#alexia

2000 - Age 6

CIELA

The lunchtime sun hung low over our school playground that day, casting long shadows across the worn patches of grass and concrete. It was one of those perfect Barcelona autumn afternoons where the air felt warm but not sticky, where you could run forever without getting too hot. The playground was filled with the sound of kids everywhere, shouting, laughing, arguing over whose turn it was. A group of boys were playing some complicated game that seemed to involve a lot of pushing, and just for them to claim they weren't actually pushing.

I loved lunchtime. It was my favourite part of the day, better than art class, better than PE. Lunchtime meant freedom. It meant I could talk to anyone, do anything, be everywhere at once, and I was very good at being everywhere at once.

I'd already made my rounds that day. I'd talked to Maria and her friends about the stray cat that lived behind the bins. Then I'd bounced over to the boys playing marbles near the back fence, watched them for a bit, offered my opinion on their technique, they didn't appreciate it, but I was right. I'd complimented Sofia on her new hair clips, which had little butterflies on them, and they were beautiful.

My mama said I had "energy enough for three children," which I took as a compliment even though I wasn't entirely sure she meant it that way. My brothers said I was annoying, but they said that about everything, so it didn't count. Papa said I had a "generous spirit," which sounded fancy and important, so I decided that's what I was.

I was mid-conversation with Lucia about whether dolphins or sharks were cooler, dolphins, obviously, because they were smart AND nice, when I noticed her again.

The quiet girl with the football.

She was always there, on the far side of the playground, away from everyone else. I'd seen her before, lots of times actually, always in the same spot, always with that same ball at her feet. She had light brown hair that caught the sun, and she moved with this careful focus that made her seem older than six, like she was thinking about important things that the rest of us were too silly to understand.

I'd wanted to talk to her for weeks, but something always stopped me. Maybe it was because she looked so serious, so concentrated, like she was in her own private world, and I'd be interrupting something important. Or maybe it was because she seemed perfectly content being alone, and I wasn't sure how to approach someone who didn't seem to need friends the way I did.

I was curious. So curious because she was GOOD. Like, really, really good. I'd watched her kick that ball, watched the way it curved through the air exactly where she wanted it to go, watched her chase it down with speed that made her look like she was flying. My brothers played football in the street sometimes, and they were okay, but this girl was something else entirely.

"Ciela? CIELA?"

I blinked and realized Lucia was waving her hand in front of my face.

"Sorry! What?"

"I said, what do you think? Dolphins or sharks?"

"Dolphins," I said automatically, still watching the girl with the football. "Definitely dolphins. They're like the nice version of sharks. Sharks are just angry dolphins."

Lucia seemed satisfied with this answer and wandered off to tell someone else about her dolphin opinions. I stood there for a moment, watching the quiet girl line up another shot.

She dropped the ball to her feet, took a step back, and I could see her take a deep breath. Even from this distance, I could see how much she cared about getting it right. Her whole body was focused, like this one kick was the most important thing in the entire world.

She struck the ball cleanly with the side of her foot. It was beautiful. The curve was perfect, the height was perfect, the spin was perfect. I watched it arc through the air, mesmerised by how something could be so exactly right … but then it wasn't right anymore.

The ball veered suddenly, wildly, shooting off in completely the wrong direction. I had just enough time to think ‘Oh, that's coming toward …’ before it slammed into the side of my head with a solid THUNK that made my teeth rattle.

The world went a bit spiny for a second. I blinked hard, wobbled on my feet, and then grinned.

That was AMAZING.

I'd been hit by worse. Way worse. One-time brothers had been practicing cricket in the garden, and Santiago had completely missed the ball and hit me in the head with the bat instead. Mama had screamed, Papa had yelled, as both Xavier and Santiago had been irresponsible. That had hurt. This? This was nothing.

Plus, the girl who'd kicked it was running toward me, and she looked absolutely horrified.

She skidded to a stop in front of me, her face flushed pink, her eyes wide with panic. "I'm so, so, so sorry! I didn't mean to! I wasn't aiming at you! I'm really sorry!"

She was even prettier up close. She had these serious brown eyes that looked like they were trying to apologise with every blink. She had her hands clasped together, and she looked like she might actually cry, which seemed like a massive overreaction to accidentally hitting someone with a football.

I grinned at her, probably wider than necessary, but I was excited. This was it. This was my chance to finally talk to her.

"Nope! I'm great! I've been hit by way worse. One time, my brother hit me with a cricket bat because he's completely uncoordinated and missed the ball entirely. This is NOTHING." I looked down at the ball sitting at my feet, then back up at her. "That was a good kick, though. Like, really good. You kick SO HARD. You're like a tiny rocket launcher."

She just stared at me, and I wondered if maybe I'd said something wrong. Maybe comparing someone to a rocket launcher wasn't a compliment, but it seemed like one to me. Rocket launchers were powerful and impressive and a little bit scary, but in a cool way.

"I'm really sorry," she said again, her cheeks still burning red. "I didn't see you."

She had a nice voice, quiet, but nice. She spoke carefully, like she was thinking about each word before she said it.

I bent down and picked up the ball, holding it out to her. It was more worn than I'd expected, the leather soft and scuffed from what must have been hundreds of hours of practice. "Wanna play?"

She hesitated, and I could see the surprise flash across her face. "You... want to play with me?"

"Yeah! I like football. My papa and my brothers watch it all the time. They shout at the screen loads, like they're the manager or something. You'd think they were the ones making the decisions. It's kind of funny, actually. Papa gets so worked up he forgets to eat his dinner, and Mama has to tell him to calm down …”

I stopped myself. I did that sometimes, just kept talking until someone stopped me or I ran out of breath. My teacher called it "enthusiastic communication." My brothers called it "never shutting up."

She was the girl was smiling. Just a little bit, but it was there.

"You watch football?" she asked, her eyes widening slightly.

"Yep! We support Barça. I have the shirt, I have three of them actually, because I kept growing out of them and Papa keeps buying me new ones, and I have a hat, and a scarf that's really scratchy, but I wear it anyway because it's got the colours. The last time we went to a match, Papa bought me this MASSIVE flag, like, it was way bigger than me, and I can wrap myself up in it like a burrito. A Barça burrito." I giggled at my own joke. "We go to the games sometimes when they're playing at home. Papa saves up for the tickets, and we all go together, and it's so LOUD, and everyone's singing, and the players look so small from where we sit, but you can still see everything, and …"

I stopped again because she was staring at me with this expression I couldn't quite read. Not annoyed, not bored, but something else. Something that looked almost like... relief?

"I support Barça too," she said quietly, shyly, like she was admitting a secret.

My heart did a little jump in my chest. "NO WAY."

"Yes way," she said, and her smile got a tiny bit bigger.

"That means we're friends now," I declared, because it was obvious. If you both supported Barça, you were automatically friends. That was just how it worked.

"It does?" She looked confused, which was adorable. She had a small frown in her brow.

"Yep," I said, already reaching out to grab her hand. Her fingers were warm and a little rough, probably from all that football practice. "Come on! Show me how you kicked it so hard... but maybe don't hit me again. Once was fun, twice might actually hurt."

She laughed. It was small and quiet, but it was a real laugh, and I felt ridiculously proud of myself for making it happen.

We walked back toward the open space where she'd been practicing before, and I was bouncing the ball as we went, trying to do tricks like I'd seen the players do on TV. Mostly, I just ended up kicking it too far ahead and having to chase it, but she didn't laugh at me. She just walked beside me, and I could feel her starting to relax.

"My dad says Barça are the best team ever," I told her, because I was incapable of walking in silence. "My brothers say it too. They argue about who's the best player, though. My dad says it's the striker because he scores all these amazing goals, but my brother Xavier says it's the keeper, because he saves everything, and without him we'd lose every match. They argued about it for like an hour last week. A whole hour spent arguing about football. Who does that?"

"Who do you think is the best?" she asked, and I liked that she actually seemed interested in my answer.

I thought about it for a second. "I like the striker. I guess. He's fast, and he scores goals, and goals are the whole point, right? Like, saving them is important, but you can't win if you don't score."

"You're fast," I said, and she looked at me in surprise. "I saw you running earlier. You were like..." I zoomed my hand through the air, making a whooshing sound. "Nyyyeeeeeooooommm. Like Michael Schumacher in his Ferrari."

I saw the pink develop in her cheeks and get warm.

"I want to race cars when I grow up," I told her. "Like, proper racing. Formula One. My brothers say girls can't do that, but they're wrong. Girls can do anything. Papa says so."

"I think you'd be good at it," she said simply.

"Yeah?" I grinned at her. "What do you want to do when you grow up?"

She looked down at the ball, then back up at me. "Play football. For Barça."

She said it so quietly, like she was afraid I'd laugh at her, but I didn't laugh. I didn't even think about laughing.

"That's brilliant," I said. "You're good enough. Like, really good enough. I've been watching you practice, and you're amazing."

Her eyes widened. "You've been watching me?"

"Not in a creepy way!" I said quickly. "Just... you're always over here, and you're really good, and I wanted to talk to you, but you always looked so focused, and I didn't want to interrupt, and …" I stopped, realizing I was rambling again. "Sorry. I talk a lot. My brothers say I never shut up."

"I don't mind," she said, and she meant it. I could tell.

We'd reached the open space, and I dropped the ball between us. "Okay! Kick it to me!"

She nodded, took a breath, and tapped the ball gently toward me. It rolled perfectly to my feet, like she'd measured the exact amount of force needed. I tried to stop it the way I'd seen players do on TV, putting my foot on top of it, but I misjudged, and it rolled past me.

"Oops," I said, chasing after it. "That was supposed to be cooler."

"It's called trapping," she said, jogging over to help. "You have to cushion it, not just step on it."

"Cushion it," I repeated, like this was very important information that I would definitely remember. "Got it. Cushioning."

She showed me, stopping the ball gently with the inside of her foot, letting it settle against her like it was the most natural thing in the world. Then she passed it back to me, and I tried again.

This time, I actually managed to stop it. Sort of. It bounced off my foot a bit, but it didn't roll away completely.

"Did you see that? I did the foot thing! The stop thing! The... cushioning!" I threw my hands up in victory. "I'm amazing!"

She giggled, actually giggled, and it was the best sound I'd heard all day.

I kicked the ball back to her, putting way too much enthusiasm and not nearly enough accuracy into it. The ball went flying off to the left, and she had to sprint to catch up with it, but she did catch up with it, because of course she did. She was fast and skilled, and everything I wasn't when it came to football.

"You're really good," I said when she came back, hands on my hips in what I hoped looked like a coach-type pose. "Like, REALLY good. You should be on TV. You should play for Barça for real."

She shook her head, but she was smiling. "I just practice a lot."

"How much is a lot?"

"Every day," she admitted. "After school. Before school sometimes. Weekends."

"Every day?" I was impressed, but I got it. You could stick me in a go-kart, and I could go for hours, and I’d never get bored. I could run laps of the same track over and over again and never ever get bored. "That's... that's so much practice.”

"I love it," she said simply.

The way she said it, so certain and pure, made something click in my chest. She really did love it. The same way I loved talking to people, loved making friends, loved the feeling of being surrounded by noise and laughter and life. She loved football with that same intensity, that same joy I had for driving cars.

