"Two strangers shared the same evening, completely unaware that destiny had already begun writing them into each other's story."

____________________________________________________________________________

The morning sunlight embraced the Moretti mansion with quiet grace, bathing the magnificent white estate in a warm golden glow that made it appear almost timeless. Dew still rested upon the emerald lawn while the first rays of dawn slipped through the towering trees surrounding the property.

The gardeners had already begun their work long before the family woke. Some carefully trimmed the hedges into perfect shapes while others swept the stone pathways until they gleamed. A few women walked through Mrs. Sofia Moretti's beloved flower garden, gently plucking fresh white lilies to replace yesterday's bouquet.

It was a ritual.

Every single morning, a new arrangement of flowers welcomed the Moretti family. Sofia believed that every sunrise deserved fresh blooms, and no one in the mansion had ever dared question the tradition.

Inside, however, the atmosphere was far different.

The enormous living room, decorated with ivory marble, antique artwork and elegant furnishings, was filled with peaceful silence. Floor-to-ceiling glass walls overlooked the breathtaking gardens outside, allowing the morning sunlight to pour inside.

Lorenzo Moretti—the ruthless lion feared across Italy—looked nothing like the man the world knew.

Here, inside his home, he was simply a husband hopelessly in love with his wife.

He sat comfortably on the luxurious cream-coloured sofa while Sofia rested beside him, delicately sipping her morning tea. Neither of them spoke for several moments. They simply admired the garden together, enjoying the peaceful beginning of another day.

Finally, Lorenzo turned towards her.

"Sofia."

His deep voice carried the same warmth it always had whenever he addressed her.

She looked up from her teacup, smiling softly.

"Yes?"

He observed her quietly for a moment, almost as if seeing her for the very first time again.

"It's been decades since you became mine..." he murmured. "Yet somehow, every morning, you still manage to steal my breath away. You haven't changed, my queen."

A faint blush coloured Sofia's cheeks before she rolled her eyes dramatically.

"I know I'm beautiful," she replied with playful confidence. "Tell me something I don't already know, Mr. Moretti."

Lorenzo chuckled.

"There she is."

Leaning closer, he gently pressed a lingering kiss against her forehead.

"I love you, Sofi."

Her expression softened instantly.

"I love you too, Enzo."

The two instinctively leaned closer, ready to steal a proper kiss—

"Seriously?"

A loud groan interrupted the romantic moment.

Both of them looked towards the staircase.

Standing there, dressed in his black running attire with his hands shoved inside his pockets, was their eldest son.

Elian Moretti.

The official destroyer of every romantic moment his parents ever shared.

Sofia couldn't stop herself from laughing.

Lorenzo simply sighed.

"How do you both find the energy to romance this early in the morning?" Elian asked, genuinely disturbed.

"I swear," Lorenzo muttered dramatically, "the day this boy gets married and has children of his own, he'll finally understand my suffering."

Sofia laughed harder.

Elian walked over, completely ignoring his father's complaints.

"Good morning, Mumma."

He bent slightly and kissed Sofia's forehead.

She smiled with the kind of affection only a mother could possess before cupping his face and placing another kiss on his forehead, gently running her fingers through his silky hair.

"My Flin Rider," she whispered.

Only then did Elian settle onto the sofa opposite them, casually taking a sip from the protein shake he'd brought along.

Lorenzo folded his newspaper.

"It's only six in the morning," he remarked. "You've already finished your run?"

Elian nodded.

"Discipline, Father."

"Oh, don't act superior."

A smile tugged at Lorenzo's lips.

"I still remember sneaking out of football practice to eat gelato."

"That explains a lot," Elian replied with a smirk.

Sofia covered her mouth to hide another laugh.

Lorenzo pointed a finger at his eldest.

"We somehow managed to raise two completely different sons."

"Not sons," another voice interrupted lazily.

"One of us is definitely an animal."

All three turned towards the staircase.

Matteo Moretti stood there looking like he had just crawled out of bed. His black hair was hopelessly messy, one eye was barely open, and he wore nothing but oversized shorts and a loose T-shirt.

Elian looked him up and down.

"Have you just woken up..."

"...or are you about to go to sleep?"

Matteo yawned dramatically.

"Going to sleep."

"You've been awake all night again?"

He shrugged.

"I'll sleep for another two hours and skip the first lecture."

Sofia immediately frowned.

"Matteo."

Her voice alone made him wince.

"When are you going to fix your sleeping schedule?"

"It doesn't matter, Mom."

He stretched lazily.

"The first lecture isn't important anyway."

Lorenzo slowly lowered his newspaper.

"Do you honestly think we never made excuses like that when we were your age?"

Matteo grinned shamelessly.

"You did."

"So let me continue the family tradition."

Before either parent could reply, he walked straight towards Sofia, sat cross-legged on the carpet beside her and rested his head comfortably on her lap like an oversized child.

Sofia sighed, though the affection in her eyes never faded.

"What am I going to do with you?"

"Love me."

"I already do."

She gently brushed his messy hair away from his forehead.

"Now go get some sleep. I'll wake you in two hours."

Matteo closed his eyes.

"Forehead kiss first."

Lorenzo groaned dramatically.

"He's twenty-four"

"And?" Sofia replied without looking at him.

"He'll always be my baby."

She leaned down and kissed Matteo's forehead with all the tenderness in the world.

A satisfied smile spread across his face.

"Thanks, Mom."

After giving his father and brother a lazy salute, Matteo disappeared upstairs, already half asleep before reaching the landing.

Silence settled again.

Lorenzo looked towards Elian.

"You."

Elian raised an eyebrow.

"Yes?"

"Go shower."

Elian smirked knowingly.

"You could've simply admitted that you want Mum all to yourself."

Lorenzo didn't even deny it.

"I do."

Sofia laughed.

Elian shook his head in amusement before standing.

"You two are impossible."

With that, he left the couple alone once again, heading towards the basement where the mansion's private gym awaited him.

Elian's POV

The basement occupied nearly the entire lower level of the mansion.

It housed a fully equipped gym, an indoor theatre, a recreation lounge, and a private wine cellar that my father treasured more than most people.

I walked into the gym and switched on the lights.

The familiar scent of rubber flooring and polished steel immediately settled my mind.

Exercise had never been a hobby.

It was therapy.

I began with a series of stretches before dropping into push-ups, allowing my muscles to wake naturally. Once my body warmed up, I moved towards the weights.

The silence inside the gym was comforting.

Only the sound of controlled breathing, clinking metal and my heartbeat filled the room.

