the spaces between

block.

the voices drifted through the half-closed door like smoke, curling into isa's quiet room.

"she's not... herself," her mom said, low but sharp. isa froze, her fingers hovering over the worn keys of the digital piano. the afternoon light painted long shadows across the floor, and for a second, she wanted to melt into them.

"give her time," tio josé's voice was softer, slower—measured like it always was. "it's a lot to process, emilia's scare, being away from home. but... maybe she needs something familiar again."

familiar. isa pressed her lips together until they hurt. she had tried. writing until her fingers cramped, calling matt until the ringing became a song in her ears, ignoring the hollow echo that followed when he didn't pick up.

"i think," josé continued, "maybe she'd be better off... back home."

there was a pause, a sigh. then her mom, quieter now: "yeah. maybe you're right."

isa stared at the sheet of half-scribbled lyrics on her lap, words that suddenly felt stupid and heavy. home. just the thought made her chest ache so violently she almost laughed.

they told her at breakfast the next day.
"we're going to take a trip," her mom announced, like it was a surprise party instead of an attempt to fix something broken. "seville. one last little adventure before..."

before you ship me back, isa thought. but she just nodded, swallowing the sharpness.

the city was beautiful—too beautiful, like it was trying too hard to pull her out of herself. cobblestone streets wound like ribbons under their feet, orange trees bent under the weight of fruit, their scent sweet and dizzying in the warm air. her mom pointed at buildings, at colors, at things that probably meant something in the guidebook, but isa barely heard.

she was stuck in two places at once: here, where laughter echoed off cathedral walls and vendors called out in lilting spanish, and there—home—where matt existed like a phantom behind a glowing screen that refused to light up for her.

every time her phone buzzed, her heart jolted like a live wire. every time, it was nothing.

they crossed the puente de triana as the sky deepened into rose and gold, the guadalquivir river curling black beneath them. isa slowed, fingers grazing the stone railing, and for the first time in days, something inside her cracked just wide enough for light to slip in.

she wanted to tell him about this. about the way the air smelled like orange blossoms and river water, how the sky looked like a painting someone would ruin by touching. she wanted to tell him everything—how she missed him so much it felt like a fever, how every lyric she wrote tasted like his name.

so when her mom's voice broke into her thoughts—gentle, almost hesitant—it was like a match striking in the dark.

"isa," she said, "we're... going home. soon. a few days."

isa blinked. "home?"

"sí, mi amor." a small smile. "you need it. we all do."

for a moment, isa couldn't breathe. then the air rushed in like a wave and she was nodding, smiling so hard her face hurt, laughter bubbling in her throat like something foreign.

"okay," she whispered. "okay."

she waited until they were sitting at an outdoor café, the evening lights spilling like gold across the tables, music drifting from a guitar somewhere down the street. her mom and luca were arguing over tapas; josé was on the phone.

isa pulled out her phone, hands trembling with something almost like joy. she opened messages, heart pounding, and typed before she could overthink:

we're coming home. i can't wait to see you.
a pause.
missed you so much.