A Song Beneath the Stars

Chapter Twelve: New York, Old Feelings

New York was everything Florence was not.

Loud. Fast. Towering. It buzzed with energy that never seemed to sleep, and Isabelle quickly found herself swept back into the rhythm she thought she’d left behind. Early mornings in galleries. Late nights editing photos. Endless meetings, introductions, invitations.

Her work was gaining attention. People called her “fresh,” “visionary,” even “brave.” The upcoming exhibition was already generating buzz. Her old life—the one she had built before Florence—had welcomed her back with open arms.

And yet, every night when the city quieted, she thought of him.

Luca.

She thought of his sketches, of the violin under his chin, of the way he listened with his whole body when she spoke. She thought of coffee sipped in silence and music shared like secrets. Florence had given her more than inspiration. It had given her home.

But she had left. She’d walked away.

Her phone buzzed on the table. A message from her gallery contact. Final logistics. A feature in an art magazine. Her name, printed bold and black, would soon appear on walls.

She should be excited. She was. But…

That night, she stood in front of her favorite photograph—the one she had taken the night it rained in Florence. The blurry lights, the silhouette of a man holding a violin case, walking away into the mist. She hadn’t realized it until later, but it had been Luca.

A ghost of the moment he had unknowingly given her everything.

She touched the frame gently.

Why do the biggest dreams sometimes feel so small when the person you want to share them with is missing?

Her phone buzzed again.

But this time, it wasn’t the gallery.

It was a number with an Italian country code.

One message.

“I wrote something for you. It’s playing in the piazza this Sunday. In case you’re listening.”

Her breath caught.

And in that heartbeat, Isabelle knew.

She hadn’t left her heart in Florence.

It was still there, playing beneath the stars.