The scenery raced by us, but I hardly noticed; those curls danced as if they held secrets of freedom and joy.

Her POV A Morning in the Village: Sunlight, Bread, and Restlessness She was in town for only an hour. Wanting to make the most of it, she wandered—one street after another—hoping the charm of the ancient village would settle her restlessness. Shadows danced on the cobblestones as sunlight filtered through the leaves. The town was beautiful, yes. But serenity evaded her. She felt rushed. She passed the panificio where the scent of freshly baked bread tickled her nose and made

Every journey begins with a moment. This was mine. (His POV) It was a Friday morning, the kind where sunlight dripped gold onto everything it touched. I had just paid for a loaf of bread at the panetteria when she passed the doorway—olive skin, linen dress, the unmistakable air of someone not from here. A tourist, yes, but something about her gaze lingered. She looked at the buildings like they were speaking to her. I watched her round the corner and continued on to meet Gian