Elina's POV
It was the last day in Florence.
Summer had begun in full bloom, heavy sun, open windows, the scent of basil drifting up from street cafés. My final semester was over, my degree signed, and my apartment… nearly empty.
There's a strange ache that comes with cleaning a space that once held versions of you you don't remember becoming. I packed slowly, folding my life into suitcases with more care than I'd expected. Liv had offered to help, but I said no. I wanted to do it alone. I wanted to say goodbye to the walls that had quietly watched me put myself back together.
As I swept the far corner of the closet, something fell, a jacket, black, slightly oversized, worn soft around the collar, not mine. I froze, crouching down to pick it up. It smelled faintly like cedar and wind. Faint. But there, my heart gave a strange flutter since I'd found it once before, months ago, just after I returned from the hospital. I'd tucked it away then, telling myself I'd figure out where it came from later, but I never did and now, holding it again, it felt… heavier, not physically, emotionally, familiar in a way nothing else was.
I turned it in my hands. No label. No note. Just something stitched into the inner lining, barely visible, a thread, a constellation, maybe, tiny stars embroidered in faded silver. I ran my finger over it, and suddenly my chest tightened.
Not pain. Not fear. Just… longing.
It made no sense.
I shook it off, folded the jacket, and placed it in the last suitcase. Maybe it belonged to a guest, or a friend, or someone I met once and forgot. That happened sometimes. Since the accident.
Or maybe it didn't matter.
But the moment I stood up and caught my reflection in the mirror, I saw it again.
The necklace. Still on my neck. Still shining soft gold in the evening light, a simple pendant, small, understated. Circular. Worn daily for two years and I didn't remember who gave it to me but I'd never taken it off.
Not once.
Not even knowing its origin.
I'd had it around my neck the day I woke up in the hospital. The nurses told me it was already there. Liv assumed it was a gift from a classmate. My mother said maybe it was mine and I forgot.
But I knew, deep in the part of me that doesn't lie, that it wasn't mine. It was his, whoever he was, a phantom, a blur, a heartbeat I only heard in dreams, I clutched the necklace for a moment, suddenly breathless, there was no reason to keep it, but I zipped it beneath my shirt anyway because sometimes your body remembers what your mind refuses to.
I zipped the last suitcase and glanced around the room once more. Bare walls. Clean floor. Faint shadows of picture frames that had once hung there. The smell of dust and lavender still lingered, but everything else was gone.
Two years in this space, and it still felt like I was leaving part of myself behind. I ran a hand over the doorknob, hesitating for a second. Then I stepped out.
Liv was waiting on the steps.
Her sunglasses were perched too high on her nose, her suitcase already parked beside her. She was sipping from a bottle of juice and scrolling through her phone, radiating casual beauty the way she always did without trying.
"There she is," she said, standing. "About time. I thought you were going to cry over the kitchen tiles or something."
I laughed softly. "Almost did."
She nudged my arm. "You ready?"
"As I'll ever be."
We started walking. Our flight wasn't until the afternoon, but Liv liked to be obnoxiously early for everything. "I don't trust time," she'd once said. "It has abandonment issues."
"Let's grab something on the way?" I asked. "I'm not flying without food."
"You're always thinking of food. I like that about you."
I rolled my eyes. "Cinnamon roll?"
"Obviously."
She nodded toward the small bakery just around the corner—the one I'd gone to since the beginning of uni. They made these ridiculous pastries that tasted like home, and the owner always slipped me an extra one when no one was looking. Liv stayed outside with our bags. I told her I'd be quick.
The bell chimed when I opened the bakery door.
Same sound. Same warmth. A flicker of something familiar. I smiled at the woman behind the counter, placed my order, and waited.
That's when I noticed him.
Tall. Black coat. Gloved hands. Standing by the register.
At first, he didn't seem remarkable but something about the way he carried himself, the stillness, the weight, made the room feel... smaller. He turned slightly, just as I moved to step past him, we brushed shoulders, lightly, barely, but I stopped, because a scent hit me, one I couldn't place, yet somehow… couldn't forget.
Wood smoke. Cold air. Cinnamon. Him.
My body tensed.
I turned and looked up, and there he was, eyes that held silence like history. A face that felt both strange and carved into me. He looked at me like I was something he'd lost in a fire.
And I… I stared like I was looking at a painting that meant something to someone I used to be. I didn't speak, neither did he.
But I found myself clutching my necklace again, without even realizing it. He looked down. His gaze lingered there. And for the first time in two years, I felt… seen. He gave the faintest nod, and then…
"Be safe, little star."
My breath caught.
Before I could respond, before I could ask anything, he turned and walked out. Like he hadn't just carved a crack into my entire being with six quiet words. The bakery felt too warm. Too still. I blinked once.
Twice.
And whispered,
"I've heard that before."