The year in Spain had gone by faster than Morris expected. When he first arrived, he had imagined himself returning home exactly as he left: confident, fit, and still the guy everyone called 'el Chico Guapo'. Instead, as he stood in the airport with his suitcase in hand, he felt like he was returning as someone completely different.
The first warning sign came just when he got on the plane, the airplane seat. Morris had always remembered flights as boring and uncomfortable. This time, he noticed every little thing. The armrests felt closer together than he remembered. He shifted around, trying to find a comfortable position, but the chair seemed much less forgiving than it used to be. By the time the plane took off, he was already sweating, not because of the flight, because of what came after: his friends, his family, everyone who knew the old Morris.
He had spent an entire year creating a version of himself online that didnāt exist anymore. Every picture had been carefully chosen. Every angle had been planned, but now there would be no filters, no editing, no way to hide.
When he finally walked through arrivals, he immediately spotted his family. His mother was the first one to see him. āMorris!ā She rushed over with a huge smile and hugged him. For a moment, he relaxed. Then he noticed her expression, not disappointment, not shock, something else. āMy little boyā, she said happily. āYou look so grown up!ā Morris forced a smile.
He had arrived wearing his biggest hoodie, hoping it would hide the changes. But even underneath the oversized clothing, there was no hiding that he had filled out significantly. His face had changed the most. The sharper look he once had was gone, replaced by fuller cheeks and a softer jawline. The confident expression was still there somewhere, but Morris could feel how different he looked.
His mother, however, seemed almost proud. āSpain clearly treated you wellā, she said. āYour grandmother must have taken very good care of you.ā Morris looked away. He knew exactly what that meant.
His father didnāt say anything at first. That was worse. Morris had always looked up to his dad. Even in his forties, his father still trained regularly and kept the same disciplined lifestyle he always had. The contrast was impossible to ignore. His father looked at him for a long moment, then he sighed. āMorrisā¦ā The disappointment in his voice hit harder than any joke at school. āI knew my mother liked feeding youā, his father said quietly. āBut I didnāt think youād completely lose control.ā
Morris swallowed. āI was busy studyingā¦ā
His father looked at him. āYou werenāt just studying.ā The silence afterward was uncomfortable.
Then came the next disaster, his luggage. When Morris got to his room at home and opened the suitcase, he immediately knew something was wrong. These werenāt his clothes. Someone elseās things stared back at him. His suitcase had been swapped at the airport. His heart dropped. All the clothes he had bought in Spain, the larger jeans, the bigger shirts, the hoodies that actually fit, were gone. For a moment, he just stood there in panic. Then his mother called from downstairs. āMorris! Dinner is ready!ā He looked toward his wardrobe, his old clothes, the clothes from before Spain, the clothes he used to wear when he was the fit, popular guy everyone admired. He slowly opened the door. The first shirt was impossible, too tight. The second one was worse. The third one barely made it past his shoulders. Finally, he found one, a shirt that used to hang loosely on him, something he once considered oversized. Now? It stretched across him. The fabric pulled around his stomach and chest, showing just how much he had changed. Morris stared at himself in the mirror. āThis is badā¦ā
Downstairs, his younger brother Marlos looked up from the table, and immediately laughed. Marlos had changed too. While Morris had spent a year surrounded by huge meals and long afternoons of doing very little, Marlos had gotten even fitter. He looked stronger, more athletic, and more confident than ever. The difference between them was impossible to miss. āWaitā¦ā Marlos stood up. āNo way.ā
Morris already knew where this was going. āDonāt.ā
Marlos grinned. āEl Chico Guapo is back?ā A pause. āMore likeā¦ā He looked Morris up and down. āEl Chunko Grande.ā
His brother laughed. āIām sorry, but you literally look like you came back from Spain as a different person.ā
Morris rolled his eyes. āJust wait until you go there.ā
Marlos raised an eyebrow. āWhat?ā
āGrandmaās cooking.ā That made everyone pause. Morris pointed at him. āYou think youāre safe? Youāre going too. Youāll see.ā
Dinner didnāt help. Morris had missed the food from home, and without even thinking about it, he started eating like he had in Spain.
His mother immediately noticed. āSee?ā she said happily. āHe has a healthy appetite.ā
His father looked at the amount on his plate. āHealthy?ā
Marlos laughed. āDad, I think heās still on Spanish time.ā
Morris ignored them. He kept eating, but every comment made him more aware. His father shaking his head, his brother joking, his mother happily bringing more food. For the first time, Morris realized something uncomfortable. The habits from Spain hadnāt disappeared just because he was back home.
Later that night, unable to sleep, Morris went to the bathroom. The scale was sitting in the corner. He stared at it. He hadnāt stepped on one since leaving America. A part of him already knew, but he still needed to see it. Slowly, he stepped on. The number appeared, and he froze. His stomach dropped. It was far more than he expected, far more than he had admitted to himself. He stepped off, then back on. The number didnāt change. āThis isnāt realā¦ā But it was. A year ago, he had left as the guy everyone admired. Now he was standing in his childhood bathroom, realizing just how much had changed.
Then his phone buzzed. A message from Marlos.
By the way, yout friends are throwing a welcome back party tomorrow. Everyoneās excited to see you.
Morris stared at the screen. His heart started racing. Everyone, his old friends, the people who remembered him before, the people who had only seen the edited version online. Tomorrow, they would see the real Morris. And for the first time since arriving in Spainā¦ Morris wasnāt worried about fitting in. He was worried about being seen.
ContinuarĆ”ā¦ (To be continued...)
View other parts here: Part 2
stormborns
theartofmadeline
andulkaphoto
