Venice City
Venice appeared the way a memory does—soft at the edges, shimmering, unreal.
The train hissed to a stop, and for a moment she stayed seated, fingers tight around the strap of her bag, heart pounding as though she were about to step into a confession rather than a city. Through the window, moonlight washed over stone and water, turning everything silver and blue, beautiful and distant.
Ten years.
Ten years since she had left without saying goodbye.She stepped onto the platform.
The air hit her first—cool, damp, heavy with salt and age. Venice smelled exactly the way she remembered. Water and stone. Incense and rust. Secrets soaked into marble. It slid into her lungs like a lover she had never properly escaped.
"You're really here," she whispered.
The city answered with silence
Her heels clicked softly as she walked, the sound echoing too loudly in the empty station. Midnight crept closer with every step, and she felt it—an awareness building beneath her skin, a pull she could neither name nor resist.
Venice had always done this to her.
The vaporetto ride was quiet. Too quiet. The water reflected the moon in broken pieces, as if the city refused to show her a complete truth. She watched the palazzos pass—dark windows, sleeping balconies, shuttered lives—and felt a strange ache bloom in her chest.
As though she had been missed.
When she finally stepped onto the stone walkway near the canal, the bells began to ring.
Slow. Deep. Deliberate.
Midnight.
Her breath caught.
The sound rolled through her bones, familiar in a way that frightened her. She pressed a hand to her chest, steadying herself, telling her heart to calm down. This was just a place. A city. It couldn't feel. It couldn't remember.And yet the water stirred not with the wind , not with boats.
With intent,she turned, scanning the empty street, pulse quickening.The lamplight flickered, stretching shadows along the walls until they looked like reaching hands. Her skin prickled, a sensation not unlike being watched.
Then she felt him
The awareness slid over her slowly, intimately, like fingers tracing the line of her spine. Her body reacted before her mind could argue—heat pooling low in her belly, breath turning shallow.
She looked up.
He stood across the canal, half-hidden beneath an archway, as though the city itself had placed him there for her to find. Tall. Still. Dressed in black that blended too easily with the night. His posture was relaxed, but his attention was not.
It was fixed on her.
The distance between them felt charged, stretched thin with something unsaid. Moonlight brushed his face just enough for her to see sharp lines, dark hair, eyes that caught the light and held it—golden, unreadable, dangerous.
Her heart skipped.
She told herself it was nothing. Just a stranger. Venice was full of beautiful strangers.
Still… he didn't look away.
Neither did she.
The bells faded, leaving behind a silence so thick it pressed between them. The water rippled gently, carrying the faint scent of roses and candle wax. She became acutely aware of herself—her bare throat, the slow rise and fall of her chest, the way the night clung to her skin.
"You shouldn't linger by the water," he said at last.
His voice crossed the canal easily. Low. Smooth. Intimate. It curled around her name though he hadn't spoken it.
"I've always liked the water," she replied, surprised at how steady her voice sounded.
A pause.
His lips curved—not quite a smile. "It likes you too."
Something about the way he said it sent a shiver through her. She shifted her weight, suddenly unsure whether she wanted to step closer or run.
"Do you warn all strangers like this?" she asked.
"No," he said. "Only the ones who return."
Her breath faltered. "Return from where?"
From me, the city whispered.
His gaze softened—not with kindness, but with recognition. As though he were seeing more than her face. As though he were remembering something she had forgotten.
"You left without understanding what you were," he said quietly.
Her pulse thudded. "I think you have me confused with someone else."
He shook his head once. Slowly. Decisively.
"I've been waiting a very long time to see if you would come back."
The honesty in his voice unsettled her more than any threat could have. The air between them tightened, charged with something intimate and inevitable.
"I don't even know your name," she said.
His eyes darkened. "Names have power here."
He stepped closer to the edge of the canal, and instinct pulled her forward, mirroring him. The distance shrank, the tension thickened. She could see him clearly now—the faint scar near his mouth, the restraint in the way he held himself, like a man standing at the edge of something dangerous.
"You should go," he said softly.
She didn't move.
Neither did he.
The water rippled again, brighter this time, faint silver light threading through its depths. Her skin warmed, responding without permission. His gaze dropped briefly to her lips, then snapped back to her eyes.
A mistake.
A beautiful, terrible mistake.
"You feel it too," she whispered.
His jaw tightened. "That's why you must leave."
"But you won't make me," she said.
It wasn't a question.
A beat passed.
"No," he admitted. "I won't."
The city exhaled.
The canal shimmered.
And somewhere deep within her, something ancient and aching stirred—drawn not just to Venice…
…but to him.