Lanterns flickered like fireflies above the piazza, casting warm amber glows across the square. The summer festival of Monteluce had always been a beloved tradition — a night of music, laughter, and celebration where the entire town came together. Children darted between the tables, couples danced beneath the strings of lights, and the smell of roasted chestnuts and lemon gelato filled the air.
Ethan stood at the edge of the square, momentarily overwhelmed by the brightness of it all. He wasn't used to festivals — or crowds — or events where people looked at him as if he belonged there. Growing up, he had always been either invisible or awkwardly out of place. Yet here, in this little corner of Italy, people greeted him warmly.
But tonight, he wasn't here for greetings.
Tonight… he was searching for her.
He scanned the square slowly, hands in his pockets, heart pounding more than he'd like to admit. Sofia. He wasn't even sure why he felt this drawn to her. Maybe it was the way she looked at the world — like it held more color than anyone else could see. Maybe it was her soft voice, her genuine smile, or the shadows behind her eyes that told him she had fears she hid beautifully.
Or maybe, it was just that she made him feel something he hadn't felt in a long time.
Hope.
As he moved deeper into the piazza, Signora Bellini stopped him with an enthusiastic wave. "Ethan! Vieni! Have some food! You look too thin!"
He laughed, shaking his head. "Thank you, but I'm—"
"Looking for someone?" she asked with raised brows.
He turned slightly pink. "Maybe."
She winked, pressing a small plate of pastries into his hands anyway. "Then eat. You can't fall in love on an empty stomach."
Ethan nearly choked. "It's not— I'm not—"
But she had already shuffled away, leaving him flustered and overly aware of how exposed his feelings seemed to be.
He looked down at the pastries. Great. Now he had to find Sofia while holding a plate of tiny powdered cookies like an idiot.
Across the square, under a canopy of golden lights woven between olive branches, Sofia arrived with Marta by her side. She looked… breathtaking. Her hair flowed gently over her shoulders, catching the soft glow of the lanterns. Her dress — a pastel lavender that brushed mid-calf — swayed with her movement like a whisper.
For a moment, Sofia forgot the letter folded in her purse, the future that frightened her, and the choices she wasn't ready to face. When she looked at the crowd, her eyes searched instinctively for someone.
Ethan.
And she saw him.
He stood near the fountain, awkwardly holding a plate of pastries, looking both handsome and hopelessly out of place. The sight made her laugh softly, her heart lifting.
Marta nudged her. "Go. He's waiting for you."
"I'm not sure," Sofia whispered.
"Yes, you are."
The encouragement was enough. Sofia took a breath and stepped forward, weaving through the crowd. Ethan saw her approaching before she reached him — and for a moment, everything in the square faded into a soft, distant hum.
Their eyes met.
And something electric passed between them.
"Sofia," Ethan breathed, lowering the plate immediately, nearly dropping it in the process.
She giggled. "You look like you're smuggling pastries."
His face flushed slightly. "I didn't know what to do with my hands."
Her laughter came bright and unguarded, and Ethan felt something warm spread through his chest, as if the sound slipped inside and settled there.
"You look beautiful," he said.
Sofia blinked — surprised, shy, touched all at once. "Thank you… you look different tonight."
"How so?"
"Less like someone passing through," she said softly. "More like someone who belongs."
The words landed deeper than she intended, and she felt heat rise to her face. But Ethan didn't tease her for it. Instead, a slow smile curved his lips — gentle, almost reverent.
"Can I walk with you?" he asked.
She nodded, and they began moving through the square side by side, their arms brushing lightly, sending a quiet thrill through both of them.
People danced around them, laughed, talked, and celebrated, but Ethan and Sofia moved in a world of their own — a small, private orbit that felt delicate, fragile, and yet unquestionably strong.
As they reached the edge of the piazza, where the music softened into a sweet violin melody, Ethan inhaled deeply.
"I've been wanting to talk to you," he said.
Sofia's heartbeat quickened. "About what?"
"About…" He paused, unsure how much to reveal. "About the way I feel when I see you."
Her breath hitched.
He continued, voice quiet. "I came to Italy to forget things. To escape things. But the more time I spend here, the more I find myself… wanting to stay."
Sofia felt something inside her ripple with equal parts joy and fear. "Ethan…"
He turned to look at her, his expression raw, honest. "I know we barely know each other. But every time I see you, I feel like—"
He hesitated.
"—like maybe this place could be home."
Sofia's throat tightened.
Home.
Such a simple word. Such a heavy one.
She swallowed hard, the image of the acceptance letter flashing through her mind. The dream she had. The fear of disappointing her family. The possibility of leaving.
And now… Ethan.
His gaze softened when he saw the conflict in her eyes. "I'm sorry. I shouldn't have said that. I didn't mean to—"
"No," she interrupted gently. "I'm glad you said it."
He blinked.
"I just…" She looked down at her hands. "I don't know what I want. Not fully."
Ethan stepped closer, not touching her, but close enough that she felt the warmth of him. "Then let me help you figure it out. Not for me. For you."
Her breath trembled.
Before she could respond, music shifted — a slow, romantic song — and couples began drifting toward the center of the square. Lantern light shimmered over the dancers in soft halos.
Ethan offered his hand.
"Dance with me?"
Sofia hesitated only a moment before placing her hand in his. His fingers curled around hers, firm yet gentle, as if he were afraid she might vanish.
He led her onto the cobblestone clearing. They moved slowly, their bodies finding a natural rhythm, her head near his chest, his breath brushing her hair. The world narrowed to the feel of his hand at her waist, the warmth of his palm, the steady beat of his heart beneath the thin fabric of his shirt.
"Sofia," he whispered.
She looked up.
His forehead brushed hers.
Their breaths mingled.
For the first time in her life, everything felt aligned — the music, the lights, the warmth of the night, the way Ethan held her like she was the most fragile, precious thing he'd ever touched.
And she knew.
This moment…
This feeling…
This connection…
It was real.
Dangerously real.
When the song ended, their foreheads were still pressed together, eyes closed as if neither wanted to break the spell. But reality — quiet, unwelcome — seeped in.
Sofia pulled back slowly, regret flickering in her eyes. "Ethan… I need to tell you something."
His chest tightened. "What is it?"
"I might leave Italy," she whispered.
The words struck him harder than she expected. His heart sank, eyes darkening with something sharp — fear, maybe.
"When?" he asked quietly.
"I don't know yet," she said, voice trembling. "But soon. I have an opportunity… one I can't ignore."
Ethan swallowed, the pain evident but controlled. "Paris?"
She nodded.
"And what about…" He hesitated, struggling to find the right word. "…this?"
Sofia's eyes glistened. "That's what scares me."
Ethan exhaled shakily. "Sofia—"
But before he could say more, someone called her name. She turned, blinking quickly as if pulling herself together.
"I have to go," she whispered. "I'm sorry."
She stepped away, her hand slipping from his — the sudden absence of her touch feeling like a cold wind across his skin.
Ethan watched her go, his heart aching in a way he hadn't expected.
He had come to Italy to lose himself.
But somewhere along the way…
he had found something worth holding on to.
And now, it was slipping through his fingers.