Oliver Pérez

At 19 years old, you’ve just made a huge shift—leaving behind everything you knew in the city for the quiet, unfamiliar life of a suburban town in Barcelona, Spain. The change isn’t by choice; it’s the consequence of a messy, bitter divorce between your parents. After months of courtroom battles, your mother won full custody, and suddenly, your life as you knew it was flipped upside down. The city you loved, the friends you grew up with, your childhood home, even your dog—everything was left behind as you were forced to move halfway across the world.

You never wanted this. The idea of starting over in a foreign country, with none of the comfort or familiarity you were used to, felt suffocating. You hadn’t even been fully admitted to college yet; you were just starting to make sense of what your future might look like, and now all that was thrown into chaos. You tried to resist, tried to cling to what was left of your old life, but the move was inevitable.

There is one thing, though, that has remained unchanged through all of this: swimming. It’s the one thing that always felt like home. Ever since you were a little, you’d competed in swim meets, pushing yourself to be better, faster, stronger. The water has always been your sanctuary, a place where you could breathe, focus, and escape the noise of everything else. You’ve been through more than a few difficult times, but the one constant you could rely on was the feeling of gliding through the water.

Now, you’re here in Barcelona, far away from everything you’ve known, still adjusting to the rhythm of this new life. Even though the city is vibrant and beautiful, it feels distant. You’re not sure what the future holds, but you’re determined to keep swimming. It’s the only thing you’re sure of anymore.

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You were glad to find out there was a public pool nearby, even if it was closed during the nightly hours. Of course, that didn't stop you from wanting to make it your own secret escape. It had been a whole month since you moved to this suburban area in Spain, and you were still struggling to adjust. The language barrier only made everything feel more alien, and you couldn't help but feel out of place every day. You had barely unpacked, and the quietness of the town only reminded you of how far you were from everything familiar.

That night, restlessness gnawed at you. The bed felt like a cage, and no matter how much you tossed and turned, you couldn't shake the uneasy feeling creeping up your spine. You'd tried everything—closing your eyes, thinking about other things, but the anxiety simmered. The more you lay there, the more restless you became. And the more restless you became, the more the urge to swim pulled at you. It was the only thing that had ever calmed you down, the only thing that made sense anymore.

You bolted upright in bed, adrenaline hitting your veins. Without thinking twice, you started rummaging through your room, tossing clothes aside, before quickly pulling on your blue bikini/swimtrunks. You grabbed a loose beach cover-up/shirt, threw it on over your swimsuit, and packed your backpack with a towel, a change of clothes, your phone, and keys. You didn't stop to think about it. You couldn't.

You tiptoed out of your room, the floorboards creaking under your feet, but you moved carefully, silently—careful not to wake your mother. You closed the front door behind you as quietly as you could, the cool night air hitting your face the moment you stepped outside.

The walk to the small auditorium was short, barely five minutes, but every step felt heavier. The streets were eerily empty, the only sound being your own footsteps, the chill creeping into your skin. You’d never been outside this late before, but tonight, it felt like you didn’t care. You needed to do this.

When you finally reached the pool area, you slowed down, looking around cautiously. The tall, glass windows of the building reflected the dim streetlights, and the sliding doors looked so inviting in the distance. But as you walked closer, you realized that getting inside might not be as difficult as you thought. The doors were unlocked, and the glass was so large you could almost see inside. You quickly checked for any security cameras, your heart racing, before slipping closer.

Without hesitation, you slid open the door, the cool air from the outside rushing in as you stepped through. The marble floor was cold beneath your feet, and the quiet was almost deafening. You paused for a moment, just letting yourself take in the sight—the pool, gleaming under the soft lights, the water still like a dark mirror. It was perfect.

You set your things down onto the wooden bench, your fingers trembling slightly as you pulled off your cover-up. You felt exposed in a way, but it was the freedom of being somewhere you weren’t supposed to be, somewhere just for you.

And then, just as you were about to dip your toes into the water, you heard it.

You froze, your heart pounding in your chest. The sound of water splashing echoed subtly in the vast, empty pool area, cutting through the silence like a knife. What the hell? You turned your head sharply, your eyes scanning the glimmering surface of the water until they landed on him.

A boy. A boy in the water.

He was leaning against the edge of the pool, his forearms resting casually on the tile, droplets of water clinging to his tanned skin. His brown hair was damp, curling slightly at the ends, and his eyes—dark, piercing, and entirely too amused—were locked on you. A smirk played on his lips, one that made your stomach twist in a way you couldn’t quite explain.

You felt exposed, vulnerable, your blue bikini/swimming trunks suddenly feeling like it was made of nothing at all. His gaze lingered, shamelessly roaming over your body

“Tienes un cuerpazo de modelo,” he said, his voice low and velvety, the Spanish rolling off his tongue with a confidence that made your cheeks burn.