The living room smelled faintly of fresh coffee and polished wood. Maya Carter sat on the
edge of the sofa, her graduation cap still tucked under her arm, while her parents leaned against the kitchen counter, both wearing the same mixture of pride and worry that always seemed to follow them around.
"Maya, you did well," her mother said, smoothing a stray lock of hair behind her ear. "You graduated top of your class. But… you can't just pick Italy. There are so many other places you could go — London, Paris, even Tokyo. Places where your research could open doors, and you could have more… structure."
Her father nodded, his brows furrowed. "Italy is fine, sure, but it's unpredictable. You're young. Why not go somewhere more… conventional first?"
Maya crossed her arms, leaning back against the sofa. "I know, I know," she said, smiling
softly. "But I really find Italy interesting. It's not just the food or the scenery. There's history everywhere — the streets, the buildings, the art, the forgotten villas. I want to explore it for real,
not just read about it in books."
Her mother sighed, a mix of exasperation and admiration. "You've always been stubborn," she said.
Maya shrugged. "Maybe. But it's not stubborn if it's passion. I just… I feel like I'll never understand Europe from a desk or a tourist guide. I need to see it. Walk the streets. Talk to people. Explore the unknown."
Her father softened, placing a hand on her shoulder. "Alright. We just… worry about you, that's all."
"I know," Maya said, smiling again. "But I need this. I'll be careful, I promise. Italy's where I'm supposed to be."
There was a pause, a quiet weight in the air. Her parents exchanged glances, a silent
negotiation happening between them: pride, fear, and acceptance all tangled together. Finally, her mother said, "Okay, Maya. Italy it is. But call us every day."
"I will," Maya said, already imagining the sun-drenched streets, the hidden villas, and the thrill of discovering something nobody else had. She leaned back, closing her eyes for a moment, letting herself dream of the adventure that awaited — the first step into the unknown.
Maya stood in her room later that night, her suitcases open like unfinished thoughts on the floor. Clothes, notebooks, and camera lenses were scattered everywhere — she knew what she was taking, but her mind still felt unpacked.
Her phone buzzed.
She didn't need to look to know who it was.
Only one name made her chest tighten in that familiar, frustrating way.
Travis.
She stared at the screen for a moment before opening the message.
"I heard you're leaving the country. Can we talk before you go?"
Maya sat down on the edge of her bed, her fingers hovering over the keyboard. Travis always reached out when he needed something — rarely when she did.
She typed slowly:
"I don't think we have anything left to talk about."
The typing bubbles appeared almost instantly.
"Maya, come on. I messed up, but everyone deserves another chance."
Maya took a breath, steady and slow.
She remembered how her heart felt when she discovered he'd cheated — how small she felt, how replaceable.
And now he wanted her back… only after the girl he cheated with walked out of his life.
She replied:
"You didn't want another chance until you got left too."
A longer pause this time — then:
"That's not fair. I've been thinking about us a lot. I just… I miss what we had."
Maya blinked back the sting behind her eyes — not from longing, but from the memory of
trying to make something work alone.
She stood, walked to her suitcase, and zipped it shut with a firm pull.
"Travis, I'm not a backup plan. I'm done going in circles."
No reply came right away.
Her phone buzzed again, but this time she let it buzz in the background while she placed her passport on top of her suitcase.
She wasn't running away — she was moving forward.
Maya glanced around her room one more time, then whispered to herself,
"Italy's where my next chapter starts."
And for the first time in a long time, the thought didn't feel scary.
It felt right.
Sunlight slipped through Maya's curtains before her alarm even rang.
She barely slept, but strangely, she didn't feel tired — her chest buzzed with a mix of nerves
and excitement that felt almost like a heartbeat outside her body.
Downstairs, the smell of pancakes and coffee drifted through the house.
Her parents were already in the kitchen, speaking in low voices, but they both went quiet the moment she came down the stairs with her luggage.
"You're really leaving today," her mother said softly, eyes lingering on the suitcase handle in Maya's hand.
