The quiet hum of the air conditioner and the occasional chirp of birds outside were the only company in the room.
The book lay open across Luca's chest, unread.
His eyes had skimmed the same paragraph five times without it sinking in.
It was 1:30 p.m.
His fingers rested against the pages, not flipping forward.
Not moving. Just holding on—maybe to the quiet, maybe to the comfort of being alone.
Then—footsteps.
Luca's head snapped up. He sat straighter, listening as the front door opened and clicked shut.
A heavier tread. Not the housemaid. Probably his dad. He was supposed to be ready by noon.
But he wasn't even changed.
He swung his legs off the couch and moved toward the stairs with a low sigh.
Each step down felt like leaving something behind.
His father stood near the entryway, coat still on, phone in one hand, scanning something.
"You didn't change," he said, not looking up.
Luca blinked, caught mid-step. "Change?"
