Chapter 8: Barcelona

The flight from Amsterdam to Barcelona is two hours.

Sush sits in the window seat, watching the clouds.

She's been traveling for a week now. Paris, Amsterdam, and now Barcelona.

She's had sex with four different guys.

She's stopped counting orgasms.

She's stopped feeling guilty.

Barcelona is warm. The hostel (Sant Jordi Sagrada Familia) is loud, colorful, full of Australians and Americans and Brits on gap years.

Sush checks in. Drops her bag. Goes out.

The city smells like the sea and oranges and something sweet she can't name.

She walks to the Sagrada Familia. Stands outside and stares up at the spires. It's unfinished — still being built after more than a century.

She thinks about her own life. Unfinished. Still being built.

Maybe that's okay.

That night, the hostel has a rooftop party.

Sush drinks sangria (too sweet) and talks to a girl from England named Sophie.

"You're traveling alone?" Sophie asks.

"Yeah."

"Brave. I could never."

Sush shrugs. "It's not that hard."

But it is hard. It's terrifying. It's lonely.

It's also the best thing she's ever done.

A guy joins their conversation. He's Spanish, from Barcelona, maybe twenty-six. His name is Marc.

He's beautiful. Dark hair, dark eyes, the kind of face that belongs in a cologne ad.

"You want to see the real Barcelona?" he asks Sush.

"What's the real Barcelona?"

"Not this." He gestures at the hostel, the tourists, the rooftop party. "Come with me."

She should say no.

She says yes.

---

Marc takes her to a bar in Gràcia, a neighborhood she's never heard of.

The bar is small, locals-only, the kind of place tourists don't find.

They drink vermouth (bitter, herbal, strange). They talk.

He tells her about the city. About the politics, the language, the way Barcelona is Catalan, not Spanish, and how that matters.

She tells him about Pune. About her job. About the way she's been feeling stuck.

"So you ran away," he says.

"I guess."

"Good. Everyone should run away at least once."

They drink more. The bar gets louder. He leans closer.

"You're different from the other tourists," he says.

"How?"

"You're not performing. You're just... here."

She doesn't know what to say to that.

He kisses her.

It's different from the others. Slower. More intentional.

When he pulls back, he says, "Come home with me."

"Okay."

---

Marc's apartment is in a building with no elevator, five floors up.

The apartment is small, messy, full of books and records and the smell of coffee.

He pours them wine. They sit on his couch.

"I don't usually do this," he says.

"Do what?"

"Bring tourists home."

"Why did you bring me?"

He looks at her. Really looks at her.

"Because you're sad," he says. "And I like sad girls."

It should be a red flag.

But she doesn't care.

They kiss. He pulls her onto his lap. His hands slide under her shirt.

"Tell me what you want," he says.

No one's asked her that before.

"I don't know," she says.

"Then let me show you."

He takes her to his bedroom. Undresses her slowly. Kisses every inch of her skin.

He goes down on her.

No one's done that before.

It's overwhelming. His tongue, his fingers, the way he's focused entirely on her pleasure.

She comes twice before he even takes off his pants.

When he finally fucks her, it's slow, deliberate, nothing like the frantic encounters she's had before.

"You're beautiful," he says.

She still doesn't believe it.

But she's starting to want to.

---

She stays the night.

In the morning, he makes her coffee. They sit on his tiny balcony and watch the city wake up.

"How long are you in Barcelona?" he asks.

"Two more days."

"Come back tonight."

"Okay."

She does.

And the night after that.

On her last night in Barcelona, he says, "You should stay."

"I can't."

"Why not?"

"Because I have a life. In India."

"Do you want that life?"

She doesn't answer.

When she leaves his apartment for the last time, he kisses her at the door.

"Don't forget this," he says.

"I won't."

But she knows she will. Eventually.

That's the point of traveling. You collect moments, and then you leave them behind.

---