Most mornings followed the same routine.

Wake up before sunrise.

Read overnight business reports while sipping the tea my mother insisted on making herself.

Go for a long run through the private estate.

Then finish with strength training.

Routine brought order.

Order kept my mind quiet.

I wasn't obsessed with discipline the way people assumed. I simply preferred structure. It gave me control over days that often demanded more from me than I cared to admit.

Of course, I wasn't perfect.

There were days when I slept until noon after exhausting business meetings, survived entirely on junk food and ignored every rule I'd created for myself.

I was human.

Humans weren't machines.

Nearly two hours later, every muscle in my body burned pleasantly beneath a thin layer of sweat.

Satisfied, I switched off the equipment and made my way upstairs.

My bedroom welcomed me with familiar silence.

Without wasting time, I entered the bathroom.

Warm water poured over me as I stood beneath the rainfall shower, washing away every trace of fatigue. The bathroom was designed in black marble accented with brushed gold, illuminated only by soft candlelight.

I rarely switched on the bright ceiling lights.

This room had become my place of solitude.

A place where yesterday stayed behind while I prepared myself for whatever today demanded.

After showering, I carefully shaved the edges of my beard before trimming it neatly. I washed my face, wrapped a towel securely around my waist and stepped into my walk-in wardrobe through the adjoining door.

Rows of perfectly arranged suits lined one wall.

My fingers skimmed across several options before settling on a cream-white shirt.

Classic.

Clean.

Timeless.

I paired it with tailored black trousers, a matching blazer and a premium brown leather belt before fastening my favourite wristwatch.

My hair remained damp.

Applying a small amount of serum, I dried it carefully with a blow dryer until the soft strands naturally framed my face.

I preferred keeping my hair slightly longer than most men—not enough to touch my shoulders, but long enough to fall effortlessly around my ears.

My mother often teased me.

"You look like Flynn Rider from Tangled."

The comparison always made me laugh.

One final spray of my signature cologne completed the transformation.

The man staring back from the mirror looked polished, composed and entirely in control.

Exactly the man the world expected Elian Moretti to be.

With one last glance at my reflection, I walked out of my room and headed downstairs.

No matter how demanding the day ahead might become, one thing never changed.

Breakfast was always shared with the people who made

Author’s POV -

The aroma of freshly baked bread drifted through the dining room long before anyone took their seats.

Unlike the formal dining hall reserved for state officials, investors and distinguished guests, the Moretti family's breakfast room was warm rather than extravagant. A long walnut table stood beneath a crystal chandelier, its centre adorned with the same fresh lilies that had been placed in the living room only moments earlier.

There were six chairs.

Four were occupied every morning.

The remaining two had never been removed.

One day, Sofia had insisted.

"They're for my daughters."

She had said it so naturally that no one had argued.

Years had passed since then.

The chairs still waited.

Just like she did.

Elian entered first.

His damp hair was neatly combed back, the sleeves of his cream shirt rolled to his forearms while he fastened the strap of his wristwatch.

"Good morning," he greeted.

Sofia looked up from arranging slices of fruit onto Matteo's plate.

She smiled before immediately noticing the missing button on his cuff.

Without asking permission, she walked over and began fastening it herself.

Elian remained perfectly still.

Twenty-nine years old.

Chief Executive Officer of one of Europe's largest healthcare organisations.

Yet, before his mother...

He was simply her son.

He smiled and leaned to kiss her crown as he always did.

“You look so like flin, when will you have your rapunzel huh?” Sofia teased.

Elian smiled and winked “for that i’ll have to become a thief first”

Everyone laughed except Matteo, “you are a thief eli, you steal my shoes”. Elian raised a brow and chuckled “as if my branded watches don’t disappear from my drawer every other day”

“I agree he even sneaks into the kitchen and eats cookies i baked for your dad” Sofia revealed while Lorenzo glared at him, “so here is where my deserts goes”

Mattteo smiled sheepishly and continued eating breakfast. “So? What are we today? A doctor or a CEO” he asked.

Elian took a sip of his coffee before answering “50 percent CEO , 50 percent doctor” he smiled.

“I wonder how your wife will face every other side of you,” Matteo said amusingly.

Meanwhile Sofia slapped his hand “the girl who’ll get my Elian will be the most fortunate ever”. Elian smiled before adding, “or i’ll be lucky to have her”

“Just tell me you have a crush” Matteo rolled his eyes. “Nope,” Elian protested.

“Then how the hell can you say you’ll be lucky??” Matteo teased.

“Just shut up, my mom has taught me to treat them right so i won’t call her lucky but i’ll be the one who’s fortunate enough to get that girl out of billions of people”

“That shows his dad raised him right” Sofia admired her son.

Everyone smiled while Elian smiled at his mom who placed her hand on his head, “elian” she called.

“Yes mom?” he replied.

“It’s been a while since you met Aren,” she said.

Aren, an irreplaceable person from their family. Though she worked as their nanny here long ago since they were newborns. Elian and Matteo both respected her as their mother. She left the job but now runs a cafe with her husband. Back then she used to be a lady with grace and young, meanwhile now she was a granny.

Every month elian used to visit her cafe and she fed him his favourite food, cheesy fries with hot chocolate, that too with melted marshmallows. Mattteo now busy with his university couldn’t meet her every month but he tried his best.

“Yes mom, I'll go today only,” Elian said.

“Even I want to join,” Matteo said.

“Okay i’ll pick you up from the university, just text me when you’re done with your lectures” Elian said.

Matteo responded with a nod.

Breakfast continued beneath easy conversation.

Lorenzo discussed an upcoming healthcare summit in Geneva.

Sofia reminded Matteo—twice—to submit an assignment he had nearly forgotten.

Matteo complained that architects deserved longer weekends.

Lorenzo informed him that adults rarely received weekends.

Matteo claimed adulthood was overrated.

Sofia laughed.

Elian listened more than he spoke, though every now and then the corner of his mouth lifted into a smile that existed only for those seated around this table.

Outside these walls...

People often mistook silence for arrogance.

Inside them...

Silence simply meant he was listening.

Eventually Lorenzo placed his napkin beside his plate.

"We should leave."

Work awaited.

Almost immediately chairs scraped softly against polished wooden floors.

Sofia stood first, walking towards Lorenzo to straighten the collar of his suit.

"You missed a button."

Lorenzo leaned down and kissed Sofia's forehead.

"I'll see you this evening."

"You will."

Then she turned towards Elian.

