The Instituto Superior de Belleza was even more impressive than the photographs in Aiko's application materials had suggested. The building itself was a restored 19th-century mansion in the Salamanca district, with marble floors, soaring ceilings, and salon spaces that looked more like art galleries than classrooms. As Carmen guided her through the main entrance, Aiko felt both intimidated and thrilled by the obvious prestige of the institution.
"This is where Spain's most famous stylists have trained for over a century," Carmen explained, clearly proud to be hosting a student at such an elite school. "You should feel very honored to be here."
The orientation session was conducted in a mixture of Spanish and English, accommodating the dozen international students who had come from various countries to study traditional and contemporary Spanish techniques. Aiko found herself seated between a confident girl from Brazil and a quiet young man from Germany, both of whom seemed far more comfortable with the rapid-fire Spanish instructions than she felt.
"Now we will have each student introduce themselves and share what they hope to learn during their time here," announced Professor Delgado, the orientation coordinator. "Please tell us your name, your home country, and your specific interests in Spanish hairstyling culture."
As they went around the room, Aiko listened to her fellow students describe their goals—learning traditional Andalusian braiding techniques, mastering Spanish color formulations, understanding the cultural significance of hair in flamenco performance. When her turn came, she stood nervously.
"I am Aiko Matsumoto from Japan," she began in careful Spanish. "I am here to learn how Spanish techniques can complement Japanese traditional methods, and to understand how different cultures express beauty through hair artistry."
It was a truthful if incomplete answer. She couldn't very well announce that she was also searching for a mysterious Spanish cyclist who had changed her life three years ago.
After the formal presentations, students were encouraged to mingle and form study groups. Aiko was examining a display of traditional Spanish hair ornaments when a voice behind her spoke in English.
"Those combs are from Andalusia, probably eighteenth century. The craftsmanship is incredible."
She turned to see a young man about her age, with dark hair and warm brown eyes that seemed familiar in a way that made her heart skip. He was tall and lean, with the kind of natural confidence that suggested someone comfortable in his own skin.
"I'm Miguel Santos," he said, extending his hand with a smile that seemed to light up his entire face. "And you must be Aiko—Professor Delgado mentioned we had a student coming from Japan who specializes in traditional techniques."
"Yes, that's me," Aiko managed, shaking his hand while trying to process the strange sense of recognition she felt looking at him. There was something about his eyes, his smile, the way he carried himself that triggered memories she couldn't quite place.
"Have you... have you ever been to Japan?" she asked, trying to keep her voice casual.
"No, unfortunately. Though I've always wanted to visit. My family travels quite a bit for business, but we've never made it to Asia." Miguel's expression grew curious. "Why do you ask?"
The disappointment was immediate but subtle. Still, something about his presence felt familiar, and Aiko found herself studying his features more carefully, searching for connections that might not be immediately obvious.
"Just curious," she said, though her heart was already beginning to race with possibilities. "What kind of business does your family do?"
"My father works in sports equipment distribution. He deals with cycling gear, soccer equipment, that sort of thing. We've traveled around Europe quite a bit, but mainly for trade shows and supplier meetings."
The mention of cycling sent Aiko's pulse racing. Could this be him? Could Miguel be connected to the boy who had helped her at the park all those years ago? The timing would be right—he appeared to be a few years older than her, and his family's involvement in cycling seemed too coincidental to ignore.
"Would you like to get coffee after orientation?" Miguel asked. "I could show you some of the neighborhood. There are several salons nearby that still use traditional techniques—it might be interesting for your research."
"I'd love that," Aiko said, perhaps too quickly.
The rest of the orientation passed in a blur as Aiko found herself stealing glances at Miguel, analyzing every gesture and expression for signs that he might be the person she'd been searching for. When he laughed at something another student said, she felt a jolt of recognition. When he unconsciously ran his hand through his hair, the movement seemed achingly familiar.
After the session ended, Miguel led her through the winding streets of central Madrid, pointing out landmarks and sharing stories about the city's history. He was knowledgeable about Spanish culture, passionate about preserving traditional crafts, and genuinely interested in learning about Japanese techniques.
"I actually have a couple of sisters," he mentioned as they settled into a small café near the Retiro Park. "One is studying engineering, and the other is in art school. My family is pretty supportive of creative pursuits, even though my dad would prefer if I focused more on the business side of things."
"Are any of them involved in hairstyling?" Aiko asked, trying to keep the hope out of her voice.
"Not really. My sister Ana likes to experiment with her own hair, but nothing professional. Why?"
Aiko felt a small stab of disappointment but pushed forward. "Miguel, I need to ask you something that might sound strange. Does your family have any connection to international cycling groups? Anything that might have brought you to Japan a few years ago?"
Miguel looked puzzled by the specific questioning. "Well, my dad does work with cycling equipment suppliers, and I know he's attended some international trade shows. But I don't think I've ever been to Japan. Why? Do I remind you of someone?"
Aiko felt herself blushing. "Maybe. There was someone... a long time ago... who helped me during a difficult time. He was involved with cycling and mentioned having a sister."
"Well, that's definitely an interesting coincidence," Miguel said with a warm smile. "Though I have to say, if I had met someone as remarkable as you, I definitely would have remembered."
The comment made Aiko's cheeks burn hotter. Was he flirting with her, or was this just Spanish charm? And more importantly, was the resemblance she felt real, or was she projecting her hopes onto someone who happened to fit her general memories?
As they walked back through the city as evening approached, Miguel proved to be an excellent guide and engaging companion. He showed her hidden plazas, pointed out architectural details she would have missed, and shared stories that made the city come alive around them.
"Thank you for showing me around," Aiko said as they reached the metro station where they would part ways. "This helped me feel much more oriented."
"It was my pleasure. And Aiko?" Miguel paused, seeming to consider his words carefully. "I hope you find whatever you're looking for during your time in Spain. You have this way of looking at everything like you're searching for something specific. I hope Madrid gives you the answers you need."
As Aiko rode the metro back to Carmen's apartment, her mind was spinning with possibilities and doubts. The physical resemblance was there, and the cycling connections were intriguing, but something felt off. The details didn't quite align with her memories, and Miguel's sisters weren't involved in hairstyling at all.
That night, she sat on her small balcony writing in her journal, trying to sort through her impressions of the day. Miguel was charming, intelligent, and genuinely interested in Spanish culture. Whether or not he was connected to the boy from the park, he was clearly someone worth getting to know.
But as she drifted off to sleep, Aiko found herself wondering if she was grasping at straws, seeing connections where none existed simply because she wanted so desperately to find answers.
The possibility that she had found a clue on her very first day in Spain seemed almost too good to be true. Which, she reflected drowsily, was exactly why she needed to be careful not to let hope override careful observation.
Only time would tell whether Miguel Santos was connected to her search or simply a wonderful new friend who would teach her something different about connection and possibility.