The sun had barely set over the palace of Mazar. A warm breeze drifted between the colonnades, rustling the leaves of the royal gardens. Evening's calm wrapped around the walls like a soothing veil.
In their ochre-walled room, Amaya lay on her stomach, feet swaying idly in the air, a sketchbook open before her. Nahia, seated at the edge of the bed, was sorting laundry absentmindedly. Her gaze often wandered to the window, where the sky slowly darkened.
A soft knock sounded at the door.
— "Come in," said Nahia, sitting up slightly.
A guard peeked in, an envelope in hand.
— "A letter for you, Miss Nahia. It bears a foreign seal."
Curious, Nahia stood and approached. The envelope was made of thick, ivory-colored paper and bore an elegant, fine handwriting—almost familiar. Her heart skipped a beat. Amaya had already pushed herself up on her elbows, eyes sparkling with anticipation.
— "It's her…" she whispered.
Nahia nodded silently. She gently slipped a finger under the flap, like unlocking a forgotten memory. A delicate scent of dried flowers escaped, filling the room with a distant perfume.
Then, without a word, she began reading aloud.
---
To Nahia and Amaya
Royal Palace of Mazar
My dear girls,
I lack the words to express what I felt upon receiving your letter. Years of silence, of regrets, of unanswered questions… And then, your words. Your handwriting. Your existence.
I have carried your absence like a silent burden, fearing I would never know what became of you. I imagined your faces, your voices, your lives so many times. And despite my fears, I never stopped searching. Your mother—my beloved sister Lucia—was the light of our home. She could make the world bloom even in the darkest seasons. Her absence left a void in me that neither time nor silence could ever fill.
I am not writing to ask for forgiveness. I know I did nothing—and that is my fault. But I write to you today because I finally found your trace. Because I wept while reading your letter. Because I already love you.
Nahia, your words carry the strength of a woman who had to grow on her own. And Amaya… I feel in you the vibrant light of Lucia, even though I've never heard your voice.
If you will allow me, I would like to come to Mazar. Next week, perhaps. I do not come as a stranger, but as a sister, an aunt… a woman who still hopes to mend part of the past.
With all my heart,
Giulietta Ferrano
Via San Marco 17
Venice, Italy
P.S.: Here is my personal number, if you wish to write or call: +39 347 288 45 19
---
A deep silence fell in the room. Only the sound of Nahia's heartbeat pulsed in her ears.
Amaya was the first to break the silence, her voice barely more than a whisper.
— "Did you feel it? It was like… like Mom was here, just for a moment."
Nahia slowly nodded, her eyes fixed on the envelope beside her.
— "Yes. Like a door had opened. One we didn't dare touch anymore."
— "Do you think we can call her? Now?"
Nahia glanced at the small clock on the wall.
— "It's late here… but in Como, it must be just past 7 PM. It's the right time."
Nahia slowly dialed the number. Her finger hovered for a second above the green button. The phone vibrated lightly in her hand, as if it too were bracing for what came next.
— "Shall we?" Amaya murmured.
— "Yes. It's time."
She pressed the button.
One ring.
Then another.
And a woman's voice—calm, mature, with a gentle Italian accent—rose from the receiver:
— "Giulietta Ferrano, ascolto."
Nahia took a discreet breath.
— "Good evening… This is Nahia. I'm calling from Mazar. I believe you received our letter."
A brief silence. Then the voice trembled slightly:
— "Nahia? Oh my God… Is it really you?"
— "Yes. I'm here with Amaya. We received your reply this evening."
On the other end, a long, shaky breath. Then:
— "I don't know where to begin. I've imagined this moment so many times. I didn't dare believe in it anymore."
— "Neither did we," Nahia said calmly. "It's… overwhelming. Suddenly you're here, when for years we were told we had no one."
— "You always had someone," Giulietta replied, her voice low and full of pain. "But I was absent. I took too long to challenge the silence. And I regret it."
Amaya, who had remained quiet, spoke up:
— "Why now? After all this time?"
— "Because I finally found a lead. And because the silence was killing me. Your letter… moved me deeply. I recognized Lucia's gentleness in your words."
— "Our mother." Amaya paused. "We know so little about her."
— "I can tell you about her. Everything, if you'd like. She was more than a memory others tried to erase. She was… radiant. Rebellious. And I'm certain she loved you before you were even born."
Nahia said softly:
— "We're not expecting miracles. We've learned to stand on our own. But…" She hesitated. "…we want to understand. To know where we come from. And maybe, one day, to know you too."
Giulietta whispered:
— "I don't want to impose. I only wish… to be here. To be present, if you'll let me."
A silence followed. Not heavy, not empty. A silence full of meaning.
— "Then let's start slowly," Nahia said in a low voice. "A voice on the phone now and then… and maybe one day, a meeting."
Giulietta let out a shaky sigh.
— "That's more than I ever hoped for. Thank you, Nahia. Thank you, Amaya."
Nahia nodded, eyes misty but her tone steady:
— "We're not making promises. But we're ready to see where this could lead."
— "That's all I ask."
A tender silence followed. Not one of uncertainty, but of something slowly being built—like a fragile bridge stretched between two long-separated shores.
— "I didn't see you born. I didn't watch you grow," Giulietta said in a raw voice. "It's been twenty-seven years since I last saw Lucia. When she left, I was angry with her. And I waited far too long to call her again."
She took a long breath, as if the words weighed heavy on her chest.
— "It was while sorting through our parents' belongings, after… they passed, that I found the letters. She had written to me, year after year, but I never received them. She spoke of you. Her 'two miracles.' She said you were her greatest pride."
Amaya covered her mouth, tears spilling from her eyes.
— "She wrote letters?…" she whispered, voice trembling. "I… I don't remember."
— "That's normal," Nahia said gently. "You were too young."
— "I don't remember either," Nahia added softly. "She never spoke of her family."
— "Maybe she still hoped… that one day I'd read them. And I did. Too late for her, but maybe not too late for you."
Giulietta sat up slightly.
— "I won't claim to be your family if you don't want that. But I already love you as if you were my own daughters. And if you give me a chance, just one, I'd like to be there. For you. For Lucia."
Nahia closed her eyes for a moment, letting the words settle gently within her, like a balm.
— "Thank you," she whispered. "For speaking of her like that. For bringing her back to life… even just a little."
— "Grazie a voi," Giulietta replied, her voice trembling. "I won't rush you. But know that every day I get to hear your voices will be a gift."
A final glance between the two sisters. Amaya nodded, and Nahia concluded:
— "Good night, Giulietta."
— "Buona notte, my darlings."
The line went dead.
Silence returned—but it had changed. No longer made of absence, but of quiet presence. Of ties being woven. Of a past gently beginning to move again.
Amaya rested her head on her sister's shoulder, her sketchbook forgotten at the foot of the bed.
— "Do you think we made the right choice?"
— "I think we opened a door," Nahia replied, her eyes on the starry sky. "And sometimes… that's all it takes for the light to come in."
In the ochre-walled room, the evening breeze gently lifted a corner of the sketchbook, as if to carry a piece of this new night away. A blank page turned slowly.
And somewhere, in Venice, a woman gently closed an old box of memories—her heart lighter than it had been in many, many years.