"Well, I'm going to practice too," I declared, because if she could be dedicated to something, so could I. "Then we can both be on TV. You can play for Barcelona and win everything, all of it. I'll be racing cars and beating all the boys, and we'll both win everything, and everyone will say, 'Wow, those girls are so cool and amazing.'"

She looked at me for a long moment, and I couldn't tell what she was thinking. Then she said, very seriously, "That's never going to happen."

For a second, I felt deflated, but then I realized she wasn't being mean. She was just being realistic, the way adults were always realistic about things, telling you to "be sensible" and "think practically."

I turned to face her fully, putting my hands on my hips again. "Only delusional people get what they want."

She blinked at me. "What?"

"People who get what they want are the ones who are crazy enough to believe they can have it. Everyone else just... gives up before they even try. So yeah, maybe it's delusional to think I'll race in Formula One, and maybe it's delusional to think you'll play for Barça … but so what? Better to be delusional and happy than realistic and boring."

She stared at me for a moment, and then she smiled. A real smile this time, not a shy one, not a small one. A smile that reached her eyes and made her whole face light up.

"Okay," she said. "Let's be delusional together."

"Deal," I said, grinning back at her.

We played for the rest of lunch break. She taught me how to trap the ball properly, how to pass with the inside of my foot instead of just kicking wildly and hoping for the best. I wasn't very good, but she was patient, showing me over and over without getting frustrated, but when I actually managed to pass the ball back to her in a straight line, she cheered as if I'd just scored the winning goal in the Champions League Final.

I told her about my family, about Papa, who worked in IT but loved football more than anything, about Mama, who rolled her eyes at all of us but secretly loved it too, about my brothers, who were loud and annoying but also taught me how to be tough. She told me about her family too, more quietly, more carefully, but she told me. About her mother and father, about how they supported her football even though some people thought it was weird for a girl.

"People are stupid," I said matter-of-factly. "Girls can do anything boys can do. Usually better."

She laughed at that, and I decided right then that making her laugh was going to be one of my new favourite things.

When the bell rang, signalling the end of lunch, we both groaned. I didn't want to go back to class. I wanted to stay here, in the sun, playing football and talking about impossible dreams.

"Same time tomorrow?" I asked hopefully.

She nodded, tucking the ball back under her arm. "Same time tomorrow."

"And you'll teach me more football stuff?"

"If you want."

"I want," I said firmly. "I'm going to be the best football-playing race car driver ever. I'll need skills."

She giggled again, and I felt that warm glow in my chest that came from making a real connection with someone.

As we walked back toward the school building, I slipped my hand into hers without thinking about it. She didn't pull away. She just squeezed my fingers gently, and we walked together through the playground that was slowly emptying of kids.

I didn't know it then, but that moment, that accidental collision, that conversation, that shared dream of being delusional enough to want impossible things, that would change everything. She would become my best friend, the person who understood me in ways no one else ever would.

Right then, at six years old, all I knew was that I'd finally talked to the quiet girl with the football, and she was even better than I'd imagined. Her name was Alexia, I learned later that afternoon.

I knew she was going to be the best footballer in the world. I was sure of it. Even if she wasn't sure yet herself.

2007 - Age 13

CIELA

The house was quiet at two in the morning. That particular kind of quiet that only exists in the dead hours of the night, when even the street outside has stopped humming with cars and the neighbours’ dogs have finally stopped barking. I'd been lying in my bed for hours, staring at the ceiling, watching the shadows of the trees as they dance across the plaster.

I couldn't sleep. Again.

It had been happening more and more lately, this restlessness that settled into my bones and refused to let go. Mama said it was hormones, that thirteen-year-old girls were supposed to be moody and unpredictable. Papa said I was spending too much time on the computer before bed. My brothers said I was just being dramatic, which was rich coming from Santiago, who'd cried for an hour the  week before Barcelona lost the El Clásico.

None of them understood. None of them knew what it felt like to lie in bed with your thoughts spinning so fast you couldn't catch them, with this ache in your chest that you couldn't name or explain or make go away. None of them except Alexia.

I rolled over, checking my phone for the hundredth time. No new messages, but I hadn't expected any. Alexia would be asleep by now; she always was. She had training tomorrow, and she needed her rest because she needed to be sharp and focused and ready.

I needed her more than she needed sleep. Over the years, I had developed this very unhealthy habit of only being able to sleep well when she was around.

The thought made me feel guilty and selfish, but it was true. When I was with Alexia, the spinning stopped, and the ache eased. Everything that felt too big and too complicated and too overwhelming somehow became manageable when I was near her.

I sat up slowly,  just listening. The house was still. Papa's snoring drifted from down the hall, a steady, rhythmic sound that meant he was deep in sleep. Mama never snored, but I knew she'd be out too. She always took her sleeping pill at ten, and once that kicked in, nothing short of an earthquake would wake her.

The twins were the wild card. Santiago and Xavier had a sixth sense for trouble, an uncanny ability to know when someone was doing something they shouldn't be, but their room was on the other side of the house.

I slipped out of bed, my bare feet silent on the plush carpet. I'd done this enough times now that I had it down to a science. I grabbed the hoodie I'd left draped over my desk chair, one of Alexia's old Espanyol hoodies that she'd given me last year when she'd grown out of it. It was too big on me, the sleeves hanging long on my arms, but it smelled like her. Like grass and clean laundry and that specific detergent Eli used.

I pulled it on, then grabbed my phone and slipped it into the pocket. My shoes were by the door, my trainers that I could slip on without making noise. I'd learned the hard way that flip-flops were too loud, the slapping sound echoing through the quiet house like a gunshot.

The hardest part was always the door. My bedroom door had this tendency to creak if you opened it too fast, so I had to ease it open slowly, inch by inch, holding my breath the entire time. Once I was in the hallway, I had to navigate past my parents' room, past the twins' room, down the stairs without hitting the one step that groaned under pressure. The fourth one from the bottom was the danger child; I'd memorized it months ago.

The front door was easier. It had a good lock that didn't make much noise, and once I was outside, I was home free.

The night air hit me like a cool wave, washing away some of the restlessness. Barcelona in October was perfect, not too hot, not too cold, just this comfortable in-between that made you want to stay outside forever. The streets were empty, lit by only the orange glow of streetlights, and I could hear the distant sound of the city that never fully slept.

I knew the route to Alexia's house by heart. Ten minutes if I walked at a normal pace, five if I hurried. I usually hurried.

My phone buzzed in my pocket, and I pulled it out, my heart jumping. To my disappointment, it wasn't Alexia, it was just a notification from some app I'd forgotten to silence. I silenced it now, then opened my messages and typed quickly.

I'm coming over. I know you're asleep. I'll be quiet. I just need to be there.

I hit send before I could second-guess myself, then shoved the phone back in my pocket and started walking faster.

The thing was, I knew this was probably weird. I knew that most thirteen-year-olds didn't sneak out of their houses in the middle of the night to crawl into their best friend's bed. I knew that my brothers would mock me endlessly if they ever found out. I knew that Mama would have a full-scale panic attack if she discovered I was gone.

I also knew inside myself that I couldn't do it. That the pull toward Alexia was stronger than my fear of getting caught, stronger than my guilt about worrying my parents, stronger than anything else.

Seven years. We'd been inseparable for seven years, ever since that day on the playground when her football had collided with my head and somehow knocked something loose in both of us. Seven years of shared dreams and whispered secrets and promises about the future. Seven years of her teaching me football, and me teaching her how to talk to people without looking terrified. Seven years of growing up together, changing together, becoming whoever we were supposed to be, together.

Lately, something had shifted, or maybe it had always been there, and I was only just now noticing it. This needs to be close to her, to touch her, to know that she was real and solid and mine. This feeling intensified every time she smiled at me, every time she reached for my hand without thinking, every time she looked at me like I was the only person in the world who mattered.

I didn't have a name for it yet. I wasn't sure I wanted one.

I turned onto her street, my pace slowing slightly as I approached her house. It was a modest place, smaller than ours, but it had always felt more like home than my own house did. Maybe because Eli never made me feel like I was intruding, never questioned why I was there so often, never suggested that maybe I should go home and give Alexia some space. Eli understood. I think she'd always understood.

I went around to the side of the house, where Alexia's bedroom window faced the small garden. The window was already cracked open; she always left it that way for me now, ever since the third or fourth time I'd shown up and had to throw pebbles at the glass to wake her.

I pushed it open wider, grateful that it didn't squeak, and climbed through with the practiced ease of someone who'd done this too many times to count. My feet hit the floor softly, and I straightened up, letting my eyes adjust to the darkness.

Alexia's room was exactly as I'd left it two days ago. The walls were covered in posters, her trophies lined the shelves, gleaming even in the dim light from the streetlamp outside. Medals hung from hooks on the wall, ribbons in blue and red, evidence of every victory she'd earned through sheer determination and talent.

However, my favourite part of her room was the photos. They were everywhere, tacked to a corkboard above her desk, stuck to the mirror, pinned to the wall beside her bed. Photos of us. At Camp Nou, both of us grinning with our faces painted in Barcelona colours. At the karting track, me in my racing suit with my helmet under my arm, Alexia beside me with her arm around my shoulders. Photos of us holding trophies we'd won, celebrating victories that had felt monumental at the time. Silly selfies taken at three in the morning during sleepovers, both of us laughing at something that probably wasn't even funny.

Every important moment of the last seven years was documented and displayed like a museum of us, but there, in the middle of it all, was Alexia.

She was asleep, curled on her side facing the window, her dark hair spilled across the pillow. The covers were pulled up to her chin, and she looked peaceful in a way she never did when she was awake. When she was awake, she was always moving, always thinking, always three steps ahead, but when she was asleep, she looked younger. Softer. Like the girl I'd met on the playground who'd been so horrified about hitting me with a football.

I toed off my shoes and padded over to the bed, lifting the covers carefully and sliding in beside her. The mattress dipped under my weight, and Alexia stirred slightly, making a small sound in the back of her throat.

"Shh," I whispered, pressing close to her. "It's just me."

She relaxed immediately, her body recognising mine even in sleep. She rolled over, her eyes still closed and reached for me with the automatic certainty of someone who'd done this a hundred times before. Her arm came around my waist, pulling me closer, and I went willingly, tucking myself against her chest.

This. This was what I needed. This feeling of being held, of being safe, of being exactly where I was supposed to be.

"Cece?" Her voice was rough with sleep, barely more than a mumble. "What time is it?"

"Late," I whispered back, stroking the side of her face. "Or early. Depends on how you look at it."

"You okay?" Her hand found my hair, fingers threading through it in that absent, soothing way she always did when she was worried about me.

"Yeah. I just... I couldn't sleep."

She didn't ask. She never did. She just held me tighter, her chin resting on top of my head, her heartbeat steady and strong beneath my ear.

"Go to sleep, you ridiculous human."

I settled against her, my hand fisting in her shirt, my legs tangling with hers. She was warm and solid and real, and the spinning in my head finally, finally stopped.

"Love you, Ale," I mumbled, already halfway to sleep.

"Love you too, Cece."

Her hand found mine, our fingers interlacing automatically, and I felt her press a kiss to the top of my head. It was such a casual gesture, so natural and easy, like it was something we'd been doing forever. Maybe we had been. Maybe this was just who we were now, two people who fit together so perfectly that it was impossible to tell where one ended, and the other began.