"Your lunch will be packed."

"I know."

"And don't forget to eat it."

"I won't."

She narrowed her eyes.

"That wasn't convincing."

"It wasn't meant to be."

She sighed dramatically before wrapping him in a brief hug.

"You work too much."

"I know."

"Come home early."

"I'll try."

She smiled because they both knew that "I'll try" was the closest thing Elian ever gave to a promise when work was involved.

Outside, two black cars already waited beneath the grand entrance.

The chauffeurs stood beside them.

Lorenzo reached for the rear door of the first vehicle.

Then paused.

"You'll ride with me today."

Elian looked up from checking a notification on his phone.

"Something important?"

"Nothing urgent."

Lorenzo's expression softened ever so slightly.

"It's simply been a while since we drove to work together."

For a moment...

Elian forgot about meetings.

Forgot about reports.

Forgot about the responsibilities waiting twenty minutes away.

He simply nodded.

"Alright."

Father and son climbed into the same car.

As the gates of the Moretti estate slowly opened before them, the morning sun climbed higher over Milan.

The mansion disappeared behind rows of towering cypress trees.

Ahead...

An empire waited.

And with it—

Another ordinary day that neither Elian nor a young woman studying medicine across the city could possibly know was quietly leading them towards one another.

The drive from the Moretti estate to the headquarters of Moretti Global Healthcare rarely lasted longer than twenty minutes.

It was a route Elian could have driven with his eyes closed.

The city was only just beginning to wake. Cafés lifted their shutters one by one, cyclists hurried through the narrow streets, and trams glided across rain-polished tracks as Milan settled into another working day.

Inside the car, however, silence reigned.

Not an uncomfortable silence.

A familiar one.

Lorenzo sat beside the window, reading through the morning financial reports on his tablet while Elian answered a handful of emails on his own. Years of working together had taught them something many people failed to understand.

Silence didn't always need filling.

Sometimes, it was simply another form of company.

The only sound inside the vehicle was the quiet hum of the engine.

After several minutes, Lorenzo finally lowered the tablet onto his lap.

"I reviewed the Zurich proposal."

Elian looked up.

"And?"

"The acquisition is sound."

A pause.

"But."

Elian smiled faintly.

"There is always a 'but' with you."

"There should be."

Lorenzo folded his hands together.

"They're asking for your signature because they know you'll notice what everyone else overlooked."

Elian raised an eyebrow.

"You already did."

"I wanted to know if you would."

A brief silence followed.

"The rehabilitation department."

Lorenzo's lips curved ever so slightly.

"Go on."

"They've allocated funding for expansion."

"They have."

"But they haven't increased staffing."

Lorenzo nodded.

"If patient numbers rise without increasing personnel, waiting lists double within six months."

He looked out of the window before adding calmly,

"They're planning for buildings."

"They forgot to plan for people."

For the first time that morning, Lorenzo smiled.

Not proudly.

Not dramatically.

Simply...

Satisfied.

"Good."

Nothing more.

Nothing less.

That single word had always meant more to Elian than a hundred compliments.

The conversation ended there.

It didn't need continuing.

Outside, the sleek black car slowed before a towering building of glass and white stone.

MORETTI GLOBAL HEALTHCARE

The company's name stretched proudly across the entrance in brushed steel letters that caught the morning sunlight.

Employees were already arriving in steady streams.

Doctors.

Researchers.

Executives.

Administrators.

The moment the car rolled beneath the porte-cochère, the security team straightened instinctively.

The chauffeur stepped out first, opening Lorenzo's door.

"Good morning, Sir."

Lorenzo acknowledged him with a nod before adjusting the cuffs of his suit.

A second later, Elian stepped out from the opposite side.

Unlike many executives, he didn't immediately head inside.

Instead, he paused.

His gaze travelled briefly across the entrance.

An elderly maintenance worker struggled to push a trolley stacked with boxes over a slight bump in the pavement.

Without hesitation, Elian crossed the distance between them.

"Morning, Carlo."

The older man looked up in surprise.

"Mr. Moretti—I can manage."

"I know."

Elian placed one hand against the trolley.

"Let's move it anyway."

Together, they guided it over the raised stone.

"There."

Carlo smiled gratefully.

"Thank you, Sir."

"You're welcome."

There was no audience.

No photographers.

No board members watching.

Just two men beginning another day.

Lorenzo observed the interaction from several steps away.

He said nothing.

But the faint smile in his eyes didn't go unnoticed.

As they entered the vast lobby, conversations softened almost instinctively.

Not because people feared them.

Because they respected them.

"Good morning, Mr. Moretti."

"Morning, Sir."

"Good morning."

Every greeting was acknowledged.

A nod.

A "Good morning."

Sometimes a name.

Elian had made it a habit years ago to learn the names of the people who kept the organisation running.

Receptionists.

Security guards.

Janitors.

Technicians.

To him, they weren't invisible.

They were colleagues.

The reception desk buzzed with activity.

Phones rang.

Printers hummed.

Visitors signed in.

Beyond the lobby, doctors in white coats hurried towards the adjoining hospital while executives disappeared into lifts carrying laptops and steaming cups of coffee.

The headquarters never truly slept.

It simply changed shifts.

Near the elevators, a young administrative assistant accidentally dropped an entire folder.

Sheets of paper scattered across the polished marble floor.

She froze.

"Oh no..."

Before she could crouch, another pair of hands was already gathering the documents.

She looked up, startled.

"Mr... Mr. Moretti?"

Elian handed the neatly stacked papers back to her.

"Always carry important files in folders with clips."

His tone remained calm.

"They're less likely to scatter."

"I..."

Her cheeks flushed crimson.

"Thank you, Sir."

He offered a small nod before stepping into the private lift reserved for senior management.

Only after the doors slid shut did the receptionist beside her whisper,

"He remembers everyone's first day."

The young assistant blinked.

"How do you know?"

"Because he said the exact same thing to me three years ago."

Upstairs, the lift opened directly onto the executive floor.

Glass walls overlooked the city.

Minimalist artwork lined the corridors.

Everything reflected precision.

Everything reflected order.

At the far end waited the boardroom.

Its doors already stood open.

Inside, the directors were taking their seats.

The quarterly review was about to begin.

And somewhere within the thick report lying before every executive...

One mistake waited to be found.

The boardroom fell silent the moment Elian stepped inside.

Conversations that had been flowing only seconds earlier dissolved into polite greetings as every executive rose from their seats.

"Good morning, Mr. Moretti."

"Good morning."

