The airport doors slid open, letting in a burst of cool air and the faint hum of chatter. Ellara stepped through, her dark sunglasses half-hiding the exhaustion on her face. Behind her trailed Julian, rolling a silver suitcase and muttering dramatically about how "Italian airports were designed to ruin one's hair."
"Julian, you look fine," Ellara said, her tone half-teasing.
"Fine?" He gasped, flipping his hair back. "Darling, I'm fabulous. But that doesn't mean I enjoy humidity trying to assassinate me."
She laughed softly. It had been years since she'd last walked this ground, and somehow, even the chaos of travelers rushing around couldn't dull the heaviness in her chest.
"There they are!"
The familiar voice made her look up. Lorenzo waved from across the arrivals hall, tall, dark-haired, and smiling like he hadn't aged a day since she left. Marco stood beside him, phone in hand, pretending not to be emotional.
"About time," Marco said when she reached them, though his lips twitched in a grin.
Ellara dropped her luggage and threw her arms around him anyway. "Missed you too."
Lorenzo joined in, pulling both of them into a tight hug that smelled faintly of expensive cologne and home. For a moment, no one said anything.
Then Julian cleared his throat. "This is very touching and all, but before someone cries—hello, I'm Julian, best friend and certified emotional support system."
Lorenzo chuckled and extended his hand. "You're the one she won't stop talking about."
"Depends," Julian said, shaking it dramatically. "Was it good things or the truth?"
Marco rolled his eyes, muttering under his breath, "Great. A talker."
"Careful," Julian said sweetly. "I charge extra for sarcasm."
Lorenzo laughed again, while Ellara just shook her head. "Don't mind him. He's jet-lagged and looking for attention."
"I thrive on attention," Julian corrected.
---
The drive from the airport was quiet at first. Ellara sat in the back beside Julian, staring out the window as the scenery shifted from crowded streets to the open, sun-washed roads leading to the Romano estate.
Lorenzo glanced at her through the rearview mirror. "You okay?"
She nodded, eyes still on the passing olive trees. "Just… feels strange being back."
"It's been, what, four years?" Marco asked.
"Five," she murmured. "Since the funeral."
Silence fell again — a heavy, respectful kind of silence. Julian reached over and squeezed her hand.
When Lorenzo finally spoke, his voice was soft. "Mom's been waiting for this day."
Ellara smiled faintly. "Yeah. I missed her too."
Julian leaned forward. "Speaking of your mom, should I bow, curtsy, or faint dramatically when I meet her?"
Marco groaned. "Do none of those."
"Then what do you suggest?"
"Shut up," Marco replied dryly.
Julian gasped. "You wound me, sir!"
Lorenzo laughed quietly. "You two are going to be interesting under one roof."
"Temporarily," Julian said quickly. "Until I find my own place. Don't worry, I'm low maintenance."
"Sure," Marco muttered. "You've been talking since we left the airport."
"Talking," Julian said, pointing at himself, "is how I process emotions. You should try it sometime."
Ellara snorted with laughter, earning a glare from Marco and a smirk from Lorenzo.
---
By the time they arrived at the Romano estate, the late afternoon sun was spilling golden light over the gardens. The familiar iron gates swung open, and Ellara's heart skipped a beat. The sight of the house — tall, elegant, with its cream walls and vine-covered balconies — felt like stepping back into a memory.
The front door opened before the car even stopped.
"Ellara!"
Her mother's voice cracked on her name.
Ellara barely had time to step out before her mother rushed forward, arms wide open. They collided in an embrace that smelled of lavender and home.
"Mom," Ellara whispered, her throat tightening. "I missed you."
Her mother pulled back just enough to cup her face. "You're thinner. And paler. And—oh, my sweet girl—you're finally home."
Julian, who'd been standing politely aside, cleared his throat. "I'd say this is my cue to introduce myself before someone accuses me of kidnapping your daughter."
Her mother blinked, then smiled warmly. "You must be Julian."
"The one and only," he said, giving a small, dramatic bow. "It's an honor, Mrs. Romano."
Her mother chuckled. "Please, call me Sofia."
"Ah, Sofia," Julian said, grinning. "A name that fits elegance."
"Careful," Marco murmured. "She might adopt you."
"I'd make an excellent addition," Julian said proudly.
Ellara rolled her eyes, though the corners of her mouth curved up. "Come on, you two. Let's go inside."
---
Dinner that night was warm, filled with laughter and overlapping conversations. Julian had, within an hour, charmed the housemaids and made Sofia laugh so hard she nearly spilled her wine.
But when the laughter faded and the plates were cleared, Ellara felt that lingering ache again.
She excused herself quietly, heading upstairs to her old bedroom. It looked just as she remembered — soft blue curtains, a piano in the corner, framed photos on the dresser.
She walked to the window and pulled it open, letting the cool night air brush her face. The city lights glittered faintly in the distance.
Julian knocked softly before peeking in. "Hey. You disappeared."
"Just needed a moment."
He stepped inside, leaning against the doorframe. "It's strange, huh? Being back where everything started."
Ellara nodded. "Feels like everything's the same, and yet… nothing is."
Julian smiled faintly. "You'll find your rhythm again. You always do."
She turned toward him, her eyes thoughtful. "Do you ever feel like you're standing exactly where you should be, but it still feels wrong somehow?"
He exhaled. "All the time." Then he grinned, softening the mood. "But on the bright side, at least the food here is phenomenal."
She laughed — quietly, genuinely.
As he left the room, Ellara glanced back out the window, her gaze distant.
Somewhere beyond the horizon, a storm was already gathering — and though she didn't know it yet, its name was Raphael.