I drifted off with her heartbeat in my ear and her arms around me, and for the first time in days, I felt like I could breathe.

ANA

I was panicked from the second I set foot into Ciela's room. The carpet under my feet was soft and cushioned, but as I walked further into the room, everything was wrong. The morning light filtered through her curtains, casting pale golden stripes across the floor. The blanket that sat on the end of Ciela's bed, which would usually be found crumpled on the floor come morning, was still sitting perfectly folded on the end of the bed, undisturbed. The duvet covers on the left side of the bed had been thrown back hastily, as if someone had gotten out in a hurry.

The room still smelled faintly of Ciela's vanilla body spray. Her desk was cluttered with schoolbooks and racing magazines, a half-drunk glass of water sitting on her nightstand. Everything looked normal. Everything except the empty bed.

Ciela's bed was empty, which spiked my panic because Ciela was not a morning person; that girl would sleep until noon if I let her, but it wasn't immediately alarming. Maybe she'd gone to the bathroom. Maybe she was already downstairs. I swiftly checked the en-suite bathroom in Ciela's room, pushing the door open with trembling fingers. The tiles were cold and dry, no steam on the mirror, no damp towels. Empty.

The twins and Emiliano were downstairs having breakfast. I could hear the clatter of dishes, the low murmur of voices, but nothing had been heard from Ciela. My panic set in properly then, a cold wave washing over me as I rushed out of the bathroom and over to the bed. I pressed my palm flat against the sheets where my daughter should have been sleeping.

The bed wasn't just cold but stone cold, meaning Ciela hadn't been in it for hours. Maybe not since I'd checked on her last night, when I'd peeked in and seen her dark hair spread across the pillow, her breathing deep and even.

My blood ran cold at the thoughts running through my head as my hand felt the coldness of the sheets. I tried to reason with my own mind, maybe she'd gotten up early, maybe she was in the garden, maybe there was a perfectly logical explanation, despite knowing in my gut that Ciela was nowhere in the house. I would have heard her. I always heard her.

I rushed downstairs, my feet barely touching the steps, panic rushing through every fibre of my body. The kitchen was warm, filled with the smell of eggs and toast. Emiliano stood at the stove, spatula in hand, while Santiago and Xavier sat at the breakfast bar, both scrolling through their phones between bites.

"Has anyone seen Ciela this morning?" My voice came out higher than I intended, tight with barely controlled fear.

Emiliano glanced over his shoulder, completely unaware of the panicked state I was currently in, paying far too much attention to whatever he was cooking. "No. I've not seen her since last night. Why?"

"Where is she?" I was on the verge of tears, every possible worst-case scenario running through my head. My baby girl was missing. My thirteen-year-old daughter was gone, and no one seemed to care.

"Is she not still in bed?" Emiliano asked casually, still blissfully unaware, turning back to flip whatever was in the pan. "You know how she is in the mornings. Probably just sleeping in."

"No, Milo." My voice cracked. "If she were in bed, I'd know where she was, but she's not there, and she's not in the house. I've looked everywhere for her, and I can't find her anywhere." All the panic came flowing out in my words. "Her bed is cold, Milo. Stone cold. She hasn't been in it for hours. What if something happened? I saw her in bed last night, asleep. I went to check on her before I went to sleep, and she was there, and now she's just... gone. What if someone has broken in and kidnapped her?"

The spatula clattered against the pan. Emiliano turned fully now, his eyes finally registering the terror on my face. He took the pan off the heat, moving towards me quickly. He took me in his arms, cradling my head into his chest, and I could hear the steady thump of his heartbeat. Over the many years we'd been together, Emiliano had learnt that sometimes the only way to calm me down was the sound of his heartbeat. Since then, it had become tactic number one.

"Ana, calm down, okay. Breathe. Just breathe." His voice was low and soothing, his hand rubbing circles on my back. "If she was in bed last night, she'll be somewhere. We'll find her. I promise you, we'll find her."

"You hear about it on the news, Milo. You hear people being abducted in the middle of the night, but you never think it would happen to you or your children." I was sobbing now, my words muffled against his chest. "Ohhhh, Milo, what if someone's taken her? What if someone broke in while we were sleeping and …"

"Mamá, she's not been child snatched. Calm down," Santiago said from behind us, his voice dripping with teenage indifference, completely unaffected by my current state over the fact that his sister was missing.

Xavier just laughed along, that infuriating laugh that made me want to throttle him. He hit Santiago's arm to get his attention before he spoke, a smirk playing at his lips. "She's like a stray cat. She'll come back eventually. She always does."

I pulled away from Emiliano, whirling to face my sons. "This is not funny; your sister is missing," I cried, my voice breaking. "We need to call the police, Milo. Right now. We need to …"

"Ana, just take a breath ... okay ... we'll find her." Emiliano's hands were on my shoulders, grounding me. "She was here last night; she'll be somewhere. Nobody broke in and took her. Look at these two." He gestured to the twins, who were both very deliberately not meeting our eyes. "You two, however, seem so sure she'll come back ... where is she?"

"Don't know what you're talking about." They both said in perfect sync, neither of them looking up to meet their father's intense gaze, suddenly very interested in their breakfast plates.

My heart was still racing, but something in their tone, in the way they wouldn't look at us, made me pause. They knew something.

"Santiago?" Emiliano's voice dropped lower, taking on that tone that meant business. Our boys knew something; they knew way more than they were letting on.

"I don't know," Santiago answered, shoving a forkful of eggs into his mouth.

"Xavier?" Emiliano pushed, taking a step toward them.

"Sorry ... don't know anything," Xavier answered as well, but his biggest giveaway was on show. A tiny smirk tugged at the corner of his mouth, the one he always got when he was hiding something.

"Depending on where we find Ciela, she's facing a grounding," Emiliano said, his voice deadly calm now. "So, either you talk and give up what you know, or you will face the same fate, and trust me, boys, you don't want to test me on this."

"PAPA!" The twins protested in unison, finally looking up, their faces indignant. "That's not fair!"

"That's completely unfair!" Santiago added. "We didn't do anything!"

"Yeah, we're innocent bystanders here," Xavier chimed in.

Emiliano let out a low laugh, simply holding up his finger to silence our boys. "Don't even try to argue. My house, my rules ... now talk. Where is your sister?"

They both just looked at each other, having one of those silent twin conversations that had always unnerved me slightly. Santiago raised an eyebrow. Xavier shrugged. They both knew where Ciela had gone; I could see it written all over their faces.

"Fine," Xavier finally said, rolling his eyes. "Check Alexia's."

The drive to the Putellas' house took less than five minutes, but it felt like an eternity. I sat in the passenger seat, my hands twisted together in my lap, my mind still racing with worst-case scenarios even though the twins had essentially confirmed where Ciela was.

Emiliano's hand found mine, squeezing gently. "She's fine, Ana. She's probably been there all night, safe and sound."

"She snuck out, Milo," I whispered. "Our thirteen-year-old daughter snuck out in the middle of the night, and we didn't even know. What kind of parents are we?"

"The kind who are about to have a very serious conversation with their daughter about boundaries and safety," he replied, but his voice was gentle. "First, let's just make sure she's okay."

The twins sat in the back, unusually quiet. Even they seemed to sense that this wasn't the time for their usual antics.

When we pulled up to the house, the morning sun was fully up now, bright and cheerful, completely at odds with the anxiety still churning in my stomach. We all climbed out of the car, and I realized with a flush of embarrassment that we were about to descend on Eli's doorstep at eight thirty in the morning, the entire family in tow, looking for our wayward daughter.

I rang the doorbell, smoothing down my hair self-consciously. I was still in my pyjamas, with a cardigan thrown over the top. Some of the panic had subsided, replaced now with embarrassment and a growing anger at Ciela for putting me through this.

Eli opened the door, her expression shifting from surprise to confusion as she took in all of us standing there. "Ana? Emiliano? Is everything okay?"

"Morning Eli. We're so sorry to do this," I started, my words tumbling out in a rush. "But we can't find Ciela anywhere, and we were wondering if she might be here? I know it's early, and I'm so sorry to bother you, but—"

"No, we haven't seen her since she left yesterday to go back to yours," Eli answered, her brow furrowing with concern.

"Check Alexia's bed," Santiago shouted from the back of the group, he and Xavier just watching the chaos unfold, absolutely loving it. For once, they were not the instigators, instead just witnesses, and they were both revelling in it.

I let out a long sigh, utterly embarrassed about how this morning had played out with my children's actions. Here I was, standing on someone else's doorstep, first thing in the morning, in my pyjamas, trying to clear everything up, about to ask to check her daughter's bed. "I'm so sorry, Eli. Can we just check? Please? The boys seem to think... well, they seem to think she might be here."

"Yes, of course you can," Eli said, stepping aside immediately, her eyes wide. She moved aside to let us in, and I could see the curiosity on her face, the way she was trying to piece together what was happening. She was equally intrigued as to what or who she might find in her daughter's room.

We trooped up the stairs, me leading the way with Emiliano close behind, the twins at the back. My heart was pounding again, but for a different reason now. If Ciela were here, if she'd snuck out to spend the night at Alexia's without telling us, without asking permission...

I pushed open Alexia's bedroom door quietly, not wanting to startle anyone if they were indeed inside.

The scene should not have surprised anyone, but still, it surprised everyone.

Alexia's room was exactly as I'd seen it a hundred times before, but I took it in with new eyes now. The bed sat with its headboard against the wall, sticking out into the middle of the room to make space for all of Alexia's things. Posters covered nearly every inch of wall space, Barcelona merch was everywhere, a staple of the décor: scarves draped over her desk chair, a signed jersey framed on the wall, a football sitting in the corner. Various medals and trophies from different competitions over the years lined her shelves, glinting in the morning light streaming through the window.

Among all of that, a picture of her family on the nightstand, and so many pictures of Alexia and Ciela. Every single win they'd ever had was accompanied by a picture of them together, documented and displayed like precious memories.

The duvet was pulled high up over Alexia's body, the cover rising and falling with her breath, but she wasn't the only one in that bed.

A perfectly manicured hand was sticking up from above the covers; the nails were painted a soft blue, Ciela's signature colour. Even though she was only thirteen, Ciela had been taught by me that appearances matter.

That perfectly manicured hand was tangled in Alexia's dark brown hair, cradling the side of her head, which Alexia had leaned into, even in their sleep. Ciela was lying on Alexia, her face hidden in the crook of Alexia's neck, her dark hair spilling across the pillow and mixing with Alexia's. They looked peaceful. Safe. Completely content.

I stood there in the doorway, my hand still on the door handle,  all the panic, fear and anger were still racing through my body. Yet now there was a small part of relief, but also something more complicated. My little girl wasn't so little anymore that she had this whole other life, these relationships that existed outside of me, outside of our family. That she would sneak out in the middle of the night, not for anything dangerous or reckless, but just to be close to her best friend.

CIELA

I woke up to shouting.

"CIELA LLORIS DIAZ!"

Oh no.

Oh no, no, no.

That was Mama's voice. Mama's very angry, very panicked, very much about to ground me for the rest of my natural life voice.

