it's always sharp edges — fights, silence, tension. Never softness. Never ease.
And I hate it. Low-key, I hate it. Because Daniel sounds like he belongs in her world, and I'm just the storm she keeps trying to escape.
She sends him her location.
Daniel shows me the screen, and without hesitation, I grab the keys. "Let's go."
I don't care if she's ready to see me. I don't care if she fights me again. She's here, and I'm not letting her face this alone.
The house is small compared to my parents' mansion, but it feels alive in a way the mansion never does. Warm. Close. A place built for love, even if chaos lives inside it. Alma lets us in, her eyes flicking toward me with that mix of hesitation and defiance that always leaves me unsteady.
She introduces us quickly. "This is Mateo, my brother. And Mila, my little sister."
Daniel grins, looking around. "The Cruz are so beautiful. Guapos."
Mila tilts her head, curious. "Daniel… are you Alma's boyfriend?"
Alma bursts into laughter, Daniel joining her, the sound filling the room. My chest tightens. She never laughs like that with me.
Daniel smirks, playful. "No. But do you want me to be?" He says it jokingly, but the words sting.
I clear my throat, sharp, capturing everyone's attention.
Mateo studies me, his eyes narrowing. "Is it this one? The guy in the quarter‑zip sweater and white pants? Blonde hair?"
Alma turns to me, her gaze locking on mine. For a moment, it feels like paradise. Her eyes hold me, and I can't look away.
Daniel breaks the silence. "This is my cousin, Gael."
Mila looks at me, her smile mischievous. "Eres guapo."
It distracts me, pulls me out of Alma's stare. "Gracias," I murmur, handing Mateo a bag of snacks I brought.
We settle in. The family is watching animation on the small TV, the cat curled lazily on the couch. I sit with Mila, playing with her and the cat, letting Alma and Daniel talk. I don't want to fight with her. Not here. Not in front of them.
But my gaze keeps drifting back to her. She watches me too, her eyes softening when she sees me laugh with Mila. Mateo joins us, and for a moment, it feels like we are all just… family.
Later, we sit together, talking, getting to know each other. I overhear Daniel's voice, low, directed at Alma. "Do you like him?"
Alma shakes her head quickly. "No." Then she hesitates. "Maybe… it's just that I don't trust myself. I'm afraid he will break my heart."
The words slice through me. Frustration burns in my chest. She thinks I'll hurt her.
Daniel reassures her, his tone gentle. "Gael's a sweetheart. He cares. He's just… a gangster."
Alma sighs, then asks, "How did you even come here?"
Daniel glances at me. I have to answer. "Camilla."
Alma rolls her eyes. "Of course." She stands abruptly. "I'll make you something to eat."
I can't help myself. A few minutes later, I follow her into the kitchen.
She's there in a gray tracksuit, her hair pulled into a messy bun. The sight of her like that, raw, unguarded, hits me harder than I expect. Camilla's words echo in my head, about Alma's pain, her chaos, her strength.
I step closer. Without thinking, I wrap my arms around her. She stiffens at first, then melts into the hug, her warmth pressing against me.
When she looks up, our eyes lock. The air shifts. My chest tightens, my pulse races. I can't stop myself.
I kiss her.
At first, she's scared, frozen. But then she gives in. Her lips move against mine, hesitant, then hungry. Passion floods the space between us.
My hands stroke her hair, gentle but desperate. I bend slightly because I'm taller, and she rises on her toes, her hands sliding across my back, pulling me closer.
The kiss drives us both to the edge of madness. It's fire and chaos, tenderness and danger, everything we've been avoiding crashing into one moment.
And in that moment, I know that Alma isn't just someone I want. She's the spark that could burn me alive.
Her lips are still on mine when the world tilts back into focus. The kitchen hums with silence, broken only by our ragged breaths. My hands are tangled in her hair, her fingers pressed against my back, and for a moment I think she'll never let go.
But she does.
Alma pulls away, her eyes wide, her chest rising fast. She looks at me like I have just set fire to the ground beneath us, terrified, alive, conflicted.
"I… I can't," she whispers, her voice trembling.
The words cut, but her gaze betrays her. She wants me. She's scared of it, scared of herself, scared of me.
I step back, forcing air into my lungs, trying to steady the chaos inside me. My heart is pounding, my body still burning from the spark we just lit.
She turns away, busying herself with the counter, pretending to focus on the snack she was making. But I see the way her hands shake, the way her shoulders tense.
I don't push. Not yet.
Because even in her fear, even in her retreat, I know what that kiss meant.
And I know this isn't the end.