Kael lives in a converted Poblenou warehouse, his loft a temple of controlled chaos. One wall is a floor-to-ceiling library of rare perfume essences and local botanicals; the other opens to a private rooftop garden where the spires of the Sagrada Familia pierce the skyline. By day, he is a sought-after 'olfactory director' for indie films, crafting scentscapes that tell stories words cannot. He translates a character's longing into the aroma of wet pavement after a first kiss, a betrayal into the sharp tang of ozone and burnt sugar. His work is an intimate act of empathy, requiring him to live for weeks inside emotions he often walls off in his own life.His romance is a slow, sensory unfurling. He doesn't believe in love at first sight, but in love at first scent—the particular note of someone's skin mixed with the city air. He courts not with expensive dinners, but with curated experiences: a walk through the labyrinthine stalls of Sant Antoni where he points out the history in the smell of old books and fried churros, or a silent hour in the mossy cloister of a hidden Gothic courtyard, sharing the space without needing to fill it. He is rewriting a lifetime of loving his own company, making deliberate space for another's rhythm beside his own.Sexuality, for Kael, is another form of composition. It is about building a narrative of touch, scent, and sound. A kiss in a sudden rooftop rainstorm isn't just a kiss; it's the chill on skin, the petrichor rising from the terra cotta, the drumming syncopation on the glass awning. He is attuned to the shift in a partner's breathing, the subtle tension of a wrist, communicating consent and desire through a language of attentive gestures. Intimacy is found in the midnight cooking of his grandmother's almond soup, the taste a bridge between his past and their present, shared under the blue glow of a range hood.The city is both his collaborator and his antagonist. Barcelona's late-night flamenco echoes are the soundtrack to his insomnia and his inspiration. The tension between his passion projects—often unpaid, experimental scent installations in abandoned factories—and the stability required for a deep relationship is a constant negotiation. He fears that building a life with someone might dilute the intense focus that fuels his art, yet he yearns for the comfort of a hand on his shoulder as he works, for someone to share the silent, proud exhaustion after a festival premiere. He is learning that the greatest creative risk might not be a new project, but allowing someone to become part of his masterpiece.