The morning sun rose slowly over the terracotta rooftops of Monteluce, a small Tuscan town tucked between rolling vineyards and olive groves. Light slid across the narrow cobblestone streets like a gentle hand waking the town from its slumber. Shops were still closed, shutters still drawn, and the air held that quiet, golden stillness only Italy could offer at dawn.
Ethan Hayes stood at the edge of the town's central fountain, stretching the stiffness out of his shoulders. He had been awake since five. Not because he had to be — his life in Italy was far from structured — but because the habit had neveor left him. Even before he set foot on European soil, Ethan was someone who rose early, as if the sun might leave without him.
He adjusted the strap of his worn canvas bag, the one he had carried through three countries before he found himself settled here. "Settled," he thought with a crooked smile. That was never the right word. Ethan didn't settle anywhere; he stopped, worked, earned enough to live for a while, and moved on when something pushed him to. Italy, however, was the first place that hadn't pushed.
Monteluce embraced him the way the early sun embraced the vines — warmly, gently, without demands.
Today's job was simple: repairing shutters for Signora Bellini, the elderly widow who lived in the peach-colored house at the top of Via del Fiori. She treated him as if he were one of her own children, always insisting he take home leftovers from her kitchen. Ethan didn't mind. Her cooking alone was worth fixing a hundred shutters for free.
He began walking up the street, passing the bakery where warm bread scents leaked through the cracks of its doors. Every morning, the smell reminded him of his childhood — of Kansas, open skies, and the simple charm of a place where he once believed life would be easy. That was before everything became too heavy. Before he needed to leave.
A Vespa buzzed past him, the driver tossing a half-hearted wave. Ethan returned it. In a town this small, everyone knew everyone — even the wandering foreigner who patched roofs, fixed sinks, painted shutters, and carried a smile that looked both kind and quietly bruised.
By the time he reached Signora Bellini's house, she was already waiting for him with a broom in her hand, sweeping invisible dust from her doorstep.
"Buongiorno, Ethan!" she called, her voice bright despite her age. "You came early."
"I always do," he replied with a grin. "And you always pretend it surprises you."
She swatted the air playfully. "If you keep being this charming, you'll make all the girls in town fall in love."
"Don't worry," he said. "No danger of that."
Her eyes crinkled knowingly. "Ah… only because you don't let them."
Ethan didn't answer. He simply moved to the window and began examining the cracked wooden shutters. As he worked, Signora Bellini disappeared into the house, returning minutes later with a tray holding two glasses of freshly squeezed orange juice.
He set his tools down, wiping sweat from his forehead. It was early, but Italy didn't wait to turn warm.
"You know," she said, handing him a glass, "you work hard, but your heart works harder. I see that." Her voice softened. "There is someone you miss, yes?"
Ethan hesitated. He was usually good at hiding things. But somehow, this town — and people like her — had a way of reading him easily.
"She's not… someone I can forget," he admitted quietly.
"Then maybe," she said gently, "she is someone you were meant to meet again."
Before Ethan could respond, a voice drifted up the street — soft, musical, carried by the breeze.
It was laughter.
A woman's laughter.
He turned, almost instinctively, and saw her.
Sofia.
She walked with a friend, her dark hair falling over her shoulders in waves that caught the sunlight. She wore a simple white dress, the hem brushing softly against her knees as she moved. Even from a distance, there was something unmistakable about her — the grace, the lightness, the way she made the world around her seem brighter without even trying.
Ethan's breath stalled.
He told himself he didn't stare, but he did.
Because every time he saw Sofia, every part of him felt disarmed — as if he were standing unarmored in the presence of something beautiful and dangerous.
She hadn't noticed him yet. She rarely did. Their interactions were few and brief — a smile at the café, a nod on the street, small conversations that should've meant nothing but somehow stayed in his mind long after she walked away.
Signora Bellini followed his gaze, and her smile turned coy.
"Ah," she whispered. "So that is the girl your heart remembers."
Ethan shook his head lightly. "We don't even know each other."
"But you want to."
He didn't answer. Because wanting was the one thing that scared him.
As Sofia and her friend approached, Ethan turned back to the shutters, pretending to focus on his work, though his heartbeat betrayed him — fast, uneasy, hopeful.
The footsteps slowed.
"Ethan?" a familiar voice called.
He froze for half a second before turning.
Sofia stood there, holding a stack of books against her chest. Her eyes — warm, deep brown — met his with a softness that made something inside him tilt.
"Hi," she said, with her shy, beautiful smile. "Are you fixing Signora Bellini's shutters again?"
He nodded, suddenly remembering how to breathe. "Yeah. They keep trying to fall apart on her."
Sofia laughed lightly. "Maybe they only fall apart so you have a reason to come here."
Ethan blinked.
Her friend elbowed her teasingly, and Sofia's smile grew embarrassed, but she didn't take the words back.
"Well," Ethan said slowly, "if that were true… I wouldn't mind."
The air tightened softly around them — not tense, just aware.
Sofia tucked a strand of hair behind her ear. "Um… there's a festival this evening. At the piazza. Music, food, dancing… You should come."
He stared at her, trying to read whether she was asking him or simply inviting him as a polite neighbor.
But her eyes held something different today. Something that made him think she wanted him there.
"I'll be there," he said quietly.
Sofia's smile widened — bright, unguarded, enough to make his chest feel warm.
"Okay. See you tonight," she said, and walked away, turning back only once.
Ethan watched her until she disappeared around the corner.
Signora Bellini bumped his shoulder. "If she is not your destiny," she declared, "then destiny needs glasses."
He laughed, shaking his head, but inside, he felt something he hadn't felt in a long time:
A spark.
A beginning.
A trembling hope.
As he returned to the shutters, the sun climbed higher behind him, bathing the town in gold — as if the universe itself had decided to paint the start of something beautiful.
Little did Ethan know, this beginning would one day become the greatest love and the deepest heartbreak of his life — the first turn in the path that would shape three hearts and one destiny.