He acknowledged each of them with a nod before taking his place at the head of the long walnut table. Lorenzo occupied the chair beside him—not because he outranked his son, but because, even after stepping back from the position of Chief Executive Officer years ago, the founder of Moretti Global Healthcare still attended the quarterly strategic meetings.

A large screen illuminated the far wall, displaying graphs, financial projections and hospital performance reports from across Europe.

The atmosphere wasn't tense.

It was focused.

Everyone present knew exactly why they were there.

The Chief Financial Officer, Alessandro Ricci, rose from his chair first.

"If I may begin."

Elian gave a single nod.

"You may."

For the next forty minutes, the room settled into a rhythm.

Revenue charts appeared one after another.

Expansion proposals.

Research investments.

Hospital occupancy.

Patient satisfaction.

Every department presented its progress for the previous quarter.

No one stumbled.

No one came unprepared.

Working under Elian Moretti had taught every executive one lesson—

Preparation wasn't optional.

It was expected.

"...and that concludes the financial overview for the Milan, Florence and Zurich branches."

Alessandro looked around the room with quiet confidence.

"I believe the proposal is ready for approval."

Several directors exchanged satisfied smiles.

The figures were impressive.

Growth had exceeded expectations.

Even Lorenzo remained silent, his attention fixed on the report before him.

Elian closed the leather folder.

The soft sound echoed through the otherwise silent room.

No one spoke.

He rested one hand on the table.

"Page forty-eight."

Alessandro frowned slightly.

"I'm sorry?"

"Page forty-eight."

The CFO immediately flipped through the report.

"So did everyone else."

Within seconds, every executive was staring at the same page.

No one understood.

Elian looked towards the screen.

"The rehabilitation expansion."

Alessandro nodded.

"Yes."

"You've increased bed capacity by twenty-eight percent."

"Correct."

"You've allocated funding for new equipment."

"Yes."

"You've approved architectural expansion."

"Yes."

Elian leaned back slightly.

"And how many additional physiotherapists have you hired?"

Silence.

Alessandro scanned the page again.

Then another.

His expression slowly changed.

"..."

The answer wasn't there.

Because no one had included it.

The room grew impossibly quiet.

"If patient capacity increases," Elian continued calmly, "without increasing staff, waiting times rise."

He looked around the table.

"The buildings become larger."

"The care becomes slower."

No accusation.

No raised voice.

Just facts.

Alessandro lowered the report.

"That was my oversight."

"It was."

"I'll correct it immediately."

"I know you will."

Relief visibly crossed the older man's face.

Not because he'd escaped criticism—

But because he hadn't been humiliated.

Elian never believed mistakes should become public spectacles.

They were lessons.

Not punishments.

Lorenzo watched the exchange without interrupting.

Years ago...

He might have challenged every detail himself.

Today, he simply observed.

His son no longer needed guidance.

Only trust.

The meeting continued.

Discussions shifted towards a children's oncology research programme, followed by funding requests from the Rome branch and a proposal to establish partnerships with rural hospitals in southern Italy.

Unlike many CEOs, Elian rarely dominated conversations.

He listened.

Asked questions.

Waited.

Only speaking once everyone else had finished.

It made people think before they answered.

By the time the final presentation concluded, nearly three hours had passed.

Coffee cups sat empty.

Notepads were filled.

The morning sunlight had shifted across the polished floor.

Alessandro gathered his documents.

"I'll have the revised report on your desk before this evening."

Elian inclined his head.

"I appreciate that."

One by one, the executives rose, exchanging quiet farewells before leaving the boardroom.

Within minutes, only Lorenzo and Elian remained.

For a while, neither of them moved.

Lorenzo closed his folder and looked at his son.

"You know..."

Elian glanced up.

"When you were twenty-three, people thought I made you Director because you were my son."

Elian smiled faintly.

"I remember."

"They also thought you'd fail."

"I remember that too."

Lorenzo stood, buttoning his suit jacket.

"I never corrected them."

Elian raised an eyebrow.

"No?"

Lorenzo shook his head.

"There was no need."

He placed one hand on the back of his chair.

"I knew time would do it for me."

A quiet silence settled between them.

Then, for the second time that morning—

Lorenzo smiled.

A small smile.

One reserved only for family.

"You've surpassed every expectation I ever had."

Elian didn't know how to respond.

Praise from his father had always been rare.

Not because Lorenzo lacked affection.

But because he believed actions mattered more than compliments.

So, instead of saying anything—

Elian simply nodded.

For him...

That was enough.

Just then, a gentle knock echoed against the boardroom door.

The assistant stepped inside.

"Mr. Moretti?"

"Yes?"

"Mrs. Moretti is here."

A smile, almost invisible, touched Elian's face.

"Mum's brought lunch again," Lorenzo murmured knowingly.

The assistant smiled politely.

"I'll send her in."

And just like that—

The formidable CEO disappeared.

Leaving only a son whose mother refused to let him skip another meal.

A soft knock echoed through the office before the door opened just enough for the receptionist to peek inside.

"Mr. Moretti?"

Elian looked up from the file he had already begun reviewing.

"Yes?"

A smile tugged at the young woman's lips.

"Mrs. Moretti is here to see you."

Before Elian could answer, Lorenzo let out a quiet chuckle.

"I'll leave before she starts scolding me as well."

Elian smiled.

"You say that as though you're afraid of her."

"I am."

Lorenzo replied without a hint of shame.

"And you should be too."

The two men shared a brief laugh before Lorenzo collected his tablet and walked towards the door.

As soon as he stepped outside, Sofia appeared from around the corner, carrying two insulated lunch bags in one hand and her handbag in the other.

"There you are," Lorenzo said.

She raised an eyebrow.

"Don't 'there you are' me."

"You remembered my lunch?"

"I've been married to you for thirty-three years, Enzo."

She held up one of the bags.

"I remembered both of yours."

Lorenzo smiled like a boy who had just been caught doing something mischievous.

"I knew there was a reason I married you."

"You married me because I said yes."

"I married you because I was smart enough to ask."

Sofia rolled her eyes affectionately before handing him one of the lunch bags.

"Now go."

"I have a meeting in ten minutes."

"So?"

"So... I'm going."

She pointed a finger towards him.

"And eat."

"I always eat."

She gave him a look.

Lorenzo sighed dramatically.

"I eventually eat."

"Better."

With that, he leaned down and kissed her forehead.

"I'll see you at home."

"I'll be waiting."

As Lorenzo disappeared down the corridor, Sofia watched him for a moment before shaking her head with a fond smile.

