Three months had passed since Sofia left.
Enough time for Monteluce to bloom into another season, enough time for the vines to grow heavy with ripening grapes, enough time for Ethan to learn the shape of life without her. Yet no amount of work, no amount of sun, rain, or solitude could fill the void she left behind.
Every morning he woke with the same memory — Sofia turning away from him at the town square, sunlight catching her hair like a promise and a farewell. Every night he fell asleep with the same whisper in his mind — I love you, the words he never said out loud.
Her letters came often at first. Long, excited pages filled with new experiences, challenges, mistakes, discoveries. Ethan read each one carefully, tracing every curve of her handwriting. He smiled when she wrote about a dish she burned, or a professor who terrified everyone, or the way she still missed her grandmother's cooking.
But as weeks turned into months, the letters came less frequently.
Not because she forgot him. He told himself that over and over.
But because she was building a new life — the life she'd been brave enough to chase.
And Ethan?
He was stuck at a crossroads.
---
His work in Italy was drying up. The summer season had ended, tourists gone, vineyards preparing for winter rest. The odd jobs he relied on now barely paid his rent. Even the locals, who once urged him to stay longer, now gently asked when he might return home.
One evening, Ethan found himself walking alone along the river where he and Sofia had last sat together. The water was dark and slow, carrying the moonlight like a silver ribbon. He crouched down, touched the surface, and whispered:
"What am I supposed to do now?"
The river, steady and endless, whispered back stories of those who moved forward because life left them no choice.
Ethan sat on the grass for a long time, staring at the water, feeling the quiet truth settling inside him.
He couldn't stay here forever.
And he couldn't keep living without direction.
Sofia had found her purpose.
Now he needed to find his.
---
The decision came suddenly but felt inevitable.
Ethan packed his bags. He returned the apartment key to his elderly landlord, who hugged him like a grandson. The people of Monteluce wished him well. The bakery owner pressed a box of pastries into his hands "for the journey." The vineyard families thanked him for his help.
And early one cold morning, Ethan boarded a bus that would take him away from the only place that had felt like home in years.
He looked out the window as the town disappeared behind olive trees and rolling hills.
Monteluce had given him friendship, purpose… and love.
Leaving felt like tearing out a piece of himself.
But something in him knew this was the beginning of a new path — even if he didn't know where it led.
---
When he finally arrived in the United States, Ethan returned to a world that felt both familiar and distant. His hometown looked the same — strip malls, wide roads, identical houses lining cul-de-sacs — but he had changed.
He wasn't the lost young man who left a year before.
He had seen beauty, heartbreak, possibility.
Now he needed structure. A foundation. A mission.
For weeks he searched for jobs. Construction sites, auto shops, delivery companies. Nothing felt right. Nothing matched the restless energy building inside him.
Until one afternoon, he passed a military recruitment office.
He stopped.
Just stared at the door.
A long time ago, he had thought about it — service, discipline, honor. But he never felt stable enough to commit. He was too unfocused, too unsettled, too haunted by old fears.
But now?
Now he was ready for something bigger than himself.
He stepped inside.
A recruiter with sharp eyes and a firm handshake greeted him. They talked for nearly two hours — about commitment, difficulty, training, sacrifice. Ethan listened carefully to every detail.
He wanted challenge.
He wanted purpose.
He wanted to become someone Sofia could be proud of.
At the end of the meeting, the recruiter said, "If you're sure… we can begin the paperwork."
Ethan took a breath — steady, decisive.
"I'm sure."
---
Training was a different world.
Early mornings. Grueling hours. Endless drills. Screamed orders. Long runs with packs heavier than anything he'd ever carried. Some nights, exhaustion hit him so hard he fell asleep before his head hit the pillow.
But for the first time in years, he felt clarity.
Pain sharpened his focus. Discipline grounded him. The camaraderie of the other trainees filled a void he didn't realize he had.
Camila was part of his unit.
She was fierce, sharp-witted, and determined. The kind of woman who carried her strength in her voice and her humor. She had jet-black hair always tied tightly, eyes that noticed everything, and a smile she used sparingly — but meaningfully.
At first, she didn't say much to Ethan.
Until one day, after a particularly brutal endurance drill, she sat beside him in the mess hall.
"You don't talk," she said bluntly, stabbing her fork into a bowl of mashed potatoes.
"I talk," Ethan replied.
"No," she said, "you respond. That's different."
Ethan cracked a tired smile. "Maybe I'm just boring."
Camila snorted. "You're not boring. You're broken."
He froze — shocked.
She shrugged. "I can see it. You carry something heavy."
Ethan didn't respond. He didn't have to. Camila wasn't asking him to.
She was telling him she understood.
From that day on, their friendship grew quietly. She competed with him during drills, teased him during breaks, matched his pace during runs. She had her own ghosts — though she never said what they were — and somehow, in their unspoken struggles, they found comfort.
Weeks turned into months.
And slowly, Ethan's letters to Sofia became fewer. Not because he stopped caring — he never could — but because their worlds were moving in different directions. Her letters arrived occasionally, filled with encouragement and stories from her studies.
Each time he held one in his hands, he felt both warmth and ache.
One evening, after lights-out, Camila whispered from across the room:
"Who is she?"
Ethan turned. "Who?"
Camila smirked in the dark. "The girl you think about before you fall asleep."
He didn't answer immediately.
Then he whispered, "Someone I loved. Someone I lost."
Camila was quiet for a moment. "Do you want to get her back?"
Ethan's chest tightened. "I don't know."
"Then maybe you're training for more than just duty," she murmured.
Her words lingered long after the room fell silent.
---
When graduation arrived, Ethan stood in formation with the rest of his unit, uniform crisp, boots polished, heart steady. His family was there. They hugged him with pride and relief.
Camila nudged him. "Told you you weren't boring."
He laughed, for the first time in months.
But that night, when the celebrations ended and the crowd dispersed, Ethan stood alone beneath the stars.
He had changed — stronger, disciplined, focused.
But one thing hadn't changed:
His heart still carried Sofia Romano.
Some loves don't fade.
They transform.
And sometimes, they wait.
Little did he know… someone else was watching him with a different kind of love — someone who would one day decide to bring him back to the woman who still lived in his memory.
Camila.