The dim glow of a streetlamp cast gentle shadows across the old wooden floor, like a quiet veil laid over the pains of the day. In the silent room, Amaya's steady breathing matched the nocturnal rhythm of Venice. She slept deeply, arms spread wide, surrendered to a peaceful dream from which Nahia was excluded.
She, on the other hand, was still awake.
Sleep, capricious, eluded her. As if her body refused to lower its guard. As if, once her eyes closed, her thoughts took up all the space, crashing within her like waves too high for an already cracked boat.
Nahia rose slowly, her bare feet brushing against the cold floor. Each step was measured, almost solemn. She moved toward the half-open window, drawn by the breath of night that caressed her face. Outside, the city seemed frozen in a slow respiration. The red rooftops were bathed in bluish darkness, and the canals glimmered softly, like silver scars beneath the skin of the city.
In the distance, the faint song of a gondola split the silence. It was unreal. A world suspended between dream and solitude.
And yet, inside her, nothing was calm.
Her temples pulsed with a dull ache. A knot of emotions rose in her throat, acrid and burning. Too much to say. Too many memories. Too much anger she could not put into words. Who could she talk to? Who could she entrust this inner storm to, if not herself?
Her eyes drifted toward the dresser. A small notebook lay there, placed like a secret. Black cover, slightly warped. She had noticed it earlier without really paying attention. This time, she reached out. Almost as one clutches a lifebuoy when everything feels like it's sinking.
She also picked up a pen. Her fingers trembled slightly.
She did not try to turn on the light. The half-light was enough. She sat back down on the edge of the bed, noiseless, her gestures marked by a kind of silent gravity. The silence was so dense she could hear every beat of her heart, every breath of the house.
She opened the notebook. Slowly. The blank paper was waiting.
An unknown land.
And she wrote.
> "I no longer know who I am. I no longer know where I'm going. All I know is that something has broken. And that I must learn to live with the pieces."
The ink flowed with a strange fluidity, almost liberating. Her thoughts took shape, black on white, truths whispered in the shadows.
> "I loved him. I truly loved him. And even though I knew it would end… I had not foreseen this emptiness. Had not foreseen the way everything would feel unreal since I left."
She paused for a moment. Just writing his name reignited a dull pain. A shiver climbed up her neck.
> "I hate his name as much as I love it. He's getting married. And me, I'm here, in Venice… a city too beautiful for someone who no longer has dreams."
"I want to disappear sometimes. Not die. No. Just… pause. Feel nothing. Carry nothing. Set my heart down somewhere, the way you set down a bag that's too heavy. Close my eyes. Sleep a thousand years. And wake up when all of this is over."
> "But I am still here. That's what I keep telling myself. I am still here. Even broken. Even exhausted. Even lost. I am still alive. And maybe that matters. Maybe that is the beginning. Maybe you must allow yourself to fall in order to rebuild differently."
A tear slipped down her cheek without her noticing. It fell onto the bottom of the page, like a silent punctuation to her pain.
> "I want to believe it will be alright. That one day, I will laugh again without it sounding false. That one day, he won't be in every thought. I hurt. But I am still here. I am still alive."
She closed the notebook gently. As one closes a raw wound. She held it against her chest, like a secret too heavy to remain in the open air. Then, she lifted her gaze toward the window.
The sky above Venice was dotted with stars. Motionless. Luminous. Almost reassuring.
And in that profound silence, a thought sprouted. Timid. Fragile.
Maybe everything began here.
Tomorrow, she would help Giulietta at the shop. Tomorrow, she would move forward, even slowly. One step after the other. Even if her knees still trembled.
But tonight… tonight, she had allowed herself to fall. To dive into her pain without holding back. And maybe… yes, maybe, that was already a form of healing.
She slid back under the sheets, slowly. The weight on her chest was still there, but a little lighter. As if the words had absorbed part of her grief.
She closed her eyes.
And that night, Nahia dreamed.
Not of him.
But of herself.
Standing.
Free.
Whole, one day, perhaps.