Chapter 8- A mirror of scars
265 Words
Luca
There was something sacred in the silences between their conversations now. Not awkward pauses, but comforting quiet where words weren’t needed. One night, Élise didn’t reply for hours. Luca didn’t panic. Instead, he sent a single photo — a candlelit dinner he’d made for himself, with her favorite French dish: Coq au vin.
When she finally responded, her message was simple:
“I cried. No one has ever listened to me that closely before.”
He smiled. Listening — that’s what love was. Not grand gestures, but knowing someone’s favorite meal, favorite flower, the hour they tend to feel alone… and being there.
Élise
Her life in Paris was fast, busy, full of deadlines and noise. But Luca was stillness. With him, she didn’t have to perform. She could be Élise, not “Élise the designer.” He asked about her childhood, her mother’s favorite lullaby, her fear of being forgotten.
When she confessed, softly:
“Sometimes I feel like I’m too much and not enough all at once.”
Luca’s reply came after a pause:
“To me, you are exactly right.”
She whispered those words to herself all night like a prayer.
One night, Luca admitted:
“I dreamt of you. You were laughing. And I woke up smiling.”
Élise confessed:
“I’m learning Italian… just a little. In case I need to say ‘I love you’ properly.”
He sent her a voice note:
“Ti amo.”
She didn’t reply right away. But the next day, she sent back a note in shaky Italian:
“Anch’io.”
- Writer
