The afternoon light fell too gently upon Via Roma, as though the world itself refused to acknowledge the storm that moved beneath Elara's skin, and as she walked beside Maya through the crowded café street, her lips held a faint, effortless smile, one practiced long ago in quieter battles, one that spoke of composure and calm even as something within her pressed restlessly against its fragile restraint.
People passed them with careless glances, some lingering longer than necessary, some pretending not to look at all, yet the weight of their attention was unmistakable, subtle yet persistent, like fingers brushing against a wound that had not yet healed.
