PS: RMCF. An Isco Alarcón Fan Fic

Chapter 1

Cristina's P.O.V.

Finally. I was here. My dream was beginning to take shape. I was about to start my exchange semester in Universidad Complutense in Madrid. What is my dream, you may ask? Sports journalist. The goal since I was a kid is to become a certified lawyer, actually. Thing is, I want to be certified here in Spain so I can work here. I'm counting on my sports journalism career taking off and with that, be able to pay for my law studies. As a puertorrican 22-year-old woman, one could predict I would have very little credibility amongst football-crazed Spanish men. But I had a dream and I wouldn't stop until I fulfilled it. I was taking the classes that were left for me to finish my bachelor's degree in languages. I'd be taking an introductory course in catalan, the remaining course to finish my portuguese studies, history of Spain (part dos) and com skills. I was on my way to the university to take a look around and see the classrooms... I got back to what would be my room for the next six months and I am ecstatic. The university is great, the city is perfect; just like I remembered it from 5 years ago or even better. I could feel this would be a life-changing experience for me and I couldn't wait for it to start... I went to my classes and got around pretty easily even though the university is big. I liked my professors and everything seemed amazing from an academic standpoint. I got back to my apartment and decided to get changed and go for a jog. I put on my black/neon-green Adidas sport bra, my exercise leggings and my pair of running shoes. I strapped my iPhone to my arm and took off, feeling confident about knowing my way around Madrid.

Isco's P.O.V.

I was sitting in this roadside café, having coffee by myself when I saw her. She was sweaty from running but, God, was she beautiful. She had a great body. She was red in the face because of the exertion of her muscles. I suddenly realized my mouth was open so I closed it and kept staring at her. She finally turned a corner and was out of sight. I couldn't help my disappointment. Who is she? Why am I so intrigued by her? "Excuse me, sir. Will there be anything else?" The waitress takes me out of my reverie and I shake my head. "Uh, no. Thank you." I stand up leaving a 10€ bill on the table. "Keep the change." "Thank you." I barely hear as I hurriedly run from the café. What is this girl doing to me? Why do I feel like I need to see her again?

Cristina's P.O.V.

The jog had become a routine. I ran around the block and then stopped at the park to use the machines and do some push-ups, some ab-work, etc. I loved exercising and it really took my mind off how much I missed my family. I had always been very close to them and it was hard living so far away. What kept me going was my dream. I had to keep reaching for it because I'd never wanted anything more in my life.

Isco's P.O.V.

I'd convinced my girlfriend, in her short time with me in Madrid, to go with me to the café. I needed to know that she was real. That I hadn't imagined her. I was pretty sure that my girlfriend was hotter than her. But it wasn't about that. There's just something to her. I don't know what it is but I have a feeling life will make me find out. I'm in the middle of my conversation when she passes by at the same time as yesterday. I stop talking momentarily and make sure it's the same girl. She bumps into someone at the corner and I'm sure she's real. "Isco? You here? I'm talking to you." "Yeah. Sorry. You were saying?" She was talking about some modeling thing. I really didn't care much about it. I hadn't been with her for long but for me the primary requisite was for my girlfriend to make me happy and she did. So that was enough. For now.

Cristina's P.O.V.

I had some experience in sports journalism but, since I was one of the few people that knew European football so well back in Puerto Rico, I really had no competition. It was fierce here and I was discriminated against for being foreign. It was pretty horrible. I was openly made fun of by Marca and AS, two of the biggest sports newspapers in the country and the two biggest in Madrid. I knew I'd been aiming high but I never thought they'd make fun of me like that. I had prepared myself for the worst. I'd known before coming here that it would be hard but no one can prepare you for this kind of rejection. I locked myself in my tiny room and cried. I cried for a long while. Then, I realized it was pas the hour I usually jogged. A normal person would've skipped it but I reminded myself: you're not normal. You're not giving up. Pull yourself together. And I did. I put my exercise clothes on and took off, trying to get my mind off things.

Isco's P.O.V.

I'd been waiting for her to show in the same sidewalk café. I'd been doing the same thing for a month now and decided it was the day to run after her, find out where she lived. But it was now way past her usual time so I gave up and started toward my house. I looked one last time and there she was. Jogging but not with the same spring in her step. She looked let down. I threw away my empty bottle of water and went after her. Suddenly, she grabbed her right thigh and limped to the nearest bench. I sprinted towards her and, without giving it a second thought, sat beside her. "Excuse me, miss. Are you all right?"