As Jordi ran out of Old Garcia's bookstore, across the narrow street, Ferran Lloret was sharing a lover's meal with Ona Garcia in Madam Sofia's restaurant. Spotting Jordi run out, Ferran understood that his sister's plan had failed. Slightly pumped, but also scared of her sister's reaction, Ferran quickly got up to get his coat.
"It seems that the old man failed. I told Layla that he is no good."
"That no-good, old man is my father, Mister Ferran Lloret," the pretty Ona Garcia spoke up in a charged tone.
Ferran halted his steps, walked around a table, and kissed Ona on the forehead. "Am I wrong?" he whispered. Then, he sprinted away from his fiancée and after his nephew.
Ona Garcia could only smack her thigh in anger before breaking into a chuckle. Her eyes tinged in worry for what Layla was about to go through.
"Ona, your father has called for you. Just pick it up from the front desk. Oh, and tell him that I won't come for cards today." Sofia's husband shouted from the kitchen.
…
Layla walked out of the kitchen, just having saved the second batch of bread from burning. As she sat down on the stool behind the counter, the door opened with a sharp bell. She looked up to see her Jordi stopping in front of the counter. Standing on his tiptoes, only his eyes were visible from Layla's position. Yet, for a mother, just the eyes are enough to lay bare all that is hidden.
Layla recognized a passion and happiness she had never before seen in her son's eyes. Jordi's eyes were so bright, the light in them could reflect off the tears slowly gathering in Layla's eyes. Layla quickly looked down and took advantage of the tall counter to quickly wipe her eyes.
"Mama, I will play for Barca! Mama, I know it, I will play for Barca and…" Jordi was cut off by the bell, this time announcing Ferran's return. His face was gripped in anxiety and he was out of breath, but he managed to muster up a smile when he saw his sister and nephew staring at him.
"Uncle, I will play for Barca!" Jordi beamed at his uncle before turning back to his mother, "Right, mama? I will play for Barca. You'll see me in the blaugrana colors. What do you think, mama?" Jordi managed to complete his sentence in between his bursts of laughs.
Instinctively, a clear rejection rose to Layla's tongue, but she stopped when she saw the look on Ferran's face.
Since her return to El Raval, it was her and Ferran that raised Jordi. She knew how fiercely protective of her son her younger brother was. Layla had long ago admitted her fleeting jealousy of Ferran and Jordi's friendship.
Hence, now that she saw that unprecedented look of anger and warning on her little brother's face, she paused. At that moment, Layla realized that she could not hinder her son for her selfish reasons. Her son, Jordi Lloret, should live a life free of the burdens of her past. He should pursue his dreams without hesitation. And if he ever stumbled, she would be there. If she was not enough, then they had her little brother, her rock.
As new tears displaced the previous tears, Layla Lloret let go of her past. The neighborhood of El Raval, the beautiful people of this neighborhood, her little bakery, her brother, and her son—this was her world, it was warm and simple. It was lovely.
She stared into Jordi's blue eyes that so resembled hers. She smiled at him and said, "Of course. My little Jordi will light up this city. He will the best footballer ever."
In that moment, Layla Lloret did not know how true her lightly-spoken words would turn out to be.