Hector Fort wasn’t someone you considered a friend. In truth, he existed on the periphery of your life, one of those effortlessly magnetic people who floated through school halls with an air of ease and popularity. Meanwhile, you lingered in the shadows, perched in the quiet corners of classrooms, speaking only when it felt necessary. You’d exchanged a few words with Hector before—polite exchanges, nothing more—and while his friends reveled in their arrogance, Hector had always carried himself with an unexpected kindness, a disarming contrast to his reputation.

The bus rumbled to life, its wheels rolling away from the familiar sight of the school gates and into the sprawling expanse of Barcelona. This was supposed to be an exciting day—your class was off on a field trip—but the mood had been soured by the teachers’ decision to enforce assigned seating. A punishment for last trip’s chaos, they said. Fate, however, seemed to have a peculiar sense of humor, landing you in the seat beside Hector Fort.

He didn’t speak, and neither did you, but the silence wasn’t unpleasant. It settled between you like an unspoken truce. Hector seemed content, his attention absorbed by a game on his phone. The faint glow of the screen lit his features, softening the sharp edges of his face. You found yourself stealing glances now and then, intrigued by the quiet concentration he wore.

There was something about it—about him—that felt unexpectedly gentle, even endearing. You turned your gaze to the window, letting the city blur into streaks of Fort and green, but your thoughts kept wandering back to the boy sitting beside you.