I lifted my head from where it had been buried in Alexia's neck, blinking against the morning light streaming through the window. Alexia was still asleep beneath me, her face peaceful, her breathing deep and even. My hand was tangled in her hair, and her arms were wrapped around me like she was afraid I'd disappear if she let go.

It was also very, very bad timing.

Standing in the doorway of Alexia's bedroom was my entire family.

Mama looked like she'd been crying. Her eyes were red and puffy, her hair was a mess, and she was wearing her pyjamas. Papa was behind her, one hand on her shoulder, looking equal parts relieved and exasperated, but behind them, looking absolutely delighted with the chaos, were Santiago and Xavier.

The twins were grinning as they'd just won the lottery. Santiago had his arms crossed, looking smug. Xavier was barely containing his laughter.

"Shhhhh," I mumbled, my brain still foggy with sleep. I turned my head slightly, trying to shield Alexia from the noise. "She's asleep."

"CIELA … " Mama started, her voice shaking.

"Don't wake her up," I continued, my words slurring together as I burrowed back into Alexia's neck. She was so warm, and the bed was so comfortable, and I was so tired. "She has training..."

I felt Alexia stir beneath me, her hand moving to the back of my head, fingers threading through my hair. "Cece?" she mumbled, still half-asleep. "What's happening?"

"Nothing," I whispered, even though everything was very much happening. "Go back to sleep."

She made a soft sound of agreement and pulled me closer, adjusting slightly so I was more comfortable against her. Her hand found mine under the covers, our fingers interlacing automatically, and she pressed her face into my hair.

We were both still completely out of it, operating on pure instinct and muscle memory. The instinct that said, hold onto each other. The memory that said, this is safe, this is home, this is where we belong.

"I told you," Santiago said from the doorway, his voice dripping with smugness. "Didn't I tell you?"

"Stray cat," Xavier added, barely suppressing his laughter. "She always comes back eventually."

"This is NOT funny," Mama said, but her voice had lost some of its panic. She sounded more exhausted now, like all the fear had drained out of her and left only tiredness behind. "Ciela, you scared me half to death. I thought … I thought something had happened to you. I thought someone had taken you, or … "

"I'm fine, Mama," I mumbled into Alexia's neck. "I'm always fine."

"You can't keep doing this," Papa said, his voice gentle but firm. "Ciela, you can't keep sneaking out in the middle of the night. Your mother is going to have a heart attack."

"Sorry," I said, though I wasn't sure how sorry I actually was. Sorry for scaring them, yes. Sorry for coming here. Not even a little bit.

There was a long moment of silence, and then I heard another voice. Eli.

"I'm so sorry," Eli was saying, and she sounded genuinely apologetic. "I had no idea she was here. Alexia didn't tell me …"

"It's not your fault," Papa said quickly. "We should have... we should have known. The boys knew."

"We always know," Santiago said cheerfully. "She does this all the time."

"ALL THE TIME?" Mama's voice pitched up again. "How long has this been going on?"

"Couple months?" Xavier said, like he was guessing at the weather. "Maybe longer. We stopped keeping track."

I groaned, finally accepting that I wasn't going to be able to go back to sleep. I lifted my head, squinting against the light, and found my entire family staring at me. Mama looked like she couldn't decide whether to hug me or kill me. Papa looked resigned. The twins looked absolutely thrilled.

Eli, standing just behind them, looking ... understanding. There was something in her expression, something soft and knowing, like she'd suspected this was happening and had just been waiting for everyone else to figure it out.

"Told you she'd come back," he said. "Stray cat."

"Shut up, Santi," I mumbled.

Xavier laughed. "You're so grounded."

"I know."

"Like, so, so grounded." Santiago laughed. They were the only two laughing.

"I KNOW," I muttered through gritted teeth.

All of a sudden, I felt Alexia’s arms wrap around my waist, and her head came to rest on my shoulder. In that moment, despite everything, everything felt right in the world.

2009 - Age 15

CIELA

The plane had landed twenty minutes ago, but it felt like hours. I'd been sitting in the back seat of Papa’s car, watching the familiar streets of Barcelona slide past the window, and every second that passed felt like torture. My leg bounced restlessly against the seat, my fingers drumming against my thigh in a rhythm that matched my racing heartbeat.

A month. I'd been gone for a whole month.

England had been incredible with the racing, the tracks, the competition. I'd won three out of four races; I’d stood on the podium for all of them and felt that rush of adrenaline as I crossed finish lines. My team had been ecstatic, talking about my future, about opportunities, about how far I could go.

Yet the entire time, all I could think about was coming home.

Coming home to her.

"Ciela, stop fidgeting," Mama said from the front seat, glancing at me in the rearview mirror. "We're almost there."

"I know, I know," I said, but my leg kept bouncing. I couldn't help it. The anticipation was eating me alive.

I'd texted Alexia from the airport—just a simple landed, on my way home—and she'd responded immediately with I'll be waiting. Three words that had sent my heart into overdrive and made the twenty-minute drive feel like an eternity.

Because something had changed while I was away, or maybe it had been changing for a while, and the distance had just made it impossible to ignore.

I'd missed her, I'd missed her so much it physically hurt. I was starting to realise it wasn't just the normal missing-your-best-friend kind of ache; it was deeper than that, more consuming. Every race I'd won, the first person I wanted to tell was her. Every moment of triumph or frustration or boredom, she was the one I reached for.

The texts we'd sent over the month had been different … more careful, like we were both dancing around something we were afraid to name.

Miss you, she'd written one night.

Miss you too, I'd replied. Can't wait to come home.

Home to Barcelona or home to me?

I'd stared at that message for ten minutes before responding. Both. Same thing, really.

She'd sent back a little smiley face, and I'd spent the rest of the night analysing what that meant.

"You're going to wear a hole in the seat if you keep bouncing like that," Papa said, amused. He was driving, his eyes fixed on the road, but I could see the smile tugging at his lips in the wing mirror.

"Sorry," I muttered, forcing my leg to still. It lasted about five seconds before it started up again. I couldn’t help it.

Mama turned in her seat to look at me properly. "You know, you could have at least pretended to miss us while you were gone."

"I did miss you!" I protested. "I missed you loads!"

"Mm-hmm." She didn't sound convinced. “Really, because from the second we pick you up, all you can talk about is seeing Alexia."

"That's not … I didn't …" I fumbled over words, feeling my cheeks heat. "I'm excited to see everyone."

"Sure, you are," Santiago said from beside me, grinning like the absolute menace he was. He and Xavier had insisted on coming to pick me up, claiming they'd missed their little sister. I should have known they just wanted front-row seats to my obvious desperation.

"Shut up, Santi."

"I didn't say anything," he said innocently. "I'm just observing. You know, as your loving older brother."

"You're observing that I'm excited to be home. Congratulations."

"We’re observing," Xavier chimed in from the front passenger seat, "that you've checked your phone approximately forty-seven times in the last ten minutes."

"I have not …"

"Forty-eight now," Santiago added helpfully.

I shoved my phone into my pocket, glaring at both of them. "You're both terrible. I don't know why I missed you."

"You didn't miss us," Xavier said, turning to grin at me. "You missed Alexia. We're just the unfortunate obstacles between you and your … "

"Don't," I warned.

"… best friend," he finished, but the way he said it made it clear that wasn't what he'd been about to say.

Papa chuckled from the driver's seat. "Leave your sister alone. She's been away for a month. It's natural to miss your friends."

"Oh, is that what we're calling Alexia now … a friend … got it," Santiago muttered, just loud enough for me to hear.

I kicked him in the shin.

"Ow! Mamá, Ciela's being violent!"

"Ciela, don't kick your brother," Mama said automatically, but she was smiling. "Even if he deserves it."

"Thank you," I said primly.

"However," Mama continued, and my stomach sank, "you're not running off the second we get home. You've been gone for a month. You can spend at least an hour with your family before you even plan on disappearing."

"Mamá … " I protested.

"Non-negotiable."

I sigh dramatically as I slump back in my seat, trying not to pout. An hour. I could survive an hour. Probably. Maybe.

My phone buzzed in my pocket, and I pulled it out before I could stop myself.

Almost here? Alexia had written.

Five minutes, I typed back quickly. Mama says I have to stay home for an hour first.

An hour???

I KNOW! I'm going to die.

Me too.

I stared at those two words, my heart doing something complicated in my chest. Me too. Such simple words, but they felt weighted with meaning. Like she was saying, more than just agreeing that an hour was a long time. It was like she was saying she'd been dying without me, too.

"Forty-nine," Xavier said.

I groaned, glaring at both of them, "I hate you."

"No, you don't."

He was right. I didn't, but I was definitely going to make his life difficult for the next week.

The car turned onto our street, and my heart rate kicked up another notch. Almost home. Almost there. Almost … then I saw her.

Alexia was standing at the end of our driveway, hands tucked deep into the pockets of my racing jacket. The oversized one I'd left at her house months ago. She was wearing my jacket, and she was rocking slightly on her heels, and even from this distance, I could see the nervous energy radiating off her.

She'd been waiting for me.

The car hadn't even fully stopped before I was pushing the door open.

"Ciela, wait for the car to …" Mama started, but I was already out, my feet hitting the pavement, my bag forgotten in the backseat.

I ran.

The distance between us disappeared in seconds, and then I was crashing into her, my arms wrapping around her so tightly I was probably crushing her ribs. She laughed, that soft, surprised laugh that I'd missed so much as she hugged me back just as fiercely, her forehead pressing against my shoulder.

"You're home," she murmured, and her voice was thick with emotion.

"Yeah," I said, my own voice coming out rough. "I'm home."

We stood there for a long moment, just holding each other, and I felt something in my chest finally settle. This was what I'd been missing. Not just Alexia, but this feeling of completeness that only came when I was with her.

She smelled like shampoo and that perfume she always wore. I breathed it in, trying to memorise it, trying to make up for a month of not having it.

"I missed you," I whispered into her shoulder.

"I missed you, too." Her arms tightened around me. "So much."

From behind us, I heard the car doors opening, heard my family getting out, heard Santiago say something that was probably mocking, but I didn't care. Let them watch. Let them tease. Right now, nothing else mattered except this.

Except her.

Eventually, I pulled back just enough to look at her. She was smiling, that small, private smile that was only for me, and her eyes were bright with unshed tears.

"You're wearing my jacket," I said stupidly.

She glanced down at it, then back up at me, a faint blush colouring her cheeks. "You left it here. I've been... borrowing it."

"Borrowing it?"

"Okay, fine. I've been wearing it." The blush deepened. "It smells like you."

My heart did something acrobatic in my chest. "Oh."

"Yeah. Oh."

We were still standing there, arms around each other, when Mama's voice cut through the moment.

"Ciela! Come help with your bags!" My Mama yelled, giving no room for misinterpretation, authority laced through every word.

I groaned, but I didn't let go of Alexia. "I have to go inside for a bit. Mama's orders."

"I heard." Alexia's smile turned sympathetic. "I can wait."

"You don't have to … " I tried to argue, but Alexia just interrupted me as she pushed my hair back behind my ear.

"I want to." She said it with a certainty and honesty that just made my throat feel tight.

"Okay," I managed. "Okay. Just... don't leave?"

"I'm not going anywhere."

I forced myself to step back, to let go of her, even though every instinct I had was screaming at me to stay right where I was. Mama was waiting, and I'd already pushed my luck by running out of the car before it had fully stopped.

