something more

lines in the sand

Lines in the Sand

The week dragged on, but the whispers didn’t stop. If anything, they grew louder.

By Wednesday, everyone had an opinion about Matteo De Luca, his missing brother, and—most dangerously—Teny Bello.

“They were holding hands in the hallway.”

“She’s into him, you can tell.”

“No, I heard she’s just trying to get close for drama.”

The walls of Florence Academy seemed smaller, the gossip pressing in like suffocating heat.

Teny sat under the olive tree in the courtyard, sketchbook balanced on her knees. It was her safe spot, tucked away from the loud voices and stares. She tried to lose herself in drawing—the shape of the tree branches, the folds of passing uniforms—but her pencil kept drifting into something else. A jawline. A pair of tired, stormy eyes. Matteo’s face again.

“You’re doing it again,” a voice said, pulling her out of the trance.

She looked up. Luca Romano stood there, hands in his pockets, watching her with that mix of curiosity and judgment he always carried.

“Doing what?” she asked.

“Drawing him.” Luca leaned against the tree, his brown eyes sharp. “Don’t act like you weren’t.”

Teny closed her sketchbook a little too fast. “It’s none of your business.”

“Actually, it is. You think people don’t notice? You’re practically painting a target on your back with all this attention on him.”

She frowned. “Why do you care, Luca?”

For once, he didn’t have a comeback ready. He hesitated, jaw flexing. “Because you’re not like them. You don’t play games. And I’d hate to see you dragged into De Luca’s mess.”

The sincerity in his tone startled her. It wasn’t the usual sarcastic Luca. This was… softer. Real.

Before she could answer, Matteo appeared at the far end of the courtyard. His tall frame drew attention without even trying. But when his eyes landed on them—on Teny and Luca sitting together under the tree—something dark flickered across his face.

He didn’t approach. He just stood there, staring for a heartbeat too long, before turning and walking away.

Teny noticed. Luca noticed too.

“You see that?” Luca muttered. “He doesn’t like it. Us. Talking.”

“He doesn’t own me,” Teny snapped, sharper than she meant.

“I know.” Luca’s lips curved into a smirk, but his eyes stayed serious. “But maybe that’s the problem. You’re the only one who doesn’t act like he’s untouchable.”

The bell rang, dragging them back to reality.

By the last class of the day, the whispers had mutated into full-blown rumors:

“Did you hear? Teny’s ditching Matteo for Luca.”

“No way, Matteo would kill him.”

“Bet she’s playing both.”

The trio’s names were now tangled in every conversation, every notebook margin, every sly smile.

And when the three of them finally crossed paths after school—Luca walking confidently, Teny clutching her sketchbook, Matteo brooding in silence—the air between them was electric.

Luca’s voice broke it first. “So, De Luca. Gonna glare at me all afternoon, or are you gonna say what’s on your mind?”

Matteo’s stare was cold. “Stay out of it, Romano.”

Teny stepped in, heart pounding. “Stop. Both of you.”

But neither boy moved. Neither looked away. The line had been drawn, invisible but undeniable.

And Teny, caught in the middle, felt the ground shift beneath her feet.

For the first time, she realized something terrifying:

No matter which way she turned, someone was going to get hurt.