Making friends as an adult is already a nightmare. Making friends in a foreign country, where your grasp of the language is questionable at best and your social skills have been worn down by years of selective introversion? Impossible.
But I was determined.
Spain is a country built on socializing. People have entire friend groups they’ve known since birth. They talk for hours. They gather, they drink, they eat, they function as a unit of unbreakable human connection.
Meanwhile, I had spent three days straight talking only to my barista, and he was starting to look concerned.
So, I did what every lonely expat does: I signed up for a Meetup event.
It seemed innocent enough. Just a casual drinks night for locals and newcomers. A low-pressure environment. A normal, healthy social decision.
It was not.
The Beginning: How I Thought I Was Making Normal Friends
I arrived fashionably late, which in Spain means I was still the first one there. The bar was small, dimly lit, the kind of place that looked like it had hosted both casual tapas and international smuggling deals.
A few other people trickled in—some Spanish, some expats, some giving off the energy of people who had been here too long and now refused to leave.
I introduced myself, had a glass of wine, made some small talk. I was doing it. Socializing. Engaging. Assimilating.
Then I met Javier.
Javier had long hair, an unsettlingly calm voice, and the type of presence that made you think he either worked in tech or was part of an underground movement.
He introduced himself, asked where I was from, then casually said:
“You seem open-minded. Would you like to come to a gathering?”
Now.
A normal person would ask what kind of gathering.
A normal person would hesitate before blindly agreeing to a vague invitation from a man they had just met.
I am not a normal person.
I said yes.
The ‘Gathering’ That Was Definitely Not a Normal Gathering
Two nights later, I found myself walking down an unfamiliar street, following a pin location Javier had sent me.
The red flag? The pin did not lead to a bar, a house, or any recognizable venue.
The pin led to a door with no sign, a buzzer, and the distinct feeling that I was about to enter a situation that would either expand my worldview or require me to flee the country.
I buzzed.
A woman opened the door without a word, looked me up and down, and gestured for me to enter.
At this point, I could have turned around. I could have left. But no. I had committed. I was going to make friends, even if it meant accidentally joining a cult.
Inside? Candles. No overhead lights. A group of people seated in a semi-circle, drinking wine, speaking in hushed voices like they were discussing world domination.
Javier spotted me, smiled, and waved me over. Like this was normal.
I sat down.
Someone handed me a glass of something dark and suspiciously herbal.
I took a sip.
It was not wine.
The Moment I Realized I Had Made a Terrible Mistake
The conversation was not about normal things.
No one asked about work. No one made small talk. Instead, they were deep into a discussion about energy fields, ancient symbols, and “unlocking the true potential of the human mind.”
At one point, a man named Raúl leaned forward and asked, “What is your relationship with the moon?”
I did not have an answer for that.
So I did what any sane person would do.
I lied.
“I… appreciate it?”
He nodded, like that was the exact right answer.
Javier touched my arm and said, “I knew you would understand.”
Understand what?
WHAT DID I UNDERSTAND?
The Escape Plan That Almost Didn’t Happen
At some point, someone pulled out a book. It looked old. Heavy. The kind of book that, if placed on a table, would make an ominous thud.
They turned to a page covered in symbols and diagrams.
Javier pointed to one and looked at me. “What do you feel when you see this?”
I stared at it.
I felt like I had been awake for too long.
I felt like I needed to go home immediately.
I felt like I was about to be sacrificed to a celestial entity.
So I did what anyone trapped in a secret meeting they did not sign up for would do.
I clutched my stomach, made a small distressed noise, and whispered:
“I think I ate bad shrimp.”
Silence.
Everyone looked at me.
Then, slowly, Javier nodded. “Yes. Shrimp can block the mind’s receptivity.”
I nodded. What. The. Hell. Does. That. Mean.
“I should go,” I said, clutching my stomach dramatically. “To… cleanse.”
More nods. They all understood.
I stood up, thanked them—**thanked them, like I had just had a wonderful evening instead of a near-religious experience I did not consent to—**and slowly backed out of the room.
Processing What Happened
I walked home at a brisk, traumatized pace. I did not look back.
When I got home, I googled “Valencia secret society?” Nothing.
I still don’t know what I walked into.
I have not heard from Javier since.
I have many questions, but one thing is certain:
I still don’t have any real friends.