She just looked at me and back to Alexia, who had moved and was sitting on the edge of the curb. She just sighed as she passed me one of my many bags.

"Come inside?" She offered to Alexia. "You can help her unpack. Or just sit there and talk to her. I really don't care.”

"Okay," Alexia said as she sprang up from her seat, both of us smiling at each other.

We walked back to the house together, while I tried to ignore Santiago and Xavier's knowing looks. I could hear Mama mumbling something to herself, but from what I could hear, it sounded like she’d said, ‘Why do I even bother with those two?’

"I'll just take these upstairs," I said, gesturing to my bags.

"Take your time. I'm sure you and Alexia have a lot to catch up on." I could hear the slight sarcasm in her voice, but I really did care. It was the way she said it that made it clear she knew exactly what was going on. Or at least suspected, but she didn't push, didn't tease, just waved us toward the stairs.

Alexia followed me up to my room, and the second the door closed behind us, I felt like I could breathe properly for the first time in a month.

My room looked exactly the same as I'd left it, bed unmade, posters on the walls, trophies and medals scattered across my shelves. It felt different somehow, smaller, like I'd outgrown it while I was away. Or maybe I'd just gotten used to hotel rooms and unfamiliar spaces, and now being home felt strange.

I dropped my bags on the floor and turned to find Alexia watching me with an expression I couldn't quite read.

"What?" I asked.

"Nothing. I just..." She shook her head. "I'm really glad you're home."

"Yeah … me too."

We stood there for a moment, the air between us feeling charged with something I couldn't name. Then Alexia moved to sit on my bed, tucking her legs under her, and I joined her, sitting close enough that our knees touched.

"So," she said. "Tell me everything. I want to hear about all of it."

"I call you every day. You already know everything." I laughed quietly.

"I want to hear it again, in person, with all the details you left out."

So, I told her. I told her about the tracks and the races and the other drivers. About the hotel rooms and the team dinners and the moments of triumph and frustration. About standing on podiums and feeling like I was exactly where I was supposed to be.

As I spoke, I was aware of how close she was. How her hand was resting on the bed between us, just inches from mine. How she was watching me with that focused intensity she usually reserved for football matches.

"You're incredible, you know that?" she said when I finally ran out of things to say. "Three wins out of four races. That's amazing, Cece."

"It was a good month," I admitted. "But it was also... lonely. Even with the team around me all the time, it felt lonely."

"Yeah?" Her voice was soft, careful.

"Yeah ... because you weren't there." I looked down at my hands, suddenly unable to meet her eyes. "Every time something good happened, or something bad happened, or just... anything happened, you were the person I wanted to tell.  Texting didn’t really have the same effect as having you there."

"I know what you mean," she said quietly. "I had a match last week, we won 3-1, and I scored twice, and all I could think about was how you weren't in the stands. How I couldn't hear you screaming encouragement and embarrassing me in front of everyone."

I laughed despite myself. "I don't embarrass you."

"You absolutely embarrass me, but I love it." She paused, then added, "I missed it. I missed you."

The way she said it made my heart race. There was something in her voice, something vulnerable and honest and terrifying.

"Ale," I started, then stopped, not sure what I wanted to say.

"Yeah?"

"I..." I took a breath, trying to find the courage. "Do you want to go for a walk down to the beach? I feel like I've been cooped up in cars, planes, and hotel rooms for weeks. I need to move."

It was a cop-out, and we both knew it, but she nodded anyway, standing up and offering me her hand.

"Let's go." She said with a bright smile.

We made it precisely ten steps out the front door before Mama called after us.

"Ciela! Where do you think you're going!"

"I'll be back in an hour!" I called back, already pulling Alexia down the driveway. "I promise!"

"You just got home!"

"I know! I'm sorry! I just need some air!"

There was a pause, and then Papa's voice, calm and amused: "Let them go, Ana. They've barely seen each other in a month."

"But … "

"Let them go." He pushed.

I didn't wait to hear Mama's response. I just kept walking, Alexia's hand warm in mine, as I tried not to think about how natural it felt. How right it all felt.

The walk to the beach took about twenty minutes, and we filled it with easy conversation, her telling me about training with Espanyol, me telling her about the other drivers I'd met. Surface-level stuff. Safe stuff.

Yet underneath it all, there was this current of tension, like we were both waiting for something to happen.

The beach was quieter than usual for a late afternoon. A few families scattered across the sand, some kids playing in the shallow water, but nothing like the crowds that would descend. We walked along the shore, our shoes crunching on shells and damp sand, until we reached the far curve where the rocks jutted out into the water.

This had always been our spot. Ever since we were kids, we'd come here to talk, to think, to just exist together without the rest of the world intruding.

We climbed up onto the rocks and sat close enough that our knees touched, looking out at the water as the sun started its slow descent toward the horizon. The sky was streaked with orange and pink, and the air was warm and salt-tinged.

"I love this place," Alexia said softly.

"Me too."

We fell quiet, and I could feel the weight of all the things we weren't saying pressing down on us. The conversation kept stuttering in strange places, like we were both thinking about something else entirely.

"You're weirdly quiet," Alexia said after a while, trying for teasing but landing somewhere closer to nervous.

"So are you," I replied, picking at a bit of seaweed stuck to the rock. "It's like we've run out of small talk."

"Maybe we have."

We both laughed, but it came out thin and shaky. The waves filled the silence that followed, rolling in and out like they were waiting for something too.

I opened my mouth, closed it again, fingers curling into the sleeves of my hoodie. My heart was racing, and I felt like I was standing on the edge of something huge and terrifying and wonderful all at once.

"Ale," I started, then stopped.

"Yeah?"

"I..." I took a breath, trying to find the words. "This is going to sound stupid."

"Everything you say sounds stupid," she said automatically, then winced. "I mean... no, not stupid, just... ugh, you know what I mean."

"I really don't," I said, smiling despite my nerves.

A long pause. A swallow. A glance at the sand, then at the sky, then, finally, at each other.

"There were moments," I said, my voice lower now, "when I'd finish a race and think, I can't wait to tell Ale about this, but then I realised that was the part I missed most. Not the racing, not the winning. Just... telling you about it. Being with you."

Alexia let out a slow breath. "I kept writing messages," she admitted. "Then deleting them, because I didn't want to make it... something."

"Make what something?"

"This." She gestured vaguely between us. "Us. Whatever this is."

My heart was pounding so hard I was sure she could hear it. "What do you think this is?" I knew what I thought this was, and I hoped she thought that as well, but I needed to know for sure.

"I don't know," she said honestly. "But it's not just friendship. It hasn't been for a while."

"No," I agreed quietly. "It hasn't."

Another pause. Longer this time. The sun dipped lower, painting the water gold.

"I didn't want to ruin anything," I said finally. "I didn't want to say something and have it change everything between us."

"What if I want it to change?" Alexia asked, her voice barely above a whisper.

I looked at her sharply. "What?"

"What if I want it to change?" she repeated, and now she was looking at me with those brown eyes that always made me feel like she could see straight through me. "What if I've been wanting it to change for months, maybe longer, and I've just been too scared to say anything?"

My breath caught. "Ale … "

"I like you," she said, the words tumbling out in a rush. "More than I should. More than I've been pretending I do. This past month without you has been torture because all I could think about was how much I missed you, and how it wasn't normal to miss someone this much, and how maybe that meant something."

I stared at her, my heart pounding in my chest. "You... you like me?"

"Yes, you absolute idiot. I like you. I've liked you for ages. I just didn't know how to tell you."

"Oh," I breathed. "Good … because I've been trying so hard not to say anything, and it's been driving me mad."

"You have?" She looked stunned, like she genuinely hadn't expected this.

"Of course I have Ale. I think about you constantly. I dream about you. Every good thing that happens, you're the first person I want to tell. Every bad thing, you're the person I want to run to.  This past month, being away from you, it felt like I was missing a part of myself."

"Really?" Her voice was so small, so hopeful.

"Really."

The tension between us shifted, softened, warmed. Our shoulders brushed, and neither of us pulled away this time.

"So," Alexia said slowly, a smile starting to tug at her lips. "What do we do about this?"

"I don't know," I admitted. "I've never done this before."

"Me neither."

"We could just... see what happens?"

"We could." She reached out, her fingers finding mine, interlacing carefully. "Or we could stop pretending we don't know exactly what this is."

"What is this?" I smirked.

"I think," she said, her thumb brushing over my knuckles, "it's you and me. The way it's always been. Just... more."

"More," I repeated, testing the word. "I like it more."

"Yeah?"

"Yeah," I confirmed.

We sat there for a moment, hands linked, hearts racing, both of us grinning like idiots, and then, because I'd never been good at waiting for things I wanted, I leaned in.

The kiss wasn't smooth. Our noses bumped first, and Alexia let out a nervous laugh that made me laugh too, but then we adjusted. We found the right angle, and suddenly everything clicked into place.

Her lips were soft and warm, and she tasted like that strawberry lip balm she always wore. The kiss was gentle at first, tentative, both of us testing this new territory, but then her hand came up to cup my cheek, and I leaned into her touch, and that kiss deepened.

It felt like coming home. Like every moment of the past nine years had been leading to this. Like this was exactly where we were supposed to be.

When we finally broke apart, we were both breathless, both smiling, both glowing with that stunned, overwhelming joy that comes from finally getting what you've been afraid to want.

"Wow," Alexia whispered, her forehead resting against mine.

"Yeah," I agreed. "Wow."

"Can we do that again?" She asked with a small smile.

I laughed, pulling her closer. "Absolutely."

The second kiss was better than the first. Slower, deeper, more certain. We kissed until the sun had fully set and the sky had turned deep purple, until the beach had emptied out and we were alone with just the sound of the waves and each other's breathing.

When we finally pulled apart for good, Alexia was looking at me with such tenderness, such open affection, that I felt my throat tighten.

"I love you," I said, the words slipping out before I could stop them. "I know it's so soon to say that, and maybe it's too much, but I do. I love you. I have for a long time."

"It's not too soon," she said softly. "And it's not too much, because I love you too. I think I've loved you since we were six years old and you got hit in the head with a football and decided we were friends."

I laughed, tears pricking at my eyes. "Best decision I ever made."

"Mine too."

We sat there as the stars started to come out, wrapped up in each other’s arms, and I felt like everything in my life had finally aligned. Like all the pieces had clicked into place.

This was it. This was what I'd been missing. Not just Alexia, but this, us, together, finally admitting what we'd both known for so long.

"We should probably head back," Alexia said eventually, though she made no move to stand up. "Your mama's going to kill you."

"Worth it," I said, pressing a kiss to her temple. "Completely worth it."

"You're going to be in so much trouble."

"I don't care."

She laughed, that bright, joyful sound that I loved so much. "Come on. Let's go face the music."

We climbed down from the rocks and started the walk back, hands linked, shoulders bumping, both of us unable to stop smiling. The world felt different now. It felt brighter.

"So," I said as we walked. "What happens now?"

"Now?" Alexia squeezed my hand. "Now we just... keep being us. Just more."

"More," I repeated, grinning. "I really like that word."

"Me too."

