Leila pushes her chair back gently after finishing the last few bites of her pizza.
"That was lovely," she says with a soft smile. "But I think I want to explore a bit before we head back. There's still time before our train."
"Alone?" one of her classmates asks.
She nods. "I prefer walking alone sometimes. Helps me take it all in."
They don't argue. They've already noticed something about Leila — her presence is gentle, but she moves like someone who knows how to guard her solitude.
Outside, the sun glows gold across the cobbled streets of Naples. Leila walks quietly through the winding alleys, eventually climbing toward Castel Sant'Elmo, the city stretching wide below her.
She finds a quiet bench with a view of the Bay of Naples. The sea shimmers, wind brushing softly against her face. For a moment, she closes her eyes.
This city is older than the ache she carries.
The golden haze of afternoon light folds over Naples, quiet and drowsy. She draws her knees slightly up and wraps her arms around them. The city below feels both distant and intimate — like a secret whispered between sky and sea.
Her phone buzzes again.
Amara.
Leila smiles instantly and puts the call on speaker.
"Hi, drama queen," Leila teases, her voice laced with affection in their native Urdu.
Amara groans. "Hi, idiot. I'm not even going to argue — I actually cooked today."
"No way. Did the pan survive?" Leila grins, her tone light and teasing.
"Shut up. I made smoked meat and didn't burn anything," Amara retorts proudly.
Leila chuckles. "Miracles do happen. I'll light a candle in your honor."
They slip into a stream of easy back-and-forth. Their banter is effortless, filled with inside jokes and decades-old sarcasm. It doesn't matter that thousands of miles separate them now — this is their rhythm. Unchanging.
"You know," Amara says after a pause, "you're sounding… different."
"Different how?"
"I don't know. You sound lighter. Like… something's shifted."
Leila leans her chin on her knees. "Maybe I needed to leave to remember what it feels like to breathe."
Amara goes quiet. Then: "You know I hate that you had to go through everything for my sake."
"I'd do it again," Leila says softly. "No question."
From a nearby wall shaded by vines, Elias stands silently. He watches her — not out of curiosity anymore, but something subtler, quieter. He still doesn't understand the language, but the emotion is universal.
Kai, beside him, frowns. "Is she always this emotionally poetic, or is that just the scenery?"
"She's talking to her sister," Elias says.
Kai lifts a brow. "You understand that now?"
"No. But I can tell."
Kai pulls out his phone and reopens the translation app, setting it to listen. It only catches fragments — but enough:
"Amara, this view would've calmed even your stormy brain."
"I bought you a postcard. It's ugly. You'll love it."
"It's peaceful here. I think for the first time in years, I'm not holding my breath."
Kai reads the translations aloud, squinting at the screen.
"Well, that's… unexpectedly beautiful," he mutters.
He glances at Elias.
"You still think she's just some random girl?"
Elias doesn't respond.
He just keeps watching, like he's memorizing her from a distance.
Not with obsession.
But with the quiet awareness that somehow, this moment — her — matters more than he can explain.