Chapter 4
Sam
The front door creaked the same way it
always had. Some things didn't change
Like the smell of garlic and rosemary roasting in the oven, mingling with the faint scent of fresh focaccia cooling on the counter.
Upstairs, the old ceiling fan hummed quietly, barely stirring the heavy velvet curtains.
My mother, Mariam, greeted me with that warm smile, her arms open wide as always.
"You look thinner," she said, brushing a loose strand of hair from my face.
"I'm fine," I lied.Behind her, Luca stood just inside the doorway .
The kind of presence that didn't scream for attention but owned it anyway. Tall, with a lean, powerful frame that moved like he was always ready but never hurried.
His dark eyes were calm, sharp like they caught everything but gave nothing away.
There was something about the way his jawline caught the soft light, clean-cut but softened by a hint of shadow, like he carried a lifetime of stories in silence. His hands, resting casually by his sides, were strong without being rough hands you'd trust to protect you without a second thought.
When he glanced at me, it wasn't a look that searched or demanded it was steady, like he saw the parts of me no one else noticed.
A quiet kindness hiding behind that calm exterior, like he was a safe place without walls.
"Welcome home," he said softly. I nodded
Dinner was already on the table, the heavy aroma promising something rich and familiar.
Braised short ribs, tender and falling apart. Creamy polenta pooling on the side. A Caesar salad tossed with care and a small plate of antipasti waiting to be picked at.
And guests....
Two of them.
Elias, a family friend's son, is polite and carefully ordinary.
The other, new, with eyes that carried stories I didn't want to hear
Jasper, who worked with my cousin and apparently "heard a lot" about me, apparently.
I sank into my seat between my younger brother and Luca, whose quiet presence made the room breathe a little easier. But I could still feel the weight of my mother's gaze during dinner, sharp and expectant, like she was holding her breath, waiting for me to break.
"How's your thesis?" she asked, pretending she wasn't glancing between me and Elias.
"Stressful," I said.
"She studies poetry," my father added, pouring water like that was a transition.
"Old poems. Romantic stuff."
I didn't correct him. I didn't say I was writing about heartbreak as resistance. Or that my professor had called my draft "exquisitely angry."
Instead, I nodded, stabbing a piece of lettuce.
Mom's eyes flicked to Elias, then at me .
"You should meet someone, Sam. A nice man. You're not getting any younger."
I glanced away, biting my tongue.
Jasper smiled, but it didn't reach his eyes.
"I hear you're very talented. Maybe someone should be more lucky than I am."
My mother laughed softly, but it felt hollow.
"It's time to move on, dear. Forget the past. Sebastian was... complicated."
My father grunted. "Enough about that. Sam, a good marriage can settle a woman's mind."
The words hung heavy, pressing down on me like the steam from the pot on the stove.
I forced a smile. "I'm focused on my work."
But no one was fooled.
After dinner, I went upstairs. My room hadn't changed. The bookshelf still leaned a little to the right. The fairy lights were dead but still wrapped around the mirror. My childhood drawings were tucked behind my doorframe, yellowed at the edges. I sat on my old bed and sighed.
It was too much nostalgia. Too much air I didn't want to breathe.
That's when I saw it: the shoebox in the closet. Taped twice over. Stuffed under old sweaters like it had a heartbeat of its own.
I knew what was inside. And I knew better. But still, I peeled the tape. Lifted the lid.
Photos. Old notes. A ticket stub from our first movie.
A bracelet he once said "looked like me." Too many memories from a man who didn't deserve them.
Ezra, That was his name. The one I never said out loud anymore.
He had loved me loudly and desperately. He sent flowers, poems, and texts every hour. Called me his future. Told me no one would ever understand me the way he did.
Until he didn't.
Until he questioned every message I got. Got angry when I didn't reply fast enough. Said my silence "scared" him, but in that tone that made me feel like the villain.
He told me once: "You're lucky I love you this much. Not everyone gets this."
Looking back, it felt like a threat disguised as devotion.
I folded the notes and closed the box. Put it under the bed, not the closet.
Later, lying in bed, I stared at the ceiling fan. My mind flicked to Zayn.
He hadn't spoken much at Noah's place. Just watched. Thoughtful, silent. Like he lived half in, half out of his head.
I remembered the way he glanced at me. Not flirtatious. Just...steady. Curious. Maybe cautious.
I didn't want to wonder what he thought. I didn't want to care.
But I did.
For a second.
And then I turned away from it.
I wasn't going there again. Not after Sebastian. Not after the way I rebuilt myself one jagged piece at a time.
Not for some quiet-eyed architecture students with good hair and sad shoulders
and a handsome face.
"Long time, huh?"
I glanced at the door. Luca stood there with a smile .Without answering, I nod .
Hearing my mother call from downstairs, I brush past luca, glancing at him for a second before walking away