Iván is simply unreachable. He is also unpredictable. For instance, after making love, he's like a little boy. He cuddles, hugs, caresses. It's as if he wants to crawl under the other person's skin. But sometimes, he gets offended, argues over trivial things, and becomes jealous. Madly jealous.

“What music should I play?” Gina asked as she scrolled through playlists on her phone.

“Whatever you listen to,” Zita replied without thinking.

“Seriously, come on, you’re the guest. What do you like?”

“It really doesn’t matter.”

The man with the knitted hat and baggy sweater reached the corner of Calle las Flores with his dog precisely at 8:30 a.m. every day. The young Labrador would always stop here to sniff around the bus stop and trash bins. This took about two minutes.

As far as the eye could see, the landscape was covered in untouched snow. The sun hid behind thick clouds, and apart from the young couple, not a soul had set foot on the mountain top. Barbara looked around with satisfaction. At moments like these, she felt like the ruler of the world, able to do anything.

The nervous pit in Olga's stomach didn't even wait for the sun to rise. Her body began protesting against the potentially awkward evening program early in the morning. She dreaded first dates. She hated the dreadful role-playing, the nervous laughter, and the heavy silences that occasionally set in.

Antonio, Bernard, and Eva could hardly wait to finally enter the festival grounds. They impatiently endured the long line. Eva, nervous, fidgeted with her bracelets and adjusted her two long braids. Meanwhile, Antonio and Bernard each drank a beer and teased each other, laughing loudly at their own jokes.

Rosa listened to Marisol, the tour guide turned agent-interpreter-problem solver, with boredom. The words no longer formed sentences in her mind. She watched as the woman, hired by her husband, gesticulated vigorously and importantly in her sun-faded, too-tight top.

Sylvya Tenerife was about thirty years older than in her profile picture. The two deep wrinkles between her long, downward-curving nose and mouth made it hard to tell whether they were from a forgotten scowl or simply the marks of age. With her deep, cigarette-smoky voice, she greeted the family who was awkwardly waiting in the narrow parking lot.

They had to wait half an hour for the car in the airport parking lot, surrounded by palm trees. Elena was a bit disappointed about the delay, but since she had never seen a palm tree up close before, she took photos of them in the meantime. At least she’d have something to post on social media right away.

Elena had been scrolling through posts in various Facebook groups for days. The two-week trip to the Canary Islands had to be perfect. They weren’t about to spend a year’s worth of savings just to aimlessly lounge around—they could do that in the garden for free.