By the time Sharon reached home, the sky above Italy had deepened into a soft indigo, the kind that made the stone buildings glow warmer instead of darker. The narrow street smelled of jasmine and old rain, and somewhere down the block, a radio played an Italian love song—melancholic, aching, familiar.
The apartment lights were already on.
Inside, the rooms breathed with quiet history: lace curtains stirred by an open window, framed photographs lining the hallway, the muted comfort of a place lived in slowly. This was where she had grown up. Where her mother's absence still lingered like a held breath.
In the kitchen, Lucia stood at the counter, slicing tomatoes with practiced ease. She looked up the moment Sharon entered, dark eyes softening.
"You're late," Lucia said gently. "Did the café keep you?"
Sharon shook her head and slipped off her shoes. "No. Just… thinking."
Lucia studied her for a long moment, then set the knife aside. "Thinking usually means trouble," she said, half-smiling. "Sit."
Sharon obeyed, perching on the stool by the counter. For a few seconds, she simply watched Lucia move—so familiar, so grounding. Her mother's best friend. Her constant. The woman who had stepped in when the world had quietly taken her mother away.
"Aunty," Sharon began, fingers curling around the edge of the counter, "what was my mother really like… before me?"
Lucia froze.
The silence that followed was not sharp, but weighted. She turned slowly, resting her hands on the counter as if bracing herself. "Why tonight?" she asked.
"I met someone," Sharon said softly. "And he makes me feel like there are parts of me I don't understand yet. Parts that maybe come from her."
Lucia exhaled, a smile touching her lips—sad, knowing. "Your mother," she said, "was fire wrapped in silk. Gentle when she loved. Ruthless when she chose. She believed in instinct more than rules."
Sharon's throat tightened. "Did she love deeply?"
Lucia laughed under her breath. "Too deeply. It terrified people." She met Sharon's eyes. "It may terrify you too."
Sharon swallowed. "What if love feels dangerous?"
"Then it's honest," Lucia replied. "But danger doesn't mean surrender. It means choice." She reached out, brushing Sharon's cheek with her thumb. "Promise me you'll never disappear into someone else. Not even love."
"I promise," Sharon whispered.
Later, in her room, Sharon lay awake listening to the city settle. Lucia's words circled her mind, tangling with Akon's voice, his nearness, the way he had looked at her as if she were inevitable.
Her phone buzzed.
"Akon: Are you home?"
She hesitated, then typed back.
"Sharon: Yes."
Three dots appeared. Disappeared. Then—
"Akon: Come downstairs."
Her heart leapt—and scolded itself for doing so. Still, she pulled on a light coat and slipped quietly out, the stairwell cool beneath her fingertips.
He was waiting by the car, the streetlamp casting half his face in shadow. When he saw her, something softened in his expression, something unguarded.
"You shouldn't be here," she said, even as she stepped closer.
"And yet," he replied, "you came."
The space between them closed without permission. His hand lifted, hesitant this time, giving her the choice. Sharon answered by leaning in.
Their lips met—slow, searching. Not a claim, not a demand. A question.
The world narrowed to warmth and breath and the faint sound of her name leaving his mouth like a secret. His thumb traced her jaw, reverent, as if she were something fragile and dangerous all at once.
When they parted, her forehead rested against his. "This scares me," she admitted.
He smiled, just slightly. "Good," he murmured. "It should."
She kissed him again, deeper this time, letting the fear thread itself into desire, into curiosity, into something that felt startlingly like truth.
Above them, the apartment windows glowed softly. Below them, the city waited.
And somewhere between the past she was uncovering and the future pressing close, Sharon understood what Lucia had meant.
Love wasn't safe.
But it was a choice.
And tonight, she was choosing to feel.