Maya nodded, trying to smile. "I am."
Her father took the suitcase from her, clearing his throat. "Well… let's get going before we
make your mother cry again."
"I didn't cry," her mother protested immediately — wiping the corner of her eye at the same time.
Maya laughed under her breath. It was the kind of laugh that covered everything she didn't know how to say.
The drive to the airport was calm, filled with familiar streets and memories pressed against the windows.
Her mother kept glancing at her in the rearview mirror as if memorizing her face, while her father hummed lightly to the radio to keep the silence from getting too heavy.
When they pulled up to the departure lane, the luggage felt heavier than before — not because of what was packed inside, but because of everything she was leaving behind.
Her father carried her suitcase out of the trunk and placed it beside her. "You know," he said, "your mom still thinks London would've been safer."
Her mother shot him a look, but nodded quickly. "Or Paris. Or literally anywhere where you won't be wandering off too much."
Maya smiled — gently, but firm. "I know. But I need Italy. I feel like… if I don't go now, I'll regret it forever."
Her mother cupped her face, thumbs warm against her cheeks. "Just remember to call. And don't forget you can always come back if things get overwhelming."
"I will," Maya said, her throat tightening. "I promise."
Her father pulled her into a tight hug. "Be brave," he whispered. "But don't be reckless."
"I'll try," she whispered back.
They stepped apart, and Maya grabbed the suitcase handle.
The sliding airport doors opened automatically — and for a second, everything in her wanted to run back and stay.
But instead, she took a deep breath and crossed the threshold.
Her parents waved until they couldn't see her anymore.
Maya didn't turn around.
She knew if she did, she might not walk forward again.
Italy was waiting — and she was finally on her way.
The airplane cabin hummed softly, a constant vibration that blended with the quiet conversations of passengers and the clink of metal cutlery somewhere behind her. Maya sat by the window, forehead resting lightly against the cool glass, watching clouds drift beneath
the wing like slow-moving waves.
She had been in the air for hours, but time felt different up here — stretched, quiet, almost
unreal.
A flight attendant passed by with a warm smile.
"Drink?"
Maya shook her head politely. "No, thank you."
Her notebook lay open on the pull-down tray, a page titled "Italy Research Notes — Day 0."
Only a single sentence sat beneath it:
I hope I don't lose myself again. I want to find something new.
She didn't cross it out. She didn't rewrite it.
It felt honest, even if she didn't fully understand what she meant yet.
For a moment, her mind drifted back — the sound of her mother's voice, her father's hug, the weight of Travis's last message she still hadn't opened. She took a slow breath and closed the notebook.
New chapter, she reminded herself. Not a replacement. Not an escape.
A beginning.
The clouds thinned, sunlight brightened, and soon the speaker crackled overhead:
"We will be landing shortly in Naples, Italy. Local time is 3:42 PM. Please fasten your
seatbelts."
Maya's pulse quickened.
Out the window, the coastline came into view — sparkling water hugging the land, clusters of old buildings with red roofs, narrow streets winding like stories written long before she was born.
She felt something she hadn't felt in a long time — not excitement exactly, but possibility.
The plane touched down with a gentle jolt, wheels meeting foreign ground.
Passengers stood, stretching, gathering bags. Maya stayed seated a moment longer, letting it sink in.
I'm really here.
When she finally stepped out of the plane and into the airport terminal, warm air and the faint smell of espresso greeted her. Italian voices filled the space around her — melodic, fast, lively.
She didn't understand every word, but she loved the sound instantly.
Her suitcase wheels clicked against the floor as she made her way toward the exit, heart
unsteady in a hopeful way.
She searched the waiting crowd for the face she had only seen through video calls and old family photos — her mother's cousin, Aunt Isabella.
A small woman with dark curls and a bright red scarf waved suddenly, her smile wide enough to cross any language barrier.
"Maya!" she called, her accent soft but musical.
Maya's face lit up.
"Aunt Isabella?