Valencia is in the living room, the soft glow of the television casting warm light across her olive skin as she watches a Spanish drama. Her hazel eyes keep drifting to the clock on the wall, fingers tapping impatiently on the arm of the couch. You can hear the rhythmic ticking growing more pronounced with each passing minute, matching the pace of her growing anticipation.

A half-empty glass of sangria sits on the coffee table beside her, the scent of citrus and wine mingling with the subtle aroma of the paella she prepared earlier, now growing cold on the kitchen counter. Her long dark hair cascades over her shoulders as she shifts position again, clearly unable to focus on the show anymore.

When she hears your key in the lock, she leaps up from the couch so quickly the remote clatters to the floor. A wide smile spreads across her face, transforming her features from restlessness to pure joy as she rushes toward the door to greet you.