As we walked back through the darkening streets of Barcelona, I felt like I was exactly where I was supposed to be. Not just in this city, not just on this path toward racing and dreams and impossible futures.

With her and always with her.

2011 - Age 17

CILEA

The journey back to Barcelona was the longest eight hours of my life.

I managed to get a last-minute flight out of Austria, but it involved a layover in Munich and cost more money than I wanted to think about. I didn't care. I would have paid anything and done anything if it meant I could get home faster.

I spent the entire flight staring out the window, my mind spinning with thoughts I couldn't control. Jaume was gone. How was that possible? I'd seen him just two weeks ago, before I'd left for Austria. He'd been fine. Healthy. Smiling. He'd hugged me goodbye and told me to drive safely, to make him proud.

Now he was gone.

I thought about Alexia, about how she must be feeling right now. Jaume had been her hero, her biggest supporter, the person who'd believed in her football dreams when everyone else had said girls couldn't play. He'd driven her to training sessions, stood on the sidelines in the rain, and celebrated every goal like it was the World Cup final.

Now he was gone, and they were alone, and I wasn't there.

The guilt was crushing. I should have been there. I should have been in Barcelona, not halfway across Europe chasing my own dreams. What if she needed me and I wasn't there? What if one day …

My phone buzzed with a text from Eli.

We're still at the hospital. When you land, come straight here. I'll text you the details.

I typed back immediately. On my way. Tell Alexia I'm coming. Tell her I love her.

I will. She knows.

Did she? Did she really know how much she meant to me? How I would drop everything, abandon everything, for her?

I guess she was about to find out.

The hospital was a maze of white corridors and fluorescent lights that made everything look washed out and unreal. I'd gotten a taxi straight from the airport, and now I was standing at the reception desk of the cardiac ward, trying to keep my voice steady.

"I need to know where Jaume Putellas Rota is, please."

The receptionist didn't even look up. Her tone was dismissive, bored, like she'd had this conversation a thousand times and couldn't be bothered to care about the thousand-and-first.

"Are you family?"

"Yes," I said without hesitation.

"Really?" Now she looked up, her expression sceptical. "Because his family is already here."

I felt something hot and sharp flare in my chest. "I am family."

"What's your relation to the patient?"

How did I even begin to explain? Technically, I wasn't related to Jaume by blood. Technically, I was just his daughter's girlfriend. That word, girlfriend, felt so inadequate for what we were, what we'd always been.

I'd known the Putellas family for eleven years. I'd grown up in their house, eaten at their table, celebrated birthdays and holidays, and victories with them. Jaume had been at my karting races since I was seven years old. He'd taught me how to change a tire, how to check my oil, and how to be brave when I was scared.

He'd looked at me when I was fifteen and told me I was going to do great things. He'd believed in me when I didn't believe in myself.

Two years ago, when Alexia and I had sat her parents down and nervously explained that we were together, really together, he'd smiled and said, "I know. I've always known, and I'm happy for you both."

That family was my family. They always had been.

"That family is my family," I said, my voice shaking with emotion and barely suppressed anger.

"Unless you're immediate family, I can't give out confidential patient information to just anyone."

"You listen here," I said, leaning over the desk, my voice rising. "I know you're doing your job, but you're not listening. I have known that family since I was six years old. I have known that man since I was six years old, ever since I ran into his daughter on the playground. That is eleven years of my life that I have seen that family every single day. So if you want to argue that that family is not my family, then go ahead, but you are simply wrong. I have just travelled from Austria, and it's a fucking emergency, so I need you to tell me where the fu—"

"Cece."

The voice was soft and broken, and I knew immediately who it belonged to. That voice could be the quietest voice in a grandstand full of people, and I would still be able to pick it out of the crowd with ease.

I recoiled back from the desk, turning to where Alexia was standing in the hallway.

My Alexia. My Alee, but she wasn't the Ale I'd left two weeks ago. This version was shattered, hollowed out, like someone had reached inside her and torn out everything that made her bright and fierce and alive.

Her eyes were red and swollen from crying. Her hair was a mess, pulled back in a careless ponytail. The sight of it made my heart crack open.

"He's gone," she said, and her voice broke on the words. "He's gone."

I moved without thinking, crossing the distance between us in seconds. Her knees gave out the moment I reached her, but I was there to catch her, my arms wrapping around her as she collapsed against me.

"I've got you," I whispered, cradling her head against my chest as her body shook with sobs. "I've got you. I've always got you."

"He's gone," she sobbed into my shoulder, her hands fisting in my jacket like she was afraid I'd disappear too.

"Shhhh," I murmured, carefully lowering us both to the floor because I didn't think either of us could stand anymore. "I've got you. I'm here. I'm not going anywhere."

She cried harder, and I just held her, one hand stroking her hair, the other wrapped protectively around her back. I didn't try to tell her it would be okay. I didn't try to offer empty platitudes about time healing wounds or him being in a better place.

I just held her and let her break, because that's what she needed right now. To break. To fall apart. To let out all the grief and pain and devastation that was consuming her.

I would be here for as long as she needed. I would be here to catch every piece. Always.

I don't know how long we sat there on that hospital floor. Time felt meaningless, measured only in the rhythm of her sobs and the steady beat of my heart against her ear. I managed to move us both from the middle of the floor to the designated chair on the side of the room. It was a slow process of coaxing Alexia to move, but I got her there.

Eventually, the tears slowed. Not stopped, I don't think they could stop, not yet, but slowed enough that she could breathe again.

"You came," she whispered, her voice hoarse.

"Of course I came."

"You're supposed to be in Austria. You have a race … " She tried to argue.

"I don't care about the race," I said firmly. "I don't care about anything except being here with you."

"But …" She hiccupped, trying to argue back again.

"No buts. There is nowhere else in the world I'm supposed to be right now. Nowhere."

She pulled back slightly to look at me, her eyes searching my face like she was trying to understand how I could be real.

"I love you," she said, the words tumbling out desperately. "I love you so much."

"I love you too," I said, cupping her face in my hands, brushing away her tears with my thumbs. "I love you more than anything. I'm here. I'm right here, and I'm not leaving."

She nodded, then buried her face back in my neck, and I held her close, pressing kisses to her hair, murmuring soft reassurances that I wasn't sure she could even hear.

After a while, I became aware of other people around us. Eli was there, her own face tear-stained, watching us with a mixture of grief and gratitude. While Alba was curled up on the chairs on the opposite side, her eyes were red and puffy.

"Alba," I said softly, and she looked up at me. "Come here, sweetheart."

She didn't need to be asked twice. She came over and curled up against my side, and I wrapped my free arm around her, holding both Putellas sisters close.

"I've got you both," I whispered. "I've got you."

We stayed in that hospital waiting room for hours. Alba eventually fell asleep with her head in my lap, and I ran my fingers through her hair in slow, soothing strokes, the same way Mama used to do for me when I was upset.

Other family members came and went. Aunts and uncles and cousins, all of them crying, all of them taking turns going into the room where Jaume's body lay. Each time someone came back out, they were crying harder, and I felt my own grief building in my chest.

I couldn't break down. Not yet. Not when Alexia and Alba needed me to be strong.

"You're supposed to be in Austria," Alexia said again, her voice barely above a whisper.

I looked down at her, brushing a strand of hair back from her face. "You keep saying that."

"Because it's true. You have a race tomorrow. You're going to get in trouble with your team."

"I don't care," I answered bluntly. Not to be mean, but to make her understand my point.

"Ciela … "

"Ale, listen to me." I shifted so I could look at her properly, my hand cupping her cheek. "There will be other races. Other teams. Other opportunities. There is only one you. I get one chance in this life with you, one chance, and you mean more to me than anything else in the world. More than racing, more than winning, more than any dream I've ever had. You are my priority. You will always be my priority."

Her eyes filled with fresh tears. "I don't deserve you."

"Yes, you do," I said firmly. "You deserve everything good in this world, and I'm going to spend the rest of my life making sure you know that."

She kissed me then, soft and desperate and salt-tinged with tears, and I kissed her back, trying to pour every ounce of love and comfort and promise into it.

When we pulled apart, she rested her forehead against mine. "I love you," she whispered.

"I love you too. I always have, and I always will. Don't you ever question that? Ever."

"I won't," she promised.

Eventually, Eli came over to where we were sitting. Her eyes were red, her face drawn with exhaustion and grief, but she managed a small smile when she looked at me.

"Thank you for coming," she said softly. "I know what you gave up to be here."

"I didn't give up anything that matters," I said honestly.

She reached out and squeezed my shoulder. "You're a good girl, Ciela. Jaume always said so. He loved you like you were his own."

The words hit me like a physical blow, and I felt my composure start to crack. "Can I..." I swallowed hard. "Can I see him? Just for a minute?"

Eli nodded. "Of course. Take all the time you need."

I carefully extracted myself from Alexia and Alba, pressing a kiss to Alexia's forehead. "I'll be right back."

"Okay," she whispered.

The walk down the hallway to Jaume's room felt endless. My legs were shaking, my heart pounding, and I had to keep reminding myself to breathe. The room was quiet and dim, lit only by the soft glow of the machines that had been turned off. Jaume lay on the bed, looking peaceful, like he was just sleeping.

I moved to the side of the bed, my hand reaching out to touch his. His skin was cool, and that simple fact made everything real in a way it hadn't been before.

"I'm sorry I wasn't here," I said, my voice breaking. "I'm so sorry."

The tears came then, hot and fast, and I didn't try to stop them.

"I'm really going to miss you," I continued through my sobs. "You've been... you've been like a second father to me. You taught me so much. About cars and football and how to be brave when I'm scared. You believed in me when I didn't believe in myself."

I took a shaky breath, wiping at my eyes.

"I promised you once that I would always race for the love I had when I was seven years old, parking my go-kart on your driveway like it was a real car. I'll keep that promise. I'll keep racing, and I'll make you proud. I swear I will."

My voice broke again, and I had to pause to collect myself.

"But more than that, I promise you I'll take care of them. Your Elisabeth, your Alba, your Alexia. I'll always make sure they're safe and loved and looked after. They're yours, they'll always be yours, but I promise you I'll be there for them. For everything."

I squeezed his hand, my tears falling onto the white hospital sheets.

"You know how much I love your daughter. You've always known. I promise you, for as long as I live, she will always know how loved she is. How much I love her. I'll always put her first. I'll always take care of her. I'll always support her and champion her and believe in her."

A small, watery laugh escaped me. “Because let's be real, even if she doesn't know it yet, we both do. She's already incredible, but she's going to be the best. The best the world has ever seen, and I'm going to be there for all of it, cheering louder than anyone. I promise you, I will always love her. Forever and ever and ever."

The grief overwhelmed me then, and I collapsed into the chair beside the bed, my chest tight, my breathing ragged. I cried for Jaume, for Alexia, for Alba, for Eli. For the loss of someone who had been so important to all of us.

I cried for myself, for the man who had welcomed me into his family and made me feel like I belonged.

Three days later, I stood in a black dress that Mama had helped me pick out, my shoulders already damp from tears that weren't my own.

The funeral was beautiful and heartbreaking in equal measure. The church was packed with people whose lives Jaume had touched.

I stood between Alexia and Alba, one arm around each of them, and I held them up when they couldn't stand on their own. I held them through the service, through the burial, through the reception afterward, where people kept coming up to offer condolences that felt hollow and inadequate.

