Victoria and Pablo meet by chance when she has to interview him after the Nations League final 2023.
He's immediately infatuated by her, but due to a few years age difference, she only sees him as a younger friend.
Will he make it out of the friendz...
"Sorry guys... That wasn't the team's best display..." I sighed to my colleagues as I turned off the streaming connection of Barca's game against Shakhtar. "It was a nice evening nonetheless!" Aoto said and they started packing up their things, ready to get back home. Everybody left except for Charles, the English guy.
"You miss him, right?" he asked and I just broke down crying. He didn't know whether to hug me or just leave me, we didn't know each other well enough and he was English, and they weren't as affectionate as us Spaniards. But in the end, he managed to sling an arm around me into a half hug. "Get your head in the game, Vicky. You're strong and he's there, waiting for you. Be strong or this time apart will have been for nothing. Chase something big, deliver one hell of a story." he said, trying to motivate me. I wiped away my tears and nodded, he was right. Suddenly, we heard fighter jets roaring over our heads.
"Come on, let's go!" he said and we stumbled down the stairs to his Toyota pick-up where we both got inside. He drove to Gaza's border, where we were held up by Palestinian soldiers, but they already knew Charles by now and saw that we were wearing press vests, so they waved us through quickly. He left the car on some street and we ran in the direction of the hospital. It looked like hell in there, so many wounded people, doctors and nurses running around stressed and women and children crying. I saw some stairs and walked them up, making my way around the hospital.
As if a magical attraction took me there, I found myself at the newborn station. It was more like a hall with lots of babies, who were crying, stuffed in there, some didn't even have an own crib and shared theirs with another one. In the corner, I saw a young man standing over a crib, holding a baby's hand. I walked to him and he looked up, noticing my presence. Now I saw that under his hoodie he was wearing an old Barcelona jersey - I had to smile.
"Is she yours?" I asked, not sure if I would get an answer in English. But I was surprised, when he immediately replied: "My sister's. She bled out as we didn't make it to the hospital in time. Our parents are dead, her husband is fighting... Poor baby only has me now" he said and I patted him on the shoulder, I didn't know what to say. "Where are you from?" he asked me, looking at my press vest. "Barcelona" I replied and pointed at the crest on his jersey. "You're lucky." he said and I took a sharp breath in. "My brother, it's his jersey. He's so good at football. He's 16 now, two years ago him and I started learning English, everyone in our family put together some money, we wanted to buy two tickets to Barcelona so that he could apply to the academy there... But then he got involved with some bad people..." he said and a tear rolled down his cheek. "What happened?" I asked. "Some of his classmates' parents... They are involved with ISIS and he ended up in one of their training camps. I see him from time to time..." he said. "You think I could meet him?" I asked straight out. "When I see him again, I can ask him" he replied and I quickly took out my business card. "Just call me whenever he's around, I can be here in 20 minutes" I said and he nodded. I patted him on the shoulder again and caressed the small baby girl's cheek before heading out again.
When I was back at my flat, I slumped down on the couch, my thoughts swirling around that man I had met and his brother. How fortunate was Pablo that he was born on the right side of the world and he was able to live his dream - you're born in another country and have to be a child soldier instead of a footballer.
Just a few days later, the guy from the hospital, whose name turned out to be Mohammed, called that his brother had a day off and he sent me a pinned location where I could meet them. I quickly took a photo of Pablo and me that I had printed out with me and raced downstairs. I asked the baker from across the street if he had time to drive me to the border and he agreed politely.
Half an hour later, I was at the pinned location, a small apartment building and Mohammed looked out the window and waved me upstairs. I got into the dimly lit one-room apartment where I saw a young boy rocking the baby I had just seen a few days ago at the hospital. He said something to his brother in Arab and then went on to lay the baby down on the floor on some sort of small mattress.
"Hi, I'm Vicky" I said and extended my hand that he shook diffidently. "I have something for you" I said and dug out the picture of Pablo and me from my bag. "Do you know him?" I asked. His eyes grew wide: "That's Gavi! He's my favourite player, I'm also a midfielder" she said with shining eyes, admiring the picture. "Are you his girlfriend?" he asked and I nodded. "He's very lucky" he said and I chuckled. "I know" I sighed, not meaning he was lucky to have me, that was more of a burden to him now, but that he was lucky in general.
"Ok, listen, I'm cutting straight to the point. I need a story, a big one. If you help me out, I may be able to help you out when I get back home." I said and the boy looked at me. He was 16 but looked more like 23. Fuck, he was the same age as Lamine and yet their lives were so different. He looked at me for a few minutes, contemplating what to say, before he finally spoke up: "I mean, I can tell you stories from camp, but I don't know if that is big enough for you. One of my classmate's uncles, though: he's a big shot at the camp, even though he was also forced into this, but he worked his way up and has always been good to me. Maybe I can ask him to smuggle you in for a day, pretending you're one of his wives - fully covered obviously." he blurted out and my eyes grew wide. It sounded very dangerous, but if it worked it would be one hell of a story. This was exactly the distraction I had been searching to get my mind off sulking around about my boyfriend. "I'm willing to do everything for the smallest chance of getting to Barcelona" he added. "What's the name of this guy?" I asked, I needed to check him first, I wasn't going to run into it blindly. "Amir al-Hashimi" he answered. "Ok. I'll sleep on it and let your brother know asap" I replied and smiled. "Here's your picture." he said and handed me the photo of Pablo and me smiling brightly into the camera. "Keep it" I said and smiled.
When I got back to my flat, I quickly texted Joe, the New York Times guy, when he would be able to meet up with me. The next day, we met at a cafe in Bethlehem, as we both had to be in Jerusalem for TV interviews. "Listen, can you ask your contact at the CIA to check a guy for me?" I asked, cutting straight to the point. "Sure, can't guarantee anything though. What do you need it for?" he asked. "A story, I need to know if he's trustworthy" I simply replied, not wanting to share too much. He nodded. "Ok, write the name here. And you owe me Barca tickets when I come to the city" he chuckled and pushed a piece of paper over for me to write AMIR AL-HASHIMI on it. I sighed and prayed that everything would turn out alright.
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📍 Jerusalem and Bethlehem, Israel vicky.hernandez Drive up to Zion 🏜️🌵
belengavira79 So wonderful, Vicky! javi_begines Is that even you? pablogavi ❤️😍😘 ireneee.grc Cool chick 😎
