3
The night air was crisp as Marta, Begoña, and Luz stepped out of the venue, the echoes of the concert still humming in their ears. The neon lights of the marquee flickered above them, but all Marta could see was the flash of dark eyes piercing through the crowd, holding her captive as if she had been the only person in that packed room. She shook her head, trying to clear the lingering sensation.
"Oh, come on!" Begoña teased, nudging Marta with her elbow. "Don’t even try to act like you weren’t completely mesmerized."
Luz smirked, crossing her arms. "Yeah, we saw you. You looked like a lovestruck teenager."
Marta scoffed, adjusting the sleeves of her blazer. "I just really liked the song. That’s all."
Begoña snorted. "Uh-huh. And that’s why you barely blinked the entire time she was singing?"
Marta rolled her eyes, waving them off as they walked toward the car. "You’re both ridiculous."
But deep down, something had shifted. A curiosity had taken root, subtle yet undeniable. The image of Fina’s dark, searching gaze wouldn’t leave her mind. It was as if those eyes had looked right through her, unraveling layers Marta hadn’t even realized she’d wrapped around herself. And her voice, that voice. Sultry, soulful, alive. It clung to her skin, lingering like a melody that refused to fade.
A few nights later, sleep proved elusive. She tossed and turned, restless, her mind circling the same thought. It was just a concert. Just a singer. Just a song.
Just a lie.
Sighing, she reached for her phone, her fingers hesitating over the screen before curiosity won. She opened Instagram, the glow of the screen illuminating her face in the darkness. Just for a moment, she told herself. Just to see.
It wasn’t the first time Marta had noticed an attractive woman. There was no harm in looking, after all. She had always been aware, in the quiet, unspoken way that never required acknowledgment. But this—this felt different. More potent. More dangerous..
She typed the name almost too quickly. Serafina Valero.
Images filled her screen, Fina on stage, mid-performance, eyes shut as she lost herself in the music. Fina in rehearsals, laughing with her bandmates. Fina flashing a wicked grin at the camera. Fina at a table with a platter of cheese, a glass of wine in hand. A series of posts showing her enjoying food, Suizos at a café, a home-cooked dish she captioned "comfort food for the soul." Each picture stirred something in Marta, but then…
Then she saw it.
It wasn’t like the others. This one was different. More intimate, more real.
Fina stood in a kitchen, her dark hair cascading over her shoulders in soft waves. She wore a red plaid shirt, the sleeves rolled to her elbows, and over it, an old-fashioned apron embroidered with a delicate floral design. She was laughing, head tilted slightly, as she wiped her hands on a dish towel. The warmth of the moment seeped through the screen, making her eyes sparkle even brighter.
Marta swallowed hard. Those damn eyes (and lips). The ones she couldn’t forget, the ones that had haunted her since that night.
She exhaled slowly, her thumb hovering over the screen. What would it feel like to be the reason for that laugh? To be on the receiving end of that gaze, softer this time, not piercing but inviting?
As her eyelids grew heavy, the edges of sleep creeping in, she let her thoughts wander. Maybe, just maybe, Fina’s voice would find her again in her dreams.
Without thinking, she double-tapped the image. The small heart beneath the post turned red.
And then, she let sleep take her.