Every bone in my body aches.
Every muscle screams in protest.
I haven’t slept properly in weeks.
I haven’t eaten a real meal in days.
I’ve been riding nonstop, chasing rumors, following leads that go nowhere.
But I can’t stop.
I won’t stop.
Because she’s out there somewhere.
And I have to find her.
I’m sitting in a small restaurant near the coast, the kind of place that’s tucked away from the main roads.
The food is simple, but it’s the first real meal I’ve had in days.
I push the food around my plate, my appetite gone.
I think about her constantly.
Her face.
Her voice.
The way she used to look at me with fire in her eyes.
I think about the last time I saw her.
The way she stood in front of me, her dress soaked through, her blue eyes blazing with pain and anger.
The way she told me she hated me.
The way she told me she loved me.
And the way I said nothing.
I clench my fists under the table.
I hate myself.
I hate myself for being so weak.
For being so frozen.
For letting her walk away.
“You always say nothing,” she said.
“When I needed you most, you said nothing.” I look out the window.
The streets are crowded with people, all of them moving with purpose, all of them living their lives.
I feel invisible.
Like I’m a ghost haunting the edges of their world.
I’ve been searching for weeks, I think.
Following every lead.
Chasing every rumor.
And I still haven’t found her.
I push my plate away and lean back in my chair.
The waitress walks over, her face polite but curious.
“Are you finished, sir?” I nod.
“Yes.
Just the bill, please.” She nods and walks away.
I stare at the table, my mind racing.
Where are you, Aitana?
Where did you go?
The waitress returns with the bill.
I hand her some money, enough to cover the meal and a generous tip.
“Keep the change,” I mutter.
She smiles.
“Thank you, sir.
Have a good day.” I stand up and walk toward the door.
But before I reach it, I hear something that makes my heart stop.
“Did you hear about that female rider in Málaga?” I freeze.
My heart pounds in my chest.
My ears strain to catch every word.
“Female rider?” another voice says.
“What about her?” “She’s been making waves in the underground racing scene.
They call her Vengeance in Metal.
She’s been beating everyone.
Apparently, she’s got a silver bike with a gold flame.” I feel the world tilt beneath my feet.
A silver bike with a gold flame.
That’s her.
That has to be her.
I turn around and walk toward the table where the voices are coming from.
Two men are sitting there, their heads bent together in conversation.
“Excuse me,” I say, my voice low and urgent.
They look up, surprised.
“Can I help you?” one of them asks.
“Did you just say there’s a female rider in Málaga?” I ask.
“A silver bike with a gold flame?” The man nods.
“Yeah.
She’s been racing in the underground circuit.
She’s incredible.
Beat Alexander, Sergio’s best rider.
They call her Vengeance in Metal.” I feel my heart race.
It’s her, I think.
It has to be her.
“How do I find her?” I ask, my voice desperate.
“Where does she race?” The man shrugs.
“I don’t know.
She’s not easy to find.
But I heard she’s always at the garage.
Sergio’s Garage.
Over on Calle de los Gatos.” I nod, my hands shaking with anticipation.
“Thank you,” I say.
“Thank you so much.” I turn and walk out of the restaurant.
The air is cool against my face, and I take a deep breath.
She’s here.
She’s in Málaga.
And I’m going to find her.
I climb onto my bike and sit there for a moment, my hands gripping the handlebars.
I think about what I’m going to say.
What I’m going to do.
I think about her face.
Her voice.
The way she looked at me the last time I saw her.
“You’re all dead to me.” I feel the pain in my chest, sharp and aching.
I’m not going to let you go, Aitana, I think.
I’m not going to let you push me away.
I’m going to find you.
I’m going to fight for you.
I’m going to tell you everything I should have said years ago.
I think about my father.
About the words he drilled into me.
“Weakness is a disease.
Don’t show emotion.
That’s how they get you.” I shake my head, a bitter smile on my lips.
You were wrong, Father, I think.
Showing emotion isn’t weakness.
It’s strength.
It’s the only thing that makes us human.
I start the engine.
The roar fills the night air, echoing off the buildings around me.
I think about her.
About the way she used to smile.
The way she used to laugh.
The way she used to fight with me like her life depended on it.
I’m coming for you, Aitana, I think.
I’m coming for you, and I’m not letting you go.
I’ll find you or die trying.
I twist the throttle and zoom off into the night.
The wind whips against my face.
The streets of Málaga blur past me.
And in my heart, I whisper her name.
Aitana.
Aitana.
Aitana.