The sun begins to dip lower in the sky, softening the edges of the city with golden light. Leila walks slowly through the quiet paths near Castel Sant'Elmo, letting the breeze kiss her face. Naples feels older than time here—like each stone carries a secret, each street corner a memory it won't speak aloud.
Her footsteps echo gently as she descends toward the narrow streets below. A boy sells roasted chestnuts near the plaza, the scent clinging to the warm air. Leila smiles faintly, her eyes lingering on a small bookstore tucked between two buildings, its sign faded, the door wide open like it's waiting just for her.
She steps inside.
Dust floats lazily in beams of amber light as she runs her fingers over worn spines. The owner, an old man with ink-stained fingers, nods at her without a word. She finds a worn copy of Il Gattopardo in English translation and smiles as she flips through the fragile pages.
For a moment, she forgets everything—her aching legs, her homesickness, even the vague feeling that someone's watching.
But when she steps out again, book in hand, the air feels different.
Not dangerous. But... alert.
She brushes the feeling away and walks further down the hill, passing tiled walls, bougainvillea-draped balconies, and scooters whizzing past in casual chaos. She snaps a photo of the sprawling bay down below. The ocean always calms her.
She finds a small fountain near a quiet courtyard and sits, pulling out her journal.
Her pen dances across the paper:
"Naples feels like a city that has loved and lost more times than it can count. Maybe that's why I like it so much."
She exhales slowly, absorbing the moment.
But what she doesn't see is the figure who lingers a few steps behind her path. Not close enough to be noticed. Not far enough to be forgotten.
"She's stopping again," Kai says, his voice low but exasperated. "Bookstore, fountain, now a journal. What next, a philosophical monologue in a chapel?"
Elias doesn't look away. "She's not doing it for show."
"I didn't say she was."
Elias studies her from the alley, concealed by shadows and motion. He watches the way her shoulders rise and fall as she breathes, how her pen pauses like it's thinking for her.
"She feels things deeply," he says finally.
Kai narrows his eyes. "Since when do you chase women who feel things?"
Elias's expression doesn't change. "I'm not chasing her."
"Right," Kai says, crossing his arms. "You're just following her across a city you've already handled business in, skipping your return flight, and staring like a poet with a vendetta."
Elias finally turns to him, just slightly. "She's different."
Kai rolls his eyes but doesn't argue. There's something in Elias's voice he rarely hears—curiosity tangled with something softer.
From where they stand, Leila looks up at the sky. She tucks her journal away, stands, and turns toward the street that winds back down toward the station.
"She's heading back," Elias murmurs.
"Are you done watching now?" Kai asks.
Elias doesn't answer.
He just follows again.
Not too close.
Not yet.
Just enough to keep her in sight.
As the train station comes into view, Leila slows her steps.
There's a strange stillness in her chest, like the echo of a melody she hasn't heard before. The kind of feeling that doesn't belong to the moment, yet somehow lives inside it.
She tells herself it's just the day—the walking, the warmth of the sun, the ache of missing home softening into something gentler.
But a part of her knows better.
Something is shifting.
She glances over her shoulder, a flicker of instinct, but finds nothing out of place.
Still… the air hums like it knows a secret she's not ready to hear.
And as she boards the train, Leila keeps her gaze on the window—not knowing that someone else is doing the same, just a few seats behind.