"He still forgets to eat."

"I wonder where Elian inherited that habit from."

She turned towards her eldest son, who was already standing beside his desk.

"My flin rider."

Elian crossed the office in a few long strides before taking the heavier lunch bag from her hand.

"You didn't have to bring it yourself."

"I know."

She smiled.

"But if I sent someone else, you'd convince them you weren't hungry."

"I would've."

"I know."

She reached up instinctively and smoothed an invisible crease from the collar of his cream shirt.

Her fingers lingered there for a second.

"You've lost weight."

"I haven't."

"You have."

"Mum."

"I'm your mother."

She folded her arms.

"I know these things."

Elian couldn't argue with that.

She'd noticed things about him before he ever did.

When he was twelve, she'd known he was coming down with a fever before he felt ill.

When he was seventeen, she'd realised he was overwhelmed long before he'd admitted it.When he was twenty-five, she'd recognised exhaustion in the way he smiled.A mother noticed what the world overlooked. Sofia glanced towards the untouched cup of coffee resting on his desk.

"How many have you had today?"

Elian looked at the cup.

"...Three."

She stared.

"Elian."

"What?"

"Coffee isn't a meal."

"It keeps me awake."

"So would food."

A reluctant smile appeared on his face.

"You sound like Matteo."

"No."

She corrected immediately.

"Matteo sounds like me."

That earned a quiet laugh.

"There he is."

She pointed triumphantly.

"I knew my son was hiding under all that CEO seriousness."

He shook his head.

"You enjoy embarrassing me."

"I gave birth to you."

She smiled proudly.

"It's one of my greatest privileges."

She unzipped the insulated bag and began arranging containers on the small dining table near the window.

Homemade herb rice.

Grilled chicken.

Roasted vegetables.

Fresh salad.

And, tucked into one corner...

A small square of tiramisu.

Elian looked at it.

"I thought we agreed on no dessert during the week."

"We did."

"So?"

"So I changed my mind."

She shrugged innocently.

"You've had a difficult week."

"Mum..."

"Eat the tiramisu."

He sighed in defeat.

"You're impossible."

"I learnt from your father."

She waited until he sat down before placing a fork into his hand.

"Now."

"Take one bite."

He obeyed.

She watched.

Only after seeing him actually eat did she finally relax.

"Better?"

She nodded to herself.

"Much."

For a few peaceful minutes, neither of them spoke.

The office overlooked the Milan skyline, sunlight spilling through the glass walls while the noise of the headquarters faded into the background.

It was rare.

These quiet moments.

Rare enough that Sofia treasured every single one.

"You're tired."

Her voice was gentle.

Not accusing.

Simply observant.

Elian continued eating before answering.

"I've been busier than usual."

"That's not what I asked."

He looked up.

"I asked if you're tired."

A pause settled between them.

Then...

"A little."

She reached across the table and rested her hand over his.

"You don't always have to carry everything by yourself."

His eyes softened almost imperceptibly.

"I know."

"Do you?"

He didn't answer.

Because sometimes...

Knowing something and believing it were two very different things.

Sofia squeezed his hand once before standing.

"I should let you get back to work."

"You've only just arrived."

"I've achieved what I came for."

"And what was that?"

She looked towards his now half-empty plate and smiled.

"Making sure my son remembered that even CEOs need lunch."

Elian chuckled softly.

"I'll finish all of it."

"You'd better."

She leaned down, kissed his forehead one last time, and whispered,

"I love you."

"I love you too, Mum."

For a brief moment, the office no longer belonged to the CEO of Moretti Global Healthcare.

It belonged to a little boy who had once scraped his knees in the garden and cried until his mother kissed the pain away.

And somehow...

That little boy had never completely disappeared.

By the time Sofia left, the afternoon had settled over Milan.

Sunlight streamed through the towering glass windows of the headquarters, painting long shadows across the polished marble floors as employees gradually returned from lunch.

Elian watched the elevator doors close behind his mother before letting out a quiet breath.

His office suddenly felt larger.

Quieter.

He glanced at the half-empty lunch containers on the table and smiled to himself.

She would ask tonight whether he'd finished the tiramisu.

She always remembered.

Shaking his head in amusement, he packed the empty containers neatly back into the insulated bag before pressing the intercom.

"Clara?"

His assistant answered immediately.

"Yes, Mr. Moretti?"

"Could you have these sent home, please?"

"Of course."

"And move my three o'clock meeting to tomorrow morning."

There was a brief pause.

"The representatives from Vienna?"

"Yes."

"I'll inform them."

"Thank you."

He slipped into his white doctor's coat hanging behind the office door, fastening the buttons one by one.

The expensive blazer disappeared beneath crisp cotton.

The CEO disappeared with it.

A silver name badge rested neatly above his heart.

Dr. Elian Moretti
Consultant Cardiothoracic Surgeon

He adjusted the stethoscope around his neck before stepping out of his office.

The executive floor slowly gave way to the quieter corridors connecting directly to Moretti General Hospital, the flagship institution of the healthcare group.

The atmosphere changed almost instantly.

There were no financial reports here.

No shareholders.

No board members.

Only the steady rhythm of hospital life.

Stretchers rolled past.

Monitors beeped softly behind closed doors.

Doctors discussed treatment plans in hushed voices while nurses hurried between patient rooms carrying medication trays.

It was organised chaos.

The kind Elian understood better than any balance sheet.

"Good afternoon, Doctor."

A young nurse smiled as she passed him.

"Good afternoon, Elena."

She blinked in surprise.

"You remembered my name."

"You've worked here for eleven months."

"And... you remembered?"

"You still make the best cappuccino in the staff lounge."

She laughed.

"I'll take that as a compliment."

"It was."

Further down the corridor, another voice called out.

"Doctor Moretti."

He turned to find one of the junior residents jogging towards him with a file tucked beneath his arm.

"Room 314."

The young doctor caught his breath.

"Mrs. Lucia Romano's latest blood work."

Elian accepted the file.

"Thank you."

"The consultant wanted your opinion before changing her medication."

"I'll see her now."

Without another word, he continued walking.

Room 314 sat at the end of the cardiology wing.

The door stood slightly ajar.

Inside, an elderly woman sat beside the window, knitting with remarkable concentration despite the cannula taped to the back of her hand.

She didn't notice him enter.

"You've dropped a stitch."

She looked up sharply.

"Doctor."

Her wrinkled face immediately softened into a smile.

"And here I thought nobody noticed."

