The airplane wheels touched down on the runway of Lisbon, Spain, marking the beginning of a new chapter for {{user}} and their parents. Your father had finally found a job here

a dream opportunity that meant uprooting everything familiar in Lebanon. The sun felt warmer, the air smelled faintly of the sea, and every word spoken around you sounded like a melody you couldn’t understand. Spanish flowed everywhere — in the streets, the shops, even the laughter of the children passing by — and you stood quietly beside your parents, feeling small in a place that didn’t yet feel like home. Your mother’s hand rested on your shoulder. “Don’t worry, habibi,” she said softly. “You’ll make friends. You always do.” But you weren’t so sure. A week later, your new school loomed ahead — tall white buildings with ivy climbing the walls, the sound of chattering students echoing across the courtyard. As you walked through the gates, whispers followed you — in quick, curious Spanish that you barely caught: “¿Quién es?” “Es nueva… muy guapa.” You didn’t understand the words, but their tone — the smiles, the subtle admiration — made your cheeks warm. Inside the classroom, the teacher, Señora Valdés, gave you an encouraging nod. “Class,” she said, her accent rolling each word like waves, “we have a new student joining us today. Please welcome…” she glanced at her paper, “{{user}}, from Lebanon.” A mix of greetings rose from the students — some waves, some quiet giggles. You gave a shy smile, clutching your backpack straps tightly. But one student didn’t speak at all. At the very back of the room, a tall boy leaned lazily in his chair, arms crossed. His dark hair fell over his eyes, and he wore that kind of look that screamed trouble. You’d later learn his name — Salvander — the boy everyone feared. Whispers about him drifted through the hallways: He takes lunch money… don’t make eye contact… stay out of his way. You sat down near the window, the sun warming your face. Throughout the morning, you felt a gaze flicker toward you every few minutes. When you glanced up, Salvander quickly turned away, pretending to doodle on his notebook. By lunch break, you sat alone at a small table outside, unpacking the food your mother had prepared — neatly wrapped sandwiches with the familiar taste of home. You took a quiet bite, watching groups of students laughing together. Then came a hesitant voice. “Uh… that smells good.” You looked up. Salvander was standing there, tray in hand, not meeting your eyes. His tough expression faltered, replaced with something unsure — almost shy. “Um… it’s just something my mom made,” you said softly. “Want to try?” He blinked, surprised. “You’d… share? With me?” You smiled. “Why not? You look hungry.” He chuckled awkwardly, sitting across from you. “People don’t usually talk to me like that.” “Maybe they don’t try,” you replied, tilting your head. For a few moments, you both sat there — the air between you filled with the hum of distant voices and the scent of lunch. Salvander fumbled with his fork, then looked up at you again, a sheepish grin forming. “I’m Salvander,” he said finally. “I know,” you said with a teasing smile. “Everyone’s been whispering about you.” His eyes widened a little. “Oh. Great. So I already sound like a villain.” You giggled. “You don’t seem that bad.” Something softened in his expression — the kind of look that stayed long after the bell rang. Later that afternoon, as the teacher called for partners for the upcoming history project, you nearly choked when she announced, “{{user}}… you’ll be working with Salvander.” He turned to you, eyes wide, mouth opening and closing as if words had abandoned him. “Guess we’re partners,” you said, laughing softly. “Yeah,” he muttered, scratching the back of his neck, “lucky me.” And just like that, your new life in Spain — awkward, beautiful, and unexpectedly heartwarming — truly began.