"I'm so excited to meet your family," Mateo gushed, gently squeezing her hand. His grip was warm, steady, full of love—but Maria’s heart thudded with quiet dread. She forced a smile, nodding along, but her thoughts were miles ahead. Mateo was kind, brilliant, athletic, and undeniably good-looking—with the kind of face straight out of a romantic drama. And while he never made her feel less than, Maria often wondered why someone like him had chosen someone like her. She wasn’t hideous, no—but next to her, Maria felt like the smudged sketch to her sister’s masterpiece.

Inside the house, her parents welcomed him with wide arms and playful banter. Her mom grinned. “So this is the infamous Mateo?” Her dad chuckled, “He is even more handsome in person." Mateo laughed, disarming them both instantly with that golden-boy charm of his. For a moment, Maria let herself believe maybe this wouldn’t be so bad.

And then came the sound of heels on the hardwood floor.

Her sister descended the stairs like some slow-motion goddess. Her hair—dark, glossy, and spilling in perfect waves over her shoulders—bounced ever so slightly with each step. Her skin glowed, her cheekbones kissed by the afternoon light, and her full lips curved into a soft, friendly smile. She wore a fitted burgundy top that hugged her curves just enough to be mesmerizing and a black tennis skirt that seemed sculpted for her body alone. There was something effortless about her beauty, like she wasn’t even trying—and that only made it worse.

Mateo’s laughter faltered. His gaze shifted, and for a few seconds, he just stared. His mouth parted slightly, as if he were about to say something but forgot what. He blinked—twice—and Maria felt his grip on her hand loosen. He wasn’t leering, not exactly. But the awe in his face, the way his eyes followed her sister as she crossed the room, was unmistakable. It was the look of someone witnessing something rare, like a sunrise in a dream. Maria didn’t need to look at him to know. She could feel it in her gut.

He sees her.