Elian pulled a chair beside her bed instead of remaining standing.

"What are you making?"

"My grandson demanded another scarf."

She held up the half-finished woollen piece.

"He says mine are warmer than the ones in shops."

"I believe him."

She smiled proudly.

"So do I."

For a few moments, neither of them mentioned hospitals.

Or illness.

Or test results.

Instead, she told him about her grandson starting secondary school.

About the tomatoes growing in her tiny garden.

About how her late husband had never learnt to cook pasta properly despite being Italian.

Elian listened.

Not because he had spare time.

Because she deserved to be heard.

Eventually, she sighed.

"I suppose you're not really here to discuss knitting."

"I'm afraid not."

He opened the file resting on his lap.

"Your blood pressure has improved."

"Good."

"But."

She groaned dramatically.

"I dislike that word."

He smiled.

"So do I."

He looked back at the report.

"The medication is working."

She nodded.

"Then why do you look worried?"

"Because you're refusing physiotherapy."

Her smile disappeared.

"My legs hurt."

"I know."

"I'm tired."

"I know."

"I'm eighty-one."

"I know."

Silence settled between them.

Outside, footsteps echoed faintly through the corridor.

Finally, she looked towards the window.

"Do you know what people stop telling old people?"

Elian waited.

"They stop telling us we'll get better."

The words hung quietly between them.

"They just tell us to be comfortable."

Her fingers tightened around the knitting needles.

"I'm not ready to become comfortable."

For the first time since entering the room, Elian reached across and gently rested a hand over hers.

"You won't."

She looked at him.

"As long as you're willing to fight..."

He smiled softly.

"I'll fight beside you."

Tears shimmered briefly in her eyes.

She gave the smallest nod.

"...Then I'll attend physiotherapy tomorrow."

"Tomorrow?"

She raised an eyebrow.

"You drive a hard bargain, Doctor."

"Occupational hazard."

A quiet laugh escaped her.

"There."

He stood, satisfied.

"That's the strongest heartbeat I've seen all afternoon."

As he reached the door, her voice stopped him.

"Doctor?"

He turned.

"You always listen before you treat."

A faint smile touched his lips.

"My mother taught me that."

Mrs. Romano smiled warmly.

"Then she raised a good man."

Elian inclined his head politely before stepping back into the corridor.

The door clicked shut behind him.

For a moment, he remained still.

Hospitals had a way of reminding people how fragile life truly was.

Titles meant little here.

Money meant even less.

Every patient who entered those doors was simply a human being hoping for another tomorrow.

And that was exactly why, no matter how many companies he led...

This would always be the place that felt most like home.

The remainder of the afternoon passed much the same way it always did.

Patient after patient.

Consultations.

Ward rounds.

Reviewing scans.

Discussing treatment plans with residents who hung onto every word he spoke.

For Elian, hospitals had never been measured in walls or departments.

They were measured in people.

Every room carried someone's fear.

Someone's hope.

Someone's family waiting outside with folded hands and silent prayers.

That responsibility had never become lighter.

If anything...

It grew heavier with every passing year.

"Doctor Moretti?"

A young resident caught up to him outside the intensive care unit, balancing two patient files against his chest.

"May I ask you something?"

Elian slowed his pace.

"Go ahead."

The resident hesitated.

"It's about Mrs. Bianchi."

"The valve replacement?"

"Yes."

"I've reviewed her scans three times, but I still can't decide whether surgery is the right choice."

Instead of answering immediately, Elian asked,

"What do you think?"

The young doctor blinked.

"I..."

"You've studied the case."

"I have."

"You've examined the patient."

"Yes."

"You've spoken to her family."

"I did."

Elian folded his arms.

"Then stop looking for my opinion before trusting your own."

The resident frowned thoughtfully.

"I think..."

He glanced down at the reports once more.

"I think she's strong enough."

"And?"

"The risks are high..."

"...but without surgery, they're even higher."

Elian smiled.

"Good."

The resident looked up.

"So... you agree?"

"I do."

Relief washed across the younger man's face.

"I was afraid I'd made the wrong decision."

"You'll make many wrong decisions."

The smile remained on Elian's face.

"We all do."

He rested a reassuring hand on the resident's shoulder.

"The important part is caring enough to question yourself."

The younger doctor nodded quietly.

"Thank you, Doctor."

As Elian continued down the corridor, two nurses passed him pushing a patient's bed towards radiology.

"Evening, Doctor."

"Evening."

One of them smiled.

"My daughter passed her entrance examination."

Elian remembered instantly.

"The one applying to medical school?"

Her eyes widened.

"You remembered?"

"You've mentioned her every Monday for the past three months."

She laughed.

"She got in."

"Congratulations."

"I'm so proud of her."

"You should be."

The nurse's smile somehow grew even brighter.

Moments like those never lasted long.

A pager beeped somewhere nearby.

A patient called for assistance.

Another doctor hurried towards the emergency department.

Life moved on.

It always did.

___

By the time Elian finally removed his white coat, evening had begun settling over Milan.

He folded it neatly over the back of his chair before glancing at his watch.

6:42 p.m.

He had promised Matteo.

Elian was never fond of breaking promises.

He picked up his car keys, slipped his phone into the pocket of his coat and walked out of the hospital through the staff entrance.

The cool evening air greeted him instantly.

The city's energy had changed.

Morning ambition had softened into evening fatigue.

Office workers hurried towards metro stations.

Street musicians had begun gathering near the piazzas.

The scent of roasted coffee drifted through the streets.

For the first time all day...

Elian felt the weight of exhaustion settle across his shoulders.

Not physical exhaustion.

Mental.

The kind that arrived only after making hundreds of decisions for hundreds of people.

He unlocked his car and slid into the driver's seat.

For a moment, he simply rested both hands on the steering wheel.

Closed his eyes.

Breathed.

Then—

His phone vibrated.

A voice note from Matteo.

Elian pressed play.

"I'm done with class. Don't tell me you've forgotten me again."

A grin tugged at the corner of his mouth.

"I've never forgotten you."

He murmured the words to himself before starting the engine.

__

The University of Milan buzzed with life despite the fading daylight.

Students poured out through the gates in groups, laughter echoing across the courtyard as they discussed assignments, weekend plans and unfinished projects.

Some hurried towards buses.

Others lingered near cafés scattered around the campus.

Elian parked beneath a row of maple trees lining the street opposite the university entrance.

He didn't need to message Matteo.

Within two minutes...

He spotted him.