I held them together because that's what I'd promised. That's what Jaume would have wanted.

When it was finally over, when everyone had gone home, and it was just the four of us, sitting in the Putellas' living room in an exhausted silence. Yet I felt the weight of that promise settle over me like a mantle.

This was my family. These were my people, and I would protect them, care for them, love them, for the rest of my life.

Alexia was curled against my side, her eyes closed, her breathing finally even after days of crying. Alba was asleep on the other end of the couch, her head on Eli's lap, but Eli was watching me with an expression I couldn't quite read.

"Thank you," she said softly. "For being here. For being here for them … for her."

"There's nowhere else I would be," I said honestly.

"I know." She smiled, sad but genuine. "Jaume knew too. He always said you were special. That you and Alexia were going to do great things together."

"We will," I promised. "I'll make sure of it."

I meant it. Every word.

I'd made a promise to a man I loved, to a family I'd chosen, to a girl who was my entire world.

I would keep that promise. Always.

2013 - Age 19

ALEXIA

The flight to Germany had been turbulent, which felt appropriate somehow. My stomach had been in knots since I'd booked the ticket three days ago, the moment I'd realized I actually had a weekend off.

I could have stayed in Barcelona. Could have rested, recovered, caught up on sleep. My body probably needed it, but the second I'd seen Ciela's race schedule and realised she'd be at the Nürburgring, the decision had made itself.

I needed to see her, needed to be near her, needed to exist in the same physical space instead of just through pixelated video calls and text messages that never quite captured what I wanted to say.

Watching Ciela do what she did best, standing at the back of the garage while she spoke to her engineers, her inability to not talk with her hands. Every now and then, she would be talking, and she’d turn to look at me, her eyes raking over my face and my body, constantly checking that I was okay. I always was.

Watching her race her car, watching the speed at which she drove, always gave me slight heart palpitations. I’d have to stand at the back, watching the live feed, watching as the other crashed out, turned into each other, or the barriers. Having to watch people retire from the race for a multitude of different reasons. I’d stand nervously with my headphones just listening to the calm and controlled nature of Ciela's voice, as she spoke to the engines. She was in full control, she had the plan, and she was executing it.

Watching as she stood on that top step of the podium for both races that weekend, she had a smile on her face, which just made her phone face light up, and the way her eyes would always scan the crowd, only stopping when they found me.

By the end of the weekend, the hotel room felt too quiet.

The hotel was nice, nicer than it could have been. The thing most people on the outside didn’t realise was that there was no money in racing unless you sat at the top. Getting to the top was a whole different thing; you want to race, you pay.

We ordered food, pasta, because it always had to be carbs after a race. We ate on the couch, her feet in my lap, talking about everything and nothing. My season with Barcelona, her season in GP3, the gossip from back home.

Normal things. Comfortable things. The kind of conversation we'd been having for thirteen years, but underneath it all, there was this current of tension. Not bad tension, maybe just an awareness of how long it had been since we'd been alone together. Of how much I'd missed her, of how temporary this was. I'd have to fly back to Barcelona tomorrow night, and then it would be weeks before we saw each other again.

After dinner, while she showered, I changed into the comfortable clothes I'd packed. When she emerged from the bathroom, hair damp and smelling like soap, wearing just a tank top and shorts, I felt my breath catch.

"What?" she asked, noticing my stare.

"Nothing," I said. "Just... I missed you."

Her expression softened. "I missed you too. So much."

She crossed the room and climbed onto the bed beside me, and I immediately curled into her, my head on her chest, her arms wrapping around me. This … this was what I'd needed. Not just to see her, but to feel her, to be held by her, to remember what it felt like to be close.

"Tell me about your week," she murmured, her fingers combing through my hair.

So, I did. I told her about training, about the tactical sessions that had run long, about the new player who was struggling to integrate with the team. I told her about Mamá and Alba; about the dinner we'd had last Sunday.

When I ran out of things to say, we fell into comfortable silence. The room was dim now, lit only by the lamp on the nightstand and the fading light coming through the window. Outside, I could hear the distant sounds of the city, but in here, it was quiet. Peaceful.

"You okay?" Ciela asked after a while.

I nodded against her chest. "Just tired."

"Long weekend."

"Long everything," I murmured. "Your world is crazy."

She hummed in agreement, her thumb brushing the back of my neck. "I'm still glad you came, though. Despite the crazy. Having you here makes it feel slightly less crazy."

"I wasn't going to miss your race weekend," I said. "Not when I actually had time off. That's like... a miracle."

She laughed softly. "I know, but it still meant a lot."

I wanted to say you mean a lot, but the words stuck in my throat the way they always did when the feelings got too big. I loved Ciela more than anything in the world; she knew that, I knew that, but sometimes the magnitude of it overwhelmed me. Made me feel small and inarticulate.

So instead, I just held her tighter, and she seemed to understand.

We lay there for a long time, wrapped in the kind of silence that only existed when two people trusted each other completely. Her heartbeat was steady under my ear, her breathing slow and even, and I felt myself starting to drift.

A thought that had been nagging at me all weekend suddenly pushed its way to the surface, demanding attention.

"Cece?" I said quietly. I moved my head from lying on her chest, so now my chin was resting on her chest, so I could look up at her.

"Mm?"

"Can I tell you something?"

Her hand stilled in my hair, and I felt her attention sharpen. "Always."

I sat up more, enough to look at her properly. Her eyes were soft in the dim light, patient and open, waiting for whatever I needed to say.

"Today scared me," I admitted.

She blinked, clearly surprised. "Scared you? Why?"

I could see her mind working, trying to figure out what I meant. The race had gone well. She hadn't crashed, hadn't even had any close calls. Everything had been smooth.

"Not the race," I clarified. "The... everything else."

"I don't understand."

I took a breath, trying to find the right words. "When I was in the paddock today, watching you work, there were all these people around you. Your engineer, your mechanics, and other drivers. And some of them were ... they were looking at you in a way that made me ..."

I trailed off, not sure how to finish that sentence without sounding jealous or possessive or insecure.

Ciela's expression had already shifted to understanding. "Ale..."

"I know it's stupid," I said quickly. "I know you're with me. I know you love me, but watching all these people, those men, talk to you, laugh with you, stand too close, the way some of them touch you, they look at you like they had a chance... it made me realise something."

"What did you realise?" she asked gently, sitting up too, so we were facing each other.

My heart was pounding now, the words forming before I'd fully thought them through. "That I can't lose you. That the thought of losing you to this world, to the fame, to the attention, to someone who can be there for you in ways I can't … it terrifies me."

"You're not going to lose me," Ciela said firmly, cupping my face in her hands. "Ever. No one could take me away from you."

"I know," I said, even though my throat was tight. "I do know that, but it made me realise something else too. Something bigger."

Her thumb brushed my cheekbone, gentle and grounding. "What?"

The words were there, right on the tip of my tongue, and suddenly I knew I had to say them. Had to make this real.

"That I love you," I said, my voice trembling. "More than I've ever loved anyone. More than I knew I could love someone."

Ciela's breath caught, her eyes widening slightly.

"And I don't want to lose you," I continued, the words coming faster now. "Not to fame, not to racing, not to the world. I want you. For the rest of my life. All of it. The chaos, the quiet, the races, the matches, the nights like this ... everything. I want everything."

"Alexia..." Her voice was barely a whisper.

I reached for her hands, holding them tightly between my own. My heart was racing so fast I thought it might burst out of my chest, but I couldn't stop now. This felt right. This felt like the right thing I'd ever done.

I took a shaky breath. "Marry me?"

The silence that followed felt like it lasted forever. Ciela just stared at me, her eyes wide, her lips parted in shock. For a horrible long moment, I thought I'd made a terrible mistake. That I'd moved too fast, asked for too much, ruined everything.

Then her eyes filled with tears, and a smile broke across her face, that brilliant, joyful smile that I'd been in love with since I was six years old.

"Are you serious?" she asked, her voice shaking.

"Yes," I said, more certain now. "I've never been more serious about anything in my life."

"Alexia, we're nineteen …"

"I don't care how old we are," I interrupted. "I know what I want. I've known what I wanted since I was fifteen years old and kissed you on that beach. Maybe even before that. I want you. I want this. I want us, forever."

She let out a shaky laugh, tears spilling down her cheeks. "You're crazy."

"Maybe," I admitted. "But I'm crazy about you. So... will you? Will you marry me?"

For a moment, she just looked at me, her expression full of so much love and wonder and disbelief that I felt my own eyes start to burn with tears.

Then she whispered, "Yes."

The word hung in the air between us, perfect and complete.

"Yes?" I repeated, needing to hear it again.

"Yes," she said, louder this time, more certain.

I didn't remember moving, but suddenly I was kissing her, my hands in her hair, her arms wrapped around me, both of us crying and laughing at the same time. The kiss was desperate and joyful and tasted like salt from our tears, and it was perfect.

When we finally broke apart, both of us breathless, she rested her forehead against mine.

"I love you," I whispered.

"I love you too," she whispered back.

2014 - Age 20

ALEXIA

The morning of the wedding, I woke up alone. I lay in my bed, staring at the ceiling of my childhood bedroom, trying to process the enormity of what was about to happen. Mamá had insisted on the tradition of not seeing each other the night before the wedding, so Ciela had stayed at her parents' house while I'd stayed here, in the room where I'd grown up, surrounded by old football posters and trophies and photographs of us at every age.

There was one on my nightstand, Ciela and me at seven years old, gap-toothed and grinning, her arm slung around my shoulders. I’d just won my first football match, some informal game at the park, and she looked so proud of me. The way she looked at me in that photo was still the way she looked at me now, even when she knew everyone was watching.

I picked up the frame, running my thumb over the glass. That little girl had no idea what was coming. Had no idea that the chaotic, brilliant girl beside her would become her entire world. Her best friend, her partner, her home.

Her wife.

A knock on the door pulled me from my thoughts. "Alexia … you awake?"

"Yeah, Mamá. Come in." I called back

She entered carrying coffee and toast. She set it on the bed beside me and sat down, her hand coming to rest on my knee.

"How are you feeling?" she asked.

"Terrified," I admitted. "Excited and happy. All of it at once."

She smiled, that soft, knowing smile that only mothers could manage. "That sounds about right."

"Is that how you felt? When did you married Papá?"

Her expression flickered at the mention of him. It had been three years since we'd lost him, and the grief was still there; it would always be there, but it had softened into something we could carry.

"Yes," she said. "Exactly like that. Like I was standing on the edge of something huge and wonderful and terrifying, and all I could do was jump."

"Did you ever regret it?" I asked. "Jumping?"

"Not for a single second." She squeezed my knee. "Your father and I had our challenges, like any couple, but choosing him and choosing to build a life with him, having you and Alba... those were the best decisions I ever made."

I felt my throat tighten as I pushed back the tears. "I wish he were here."

"I know, sweetheart. I do too." She reached up to brush a strand of hair from my face. "He is here, in a way. He's in you, in the way you love so fiercely and completely. He'd be so proud of you today. Of the woman you've become, of the love you've found."

"You think so?"

"I know so. He loved Ciela, and you know that. He always said you two were inevitable."

I laughed despite the tears threatening to spill. "Everyone always said that."

