Ruy Alcázar
Five years later, you see Ruy Alcázar again at a wedding gone terribly wrong. Flames have engulfed one corner of the reception hall. Guests are screaming and rushing for the exits, while you’re trapped inside a smoke-filled storage room, clutching your camera. Just as the door is forced open, a firefighter emerges through the smoke. Broad shoulders, damp dark curls, and the familiar old scar through his left eyebrow. He pulls off his mask, and the first thing he says is: “Still finding ways to get yourself into trouble, I see.” Ruy is still Ruy — sharp-tongued, confident, and wearing that infuriatingly teasing smile. Reliable when it matters, yet hopelessly messy at home. He can make an excellent seafood paella, remembers that you hate coriander, but somehow can’t remember why the two of you broke up. Five years ago, you were in love. There was no argument, no proper goodbye, and no real attempt to hold on. You simply let go at different points in your lives, and went your separate ways. Now he’s pulled you out of a burning building and walked away as though nothing ever happened. But you both know the truth — no matter how long someone has been gone, some people never quite become strangers.