His younger brother emerged through the gates with a backpack slung carelessly over one shoulder, walking beside a young woman who animatedly explained something while waving her hands.

Matteo listened with genuine attention.

Occasionally laughing.

Occasionally shaking his head.

Then the young woman lightly nudged his arm.

He nudged her back.

Elian folded his arms inside the car.

Interesting.

A few moments later, Matteo noticed the familiar black car waiting across the road.

"There he is."

He pointed towards it.

The young woman followed his gaze.

"Oh."

"My chauffeur."

She laughed.

"I thought you said your brother was picking you up."

"He is."

"So why did you call him your chauffeur?"

"Because if I admit he's my brother, he'll become insufferable."

She rolled her eyes.

"I'll see you tomorrow."

"See you."

She waved once before disappearing back towards the campus.

Matteo crossed the road, opened the passenger door and climbed inside.

The seatbelt had barely clicked into place before he noticed the unmistakable smirk on Elian's face.

"...Don't."

"I haven't said anything."

"You were about to."

"I was thinking."

"Worse."

Matteo groaned dramatically, leaning back against the seat.

"She's my classmate."

"I didn't ask."

"We're working on the same design project."

"I still didn't ask."

"There is absolutely nothing going on."

Elian started the engine.

"I know."

Matteo narrowed his eyes suspiciously.

"You know?"

"I know."

A beat of silence.

"...Then why are you smiling?"

Without taking his eyes off the road, Elian answered calmly,

"Because watching you explain yourself without being questioned is surprisingly entertaining."

For two whole seconds...

Matteo stared at him.

Then he threw his head back with an exaggerated sigh.

"I liked you better when you were silent."

A quiet laugh escaped Elian as the car merged into the evening traffic.

Neither of them noticed that, only a few kilometres away, another young doctor was tying the strings of her café apron.

Their paths were narrowing.

Neither of them knew it yet.

The streets of Milan glowed beneath the amber lights as evening slowly settled over the city.

Inside the car, Matteo had somehow managed to switch the conversation from his university project to convincing Elian that architecture students suffered more than medical students.

"It isn't a competition," Elian said, keeping his eyes on the road.

"It absolutely is."

"It isn't."

"It is."

"We literally save lives."

"We prevent buildings from falling on those lives."

Elian glanced sideways.

"...I'll allow that."

Matteo grinned triumphantly.

"I win."

"You'll never hear me admit it again."

"I'll record it in my memory forever."

The brothers laughed quietly as the familiar streets led them towards one destination they never seemed to outgrow.

A small café nestled between a florist and an old bookshop.

Its golden lights spilled warmly onto the pavement despite the cold outside.

The elegant sign above the entrance read—

Caffè Aurum.

Elian parked across the street.

For a brief moment, neither brother moved.

"It's strange," Matteo murmured.

"What is?"

"No matter how busy life gets..."

"...this place never changes."

Elian looked through the windshield.

"It doesn't have to."

Some places weren't meant to change.

Some places existed simply to remind people where home had once been.

The two stepped out into the crisp evening air.

The familiar chime above the café door rang the moment they entered.

Warmth embraced them instantly.

The rich aroma of freshly brewed coffee, melted butter and baked bread lingered in the air.

Soft Italian jazz played somewhere in the background while conversations blended into a comforting murmur.

The café was almost full.

A young couple sat near the window sharing a slice of cheesecake.

An elderly man quietly read his newspaper beside a steaming cup of espresso.

Three university students argued animatedly over what looked suspiciously like a group assignment.

It was ordinary.

Wonderfully ordinary.

And perhaps that was exactly why Elian liked coming here.

Nobody cared who he was.

Nobody lowered their voices when he walked in.

Nobody stared.

Here...

He was simply another customer.

"Aren!"

Matteo called happily.

Behind the counter, a woman in her late fifties looked up from arranging freshly baked pastries.

The moment she saw the brothers, her entire face brightened.

"My boys."

She didn't walk.

She hurried.

Matteo met her halfway, wrapping both arms around her in a tight hug.

"I've missed you."

"I should hope so."

She laughed, cupping his face.

"You're thinner."

"I promise I'm not."

"You boys always say that."

She turned towards Elian.

Unlike Matteo, he wasn't naturally expressive.

Yet the warmth in his eyes softened instantly.

"Aunty."

He bent slightly, allowing her to pull him into an embrace.

She patted his back twice before holding his face between both hands.

"You've been working too much."

"So I've been told."

"By your mother?"

"And my father."

"And now by me."

Matteo folded his arms.

"I've been saying the same thing for months."

Aren smiled.

"See? Everyone agrees."

Andrew appeared from the kitchen carrying a tray of freshly baked focaccia.

"Well, if it isn't my favourite troublemakers."

"Favourite?" Matteo gasped dramatically.

"So there are others?"

"There are."

Andrew nodded seriously.

"They simply don't visit enough."

Matteo placed a hand over his heart.

"I've been replaced."

"You replaced yourself."

Andrew chuckled.

"Now sit down before your brother starts checking the café's fire safety regulations."

"I've done that before."

"You've done it three times."

"They weren't up to code."

"They are now."

Elian's lips curved faintly.

"I noticed."

Andrew shook his head.

"I knew you would."

The brothers settled into their usual table near the glass window.

Without needing to ask—

Andrew placed two glasses of water before them.

Old habits.

Aren disappeared behind the counter.

"Your usual?" she called.

"Please."

Elian nodded.

"One black coffee."

"And one hot chocolate," Matteo added.

"Extra marshmallows."

Andrew looked at him.

"You're twenty-four."

"And?"

"You order like you're eight."

"Life is short."

Andrew laughed.

"It certainly is."

Across the café—

A young woman emerged quietly from the kitchen.

Her dark hair was tied into a neat bun.

A navy apron rested over a cream cardigan, and a backpack leaned against the staff locker near the counter, evidence that she'd come straight from university.

Without looking around, she adjusted the sleeves of her cardigan and tucked a loose strand of hair behind her ear before picking up a tray.

"Shagun," Aren called gently.

She turned.

"Could you take table six, please?"

"Of course, Aunty."

Her voice was soft.

Barely above a whisper.

She picked up the order, checked it once to make sure nothing was missing, and walked into the café with careful, practised steps.

She never noticed the two brothers sitting by the window.

And they never looked her way.

Not because fate had failed.

But because fate...

Was patient.

The evening rush had begun.

Orders flowed in one after another, blending into a familiar rhythm the café staff knew by heart.

"Two cappuccinos."