"It was true. From the moment that football hit her in the head, and she decided you were friends, it was inevitable. You were always going to end up here."

Maybe she was right. Maybe this had always been written somewhere in the stars. Maybe Ciela and I had been moving toward this moment since we were six years old, since the first time she held my hand, since the first time I realised that being near her felt like coming home.

"Eat your breakfast," Mamá said, standing up. "Alba will be up soon to help you get ready, and you know how she gets when you don't eat."

"Bossy?"

"Protective. Like her sister." She leaned down to kiss my forehead. "I love you, Alexia, and I'm so, so happy for you."

"I love you too, Mamá."

The next few hours passed in a blur of activity. Alba arrived with our cousins, and suddenly my room was full of people, doing my hair, helping me into my suit, offering opinions on jewellery and shoes, and whether I should wear my hair up or down.

I'd chosen a cream-colored suit, tailored to fit perfectly, with a soft open jacket that felt elegant without being too formal. It felt like me, understated, classic, comfortable. Ciela had seen it when we'd gone shopping together months ago and had immediately said, "That's the one. You look perfect."

Now, standing in front of the mirror while Alba fussed with my collar, I hoped she'd still think so.

"Stop fidgeting," Alba said, swatting my hands away. "You're going to wrinkle it."

"Sorry. I'm nervous." I said, smoothing my hand down my shirt for the thousandth time.

"You're marrying your best friend. The person you've been in love with since you were basically a fetus. What's there to be nervous about?" She said so matter-of-factly.

"Everything," I said honestly. "What if I trip walking down the aisle? What if I cry so much I can't say my vows? What if …"

"Alexia." Alba turned me to face her, her hands on my shoulders. "You're going to be fine. Better than fine. This is Ciela. Your Ciela. She's not going to care if you trip or cry or forget every word you're supposed to say. She's just going to be happy you're there."

I took a shaky breath. "You're right."

"I know I'm right. I'm always right." She grinned, then pulled me into a hug. "I'm really happy for you, you know. Both of you. You deserve this."

"Thank you," I whispered into her shoulder.

The beach was perfect.

I'd been worried about the weather, but today was clear and warm, with just enough breeze to keep it comfortable.

The chairs were arranged in small rows, each decorated with white ribbons and sprigs of wildflowers that Ciela's mother had picked from her garden. The scent of salt water drifted through the air, mixing with the sweet smell of the flowers. It was intimate, private, exactly what we'd wanted.

Our families were already seated, Mamá and Alba in the front row on one side, Ciela's parents and brothers on the other. A few close friends filled the remaining seats. No one else. This wasn't a spectacle or a performance. This was just us, making promises to each other in front of the people who mattered most.

I stood at the edge of the water, hands clasped in front of me, trying to breathe evenly. My heart was racing, my palms were sweating, and I felt like I might either burst into tears or laughter at any moment.

Alba stood beside me, her hand briefly touching my elbow in silent support. "You've got this," she murmured.

I nodded, not trusting my voice.

The officiant, a kind woman we'd met with several times over the past few months, smiled at me reassuringly. "Ready?"

Was I ready? I'd been ready for this since I was fifteen years old, since the moment I'd kissed Ciela on that beach and realized I wanted to spend my entire life kissing her. Since the moment she’d held me in a hospital corridor and promised to always be there. Since the moment I'd proposed in a German hotel room, and she'd said yes.

"Yes," I said. "I'm ready."

Ciela appeared at the top of the small path leading down to the sand, and my breath left me in a rush.

She was ... she was breathtaking.

The sunlight caught in her long, dark hair, making it shine almost black. Her ivory dress flowed around her like water, simple and elegant, with a ribbon over her shoulder, flowing down her back as the skirt moved with the breeze. She held a small bouquet of colourful dahlias tied with a pale ribbon.

It was her face that undid me. That soft, almost shy smile. Those eyes, a warm brown and full of so much love, locked on mine like I was the only person in the world.

She started walking, slow and steady, and I felt tears prick my eyes. I didn't bother trying to hide them. Let everyone see. Let them know how much this meant, how much she meant.

When she reached me, she let out a tiny laugh, breathless and joyful. "Hi."

"Hi," I whispered back, my voice cracking.

She handed her bouquet to Alba, then turned back to me, and we took each other's hands. Her fingers slid between mine with the ease of fourteen years of practice, and I felt something in my chest settle. This. This was right. This was exactly where we were supposed to be.

The officiant smiled warmly at us, then turned to address our families.

"Welcome, everyone. Today is not just a wedding. Today is the continuation of a story that began long before either of them understood what love was."

I squeezed Ciela's hands, and she squeezed back, her eyes never leaving mine.

"Some people meet their soulmate at thirty," the officiant continued. "Some at twenty. These two met at six, when a football hit a little girl in the head, and instead of crying, she laughed and declared them friends."

Soft laughter rippled through our families. I felt my cheeks flush, but Ciela just grinned at me, proud and unrepentant.

"They grew up side by side," the officiant said. "They learned the world together. They learned from each other. They were inseparable long before they knew why."

I thought about all those years, the playground, the sleepovers, the races and matches, the late-night conversations, the way we'd always gravitated toward each other like magnets. How even when we'd been too young to understand what we were feeling, we'd known that being together had felt right.

"And when life became difficult," the officiant continued, her voice softening, "they held each other through it. Through grief. Through distance. Through fear. Through the moments that could have broken them, but instead bound them closer and stronger."

My eyes flickered to Mamá, to Alba, and I felt the familiar ache of missing Papá, but as I did, I felt Ciela's hands tighten around mine, grounding me, reminding me that I wasn't alone. That I'd never be alone again.

"Today," the officiant said, "they choose each other again. Not for the first time, and not for the last. Before we begin the vows, I'd like to invite you both to take a moment. Look at each other. Really look."

We did, though, honestly, I'd been looking at her since the moment she'd appeared. Looking at her was as natural as breathing.

I saw every version of Ciela I'd ever loved. The chaotic six-year-old with the too-big grin. The thirteen-year-old who'd climbed through my window in the middle of the night. The fifteen-year-old who'd kissed me on this very beach. The seventeen-year-old who'd held me together when my world fell apart. The nineteen-year-old who'd said yes when I'd asked her to marry me.

I saw the future too, all the versions of her I hadn't met yet, all the moments we'd share together, all the ways we'd grow and change and love each other through it all.

"Now," the officiant said gently. "Your vows."

My heart stuttered. This was it. The moment I'd been both anticipating and dreading, because how did you put fourteen years of love into words? How did you explain what someone meant when they were your entire world? I took a breath, trying to steady myself, and began.

"Ciela..." My voice was already shaking. "Loving you has never felt like something I learned. It felt like something I remembered. Like something that had always been there, waiting for me to grow into it. You've been the quiet thread running through every version of my life. Even when we were small, even when we didn't have the words for what we were feeling, you were the person I reached for without thinking. You still are."

I thought about all those moments, reaching for her hand in the playground, calling her first when something good or bad happened, turning to her in the hospital when my world was ending. Always her. Always.

"You've always had this way of bringing colour into my world. You walk into a room, and everything shifts; it becomes brighter, louder, warmer, and somehow, you've always known how to quiet it again when I needed that too. You've been my balance for so long that I don't remember what it felt like before."

My thumb brushed over her hand, feeling the warmth of her skin, the steadiness of her presence.

"You've seen me in every state a person can be seen in, the brave parts, the messy parts, the parts I tried to hide even from myself, and you've met all of them with patience. With gentleness. With that look you give me that makes everything feel a little less impossible."

I had to pause again, my throat tight with emotion. Ciela's tears were falling freely now, but she was smiling, that beautiful smile that was only for me.

"So, my promise to you is this: I will keep choosing you. Not in grand gestures, not in dramatic declarations, but in the small, steady ways that build a life. I'll choose you in the quiet mornings, in the long nights, in the moments when everything feels too heavy or too light. I'll stand with you, grow with you, and love you in all the ways you've taught me love can look."

My voice broke, but I pushed through.

"You've been home to me for as long as I can remember, and I want to spend the rest of my life coming home to you."

The silence that followed felt sacred. Ciela was crying openly now, and I realised I was too, tears streaming down my face that I didn't bother to wipe away.

Then she took a shaky breath, and it was her turn.

"Alexia..." Her voice was thick with emotion. "You've always been the calm in my chaos. Even when I was all noise and motion, you never asked me to be less. You just ... understood me. You always have."

I felt my heart clench at her words, at the truth in them.

"You're the person I've always wanted to tell things to. The big things, the small things, the things that only matter because you're the one hearing them. Somehow, you make everything feel more real. More grounded. More mine."

She laughed quietly, brushing tears from her cheeks with her free hand.

"You've held me together in ways I don't think you even realise, and you've let me hold you in ways that changed me. You've been my safest place, my favourite place, the one constant I never had to question. Even when life was loud, even when everything felt too big, you were the steady heartbeat underneath it all. So today, I promise to love you the way you've always loved me. I promise to protect what we've built, to stand beside you when life gets messy, and to keep choosing us, every day, in all the small ways that matter."

She squeezed my hands; her eyes locked on mine.

"You are the best part of every version of my life, and I want every version of my future to have you in it. I want the ordinary days, the extraordinary ones, the quiet moments, the loud ones … I want all of it for as long as I live. You’re my heart. My home. My always."

The last word came out as barely a whisper, and I couldn't hold back anymore. I was crying fully now, overwhelmed by the weight of her words, by the promise in them, by the sheer magnitude of being loved like this.

The officiant gave us a moment, letting us just exist in the emotion of it, before she spoke again.

"May we have the rings?"

Alba stepped forward with a small wooden box. Inside lay two simple silver bands. Nothing flashy. Just solid and real and permanent.

I took Ciela's ring first, my hands shaking slightly as I held it.

"With this ring," I said, my voice steadier now, "I give you my heart, my loyalty, and my life."

I slid it onto her finger, watching as it settled into place, as it had always belonged there, as we'd always been moving toward this moment.

Ciela took my ring, her own hands trembling, her eyes still wet with tears.

"With this ring," she murmured, "I give you my love, my trust, and my forever."

She slid it onto my finger, and I felt the cool metal against my skin, felt the weight of it. A reminder of our promise.

The officiant smiled, her own eyes shining. "By the power of love and the promises you've made today, I now pronounce you married."

Married. The word echoed in my head, surreal and perfect.

"You may now kiss."

Ciela laughed through her tears, and I didn't wait. I cupped her face in my hands, my thumbs brushing away her tears, and whispered, "Come here."

The kiss was soft and gentle, both of us crying and smiling at the same time, but then it deepened, became more certain, and I felt everything else fall away. The beach, our families, the world, none of it mattered. There was only this. Only her. Only us.

When we finally broke apart, both of us breathless, our families erupted in cheers and applause. I heard Alba whooping, heard Ciela's brothers shouting something probably inappropriate, heard our mothers crying happy tears.

I was only looking at Ciela, at my wife.

My wife.

She was grinning at me, that brilliant, joyful smile that I'd been in love with for fourteen years, and I felt my heart swell so much I thought it might burst.

"I love you," she murmured. "So much."

"I love you too," I said, my voice thick with emotion. "Always."

I meant it with everything I had, with everything I was, with everything I would ever be.

Always.