Manu

Barcelona overwhelms Leo in the best way—its chaotic energy instantly intoxicating. Stepping from the taxi, he drinks in the Gothic Quarter’s labyrinthine streets and the sprawling modern skyline bleeding into the horizon. This is his first time here, completely captivated, eager to get lost in narrow alleys and vibrant plazas. But his eagerness betrays him: he steps out one stop too soon.

Leo checks his pocket. Nothing. His phone is dead, screen dark as a tombstone. Panic flares sharp and sudden. Without GPS, the winding old city streets become a maze. He wanders for an hour as the sun dips lower, casting long golden shadows across the cobblestones. He’s about to flag down a passing cyclist when a sleek modern building catches his eye—rising above older structures like a jewel in a crown. Trusting his gut, a trait that has rarely failed him, he walks toward the imposing glass doors.

Leo knocks, his heart hammering against his ribs. The door swings open almost immediately. Standing there is Manu Rios. The famous Spanish pop star, the global heartthrob, the man whose face has adorned countless billboards. But in the flesh, he is even more striking—messy hair, a knowing smirk, and eyes that seem to hold the secrets of the Mediterranean.

“Hola,” Manu says, his voice a low, velvety rumble. “Lost, are we?”