"One americano."

"Table five wants another cheesecake."

"Andrew, the oven!"

Voices overlapped, cups clinked against saucers, and the rich aroma of roasted coffee beans drifted through the warm room.

Behind the counter, Shagun tied the strings of her apron a little tighter before glancing towards the order board.

Another long evening.

Another shift.

Her university bag rested inside the small staff room, abandoned beside her winter coat. She had barely changed before stepping straight behind the coffee machine.

"You don't have to rush every order, sweetheart."

Aren's gentle voice reached her as she carefully arranged a slice of chocolate cake onto a plate.

"The customers aren't running away."

Shagun smiled sheepishly.

"I know..."

"...I'm still getting used to everything."

"And you're doing wonderfully."

Aren squeezed her shoulder affectionately before returning to another customer.

That simple gesture warmed Shagun's heart more than the hot chocolate she planned to drink after her shift.

It had only been two months.

Yet somehow...

This little café had begun feeling less like a workplace...

...and more like somewhere she belonged.

___

Near the window, Matteo had already stolen three fries from the basket placed between them.

Elian watched him without comment.

"What?"

Matteo asked innocently, chewing.

"You've eaten most of them."

"There are still plenty."

"There are seven left."

Matteo blinked.

"...You counted?"

"I didn't need to."

"You scare me sometimes."

"So I've heard."

Andrew walked over carrying their drinks.

One black coffee.

One overflowing mug of hot chocolate crowned with marshmallows.

He placed them down with a satisfied smile.

"There we are."

"Thanks, Uncle."

Matteo immediately wrapped both hands around the warm mug.

Andrew looked towards Elian.

"The fries today might taste a little different."

Elian raised an eyebrow.

"Oh?"

"Our newest employee made them."

Matteo picked one up.

"They smell amazing."

"They're seasoned differently," Andrew said proudly.

"Try them."

The brothers exchanged a brief glance before taking the first bite.

The outside remained perfectly crisp.

The inside melted effortlessly.

There was a hint of parmesan.

Garlic.

Fresh rosemary.

Simple ingredients.

Perfectly balanced.

Matteo's eyes widened.

"Oh..."

He immediately reached for another.

"I think these are better than yours."

Andrew placed a dramatic hand over his chest.

"Traitor."

"I'm being honest."

"So am I."

Andrew looked at Elian.

"What do you think?"

Elian swallowed thoughtfully.

"They're excellent."

Andrew smiled.

"I thought you'd notice."

"I notice good food."

"No."

Andrew chuckled.

"You notice everything."

Behind the counter, Aren happened to overhear the conversation.

A proud smile crossed her face.

She looked towards the kitchen.

"Shagun."

The young woman stepped out, drying her hands on a towel.

"Yes, Aunty?"

"The fries."

Aren pointed discreetly towards the brothers' table.

"They loved them."

Shagun blinked.

"They... did?"

"They're asking who made them."

A faint flush spread across her cheeks.

"I only followed your recipe."

"You added rosemary."

"I..."

She looked down shyly.

"I thought it would taste nicer."

"It did."

Andrew called from across the café,

"It definitely did!"

Shagun smiled—a small, genuine smile that transformed her usually quiet expression.

"Thank you."

She quickly disappeared back into the kitchen before anyone could say anything else.

She never realised who had complimented her cooking.

Matteo leaned back in his chair.

"I've missed this place."

"So have I."

Elian wrapped both hands around his coffee.

For the first time that entire day...

He wasn't thinking about hospital reports.

Board meetings.

Research funding.

Or tomorrow's schedule.

He was simply sitting in a small neighbourhood café with his younger brother.

It was peaceful.

Rarely did peace arrive without demanding something in return.

Just then—

"Excuse me."

A quiet voice interrupted.

Both brothers looked up.

Standing beside their table was the same young waitress who had been helping customers all evening.

She held a small notepad in one hand.

Her apron was lightly dusted with flour, and a loose strand of dark hair had escaped from her bun, falling against her cheek.

She tucked it behind her ear almost absent-mindedly.

"I'm sorry to disturb you..."

(Mi dispiace disturbarvi...)

Her voice was soft.

Almost timid.

Andrew appeared from behind the counter before she could continue.

"Oh!"

He laughed.

"I completely forgot."

He looked towards the brothers.

"She isn't taking your order."

Both men looked at him curiously.

He picked up the empty basket of fries.

"We accidentally served you the trial batch."

Matteo frowned.

"...Trial batch?"

Andrew nodded.

"I promised this one I'd ask for honest opinions before putting them on the menu."

He gestured towards Shagun.

She looked as though she wished the floor would open beneath her.

Andrew, however, continued cheerfully.

"So..."

He folded his arms.

"What do the Moretti brothers think?"

Shagun instinctively lowered her gaze.

She wasn't expecting praise.

She wasn't expecting criticism either.

She simply waited.

Elian glanced at the empty basket.

Then at Andrew.

Finally...

His eyes rested on the nervous young woman for no more than a heartbeat.

Professional.

Polite.

Nothing more.

He answered simply,

"I'd put them on the menu."

Andrew grinned.

"I knew it."

Matteo nodded enthusiastically.

"I'd order them every time."

Aren laughed from behind the counter.

"There."

She looked towards Shagun.

"I told you people would love them."

Shagun's shoulders relaxed ever so slightly.

A tiny smile appeared on her lips.

"...Thank you."

She offered them a polite nod before quietly walking away to attend another table.

Neither she nor Elian watched the other leave.

To him...

She was simply a hardworking café employee who deserved encouragement.

To her...

He was simply another courteous customer.

Neither knew the other's name.

Neither imagined they would ever meet again.

But somewhere beyond either of their awareness...

Fate had already memorised both.

________________________________________________________________

AUTHOR'S NOTE

Thank you for reading another chapter of 𝕳𝖊𝖗 𝕽𝖊𝖋𝖚𝖌𝖊. 

If this chapter felt slower than usual, that's because it was meant to.

Before a love story begins, I want you to know the people behind it—the son who still waits for his mother's lunch, the brother who never breaks a promise, the doctor who listens before he heals, and the man the world only knows by his title.

This wasn't the beginning of their romance.

It was the beginning of their journey.

Some encounters don't announce themselves with sparks or grand gestures. Sometimes, fate quietly places two people in the same room and simply waits.

Thank you for trusting me with this slow-burn story. I promise every chapter is a step towards something unforgettable.

Stay patient...

The best parts of their story are still waiting to be written.

With love,
— Shagun.