The first week in her new apartment felt like a survival game.
New city.
New language.
New job.
And a house full of boxes that looked like they were plotting against her.
Élise had spent hours unpacking, cleaning, and arguing with a stubborn cabinet door that refused to close. When she finally stepped outside with her shopping list, she told herself she would buy only essentials.
Of course, that didn't happen.
She returned with curtains, a blender, plates, candles, two pillows she didn't need, and a decorative plant that looked suspiciously fake.
She didn't expect anyone to help her carry them.
She especially didn't expect him again.
Pedro stood outside his apartment building, leaning on his bike with that effortless confidence. Sunglasses pushed up, curls slightly messy, smile unfairly charming.
"Bonjour, Neighbor," he called out, switching to French playfully. "Need help?"
Élise blinked at him. She still wasn't used to how boldly friendly Italians could be.
"Um… maybe just the heavy bags?"
"Say no more," Pedro said, already picking them up like they weighed nothing.
They walked beside each other, and Élise noticed how people greeted him easily shopkeepers, teens on bikes, even the old lady selling tomatoes.
He fit into the neighborhood like he'd been carved into it.
"How's the internship?" he asked casually.
Élise nearly tripped.
"…I never told you I'm an intern."
Pedro didn't panic.
He just shrugged.
"Your work badge fell out the day you moved in. I returned it to your door. Don't worry, I didn't touch anything else."
Her heartbeat slowed.
So it wasn't creepy.
Just observant.
"Still suspicious," she muttered.
Pedro laughed. "Fair. I get that a lot."
---
Setting Up the Apartment
Pedro ended up helping her assemble furniture, even though he insisted he had "delicate hands meant only for luxury keyboards."
"You're dramatic," Élise said, tightening a screw.
"And you're bossy," he replied.
She threw a pillow at him.
He pretended it hurt.
By the time they finished, the apartment looked like something from a small aesthetic Pinterest board simple, warm, lived in. Élise felt something she hadn't felt since moving here:
Comfort.
They sat on the floor with instant noodles, talking like old neighbors. Pedro told her random jokes, and Élise found herself laughing so hard she had tears in her eyes.
---
Later that evening, Pedro tapped her door.
"You want to see a cool spot? Nothing crazy. Soft music, good food, people just vibing."
Élise hesitated.
She barely knew him.
But she also knew she didn't want to spend another weekend alone with boxes.
"Fine," she said. "But no alcohol."
"Perfect," he grinned. "More for me."
The place he took her to wasn't a wild club more like a soft urban lounge. Colored lights, good fries, Afrobeat humming low, people laughing over their drinks.
Élise loved the energy instantly.
Pedro ordered suya and fries, and he kept making her laugh with stupid rules of nightlife like:
"If a DJ says 'let me see your hands,' hide your phone."
"That guy who shouts 'my sister!' has never met any of his sisters."
Élise recorded him dancing terribly.
"You're evil," he complained.
"I am documenting evidence," she replied.
For the first time since she moved to Italy, she didn't feel foreign.
She felt… normal.
---
Walking Home
The night air was cool.
Élise hugged her bag to her chest as they walked.
"You enjoyed it?" Pedro asked.
"Yes… thank you."
"Good." He nodded. "We can go again sometime."
"You're planning my life now?"
"Someone has to."
She rolled her eyes.
At her door, he said:
"Good luck at work tomorrow. First weeks are chaos."
Élise paused.
"Pedro… I didn't tell you where I work."
He looked straight at her, unbothered.
"You didn't," he agreed.
"Your badge did. I told you."
Right.
Her badge.
Still… something about him felt like he always knew one extra thing.
"Goodnight, Élise," he said.
"Goodnight."
She watched his door close, feeling a strange mix of comfort and curiosity.
Pedro was friendly.
Funny.
Smart.
And very, very hard to figure out.
He wasn't just a neighbor.
He wasn't just some random guy.
But Élise had no idea yet what he truly was connected to ..
.
.
.
Élise quickly learned that Milan had two faces.
There was the Milan of her office cold air-conditioning, hard floors, expensive perfumes drifting through the hallways, and whispers she couldn't understand fast enough. And then there was the Milan outside sun-warmed stone streets, voices echoing between old buildings, cafés buzzing with life, and people who lived loudly, confidently, like the world belonged to them.
She spent her mornings at work filing documents, making copies, assisting her supervisor, and trying her best not to attract attention. But she could still feel eyes lingering on her sometimes. The girl who the CEO spoke to calmly. The girl who did not get yelled at.
A mystery people were dying to solve.
During lunch, she sat with two other interns who were nice enough, even though their curiosity slipped through their polite smiles.
"So, Élise…" one of them asked carefully. "Are you sure you didn't say anything special that day?"
Élise sighed. "I said nothing. I didn't even know he was behind me."
They exchanged glances again the kind people share when they don't believe the truth even when it's plain.
But after work, life felt different.
Zara was waiting for her by the entrance, waving dramatically with a grin. She was Italian through and through stylish, loud, effortlessly cool, the type of girl who could order a coffee and make the whole café look at her. She had brown curls, gold earrings, and the kind of energy that made Élise instantly less lonely.
"You survived your second week," Zara declared. "Which means we are celebrating. You can't live here and not know the city."
Élise didn't resist. She needed a friend, and Zara was exactly the kind of friend who made a foreign country feel like a soft blanket instead of a cold shock.
They wandered through the streets as Zara talked and gestured wildly, introducing her to her favorite bakery, her favorite perfume stall, the meanest tailor on the block, and the café with the "best gelato in Milan, no arguments allowed."
Élise tasted pistachio gelato, and Zara watched her with eager eyes.
"Well?" Zara asked.
"It tastes like . .. like my tongue is falling in love," Élise whispered dramatically.
Zara burst into loud laughter, leaning on her shoulder. "Good! You're learning!"
They walked through the evening market, and Zara insisted she try arancini, then tiramisu, then something with too much cheese, and by the end, Élise could barely walk in a straight line.
"You'll get used to it," Zara teased. "Half of this city survives on carbs and coffee."
By the time Élise reached her apartment door, her feet were aching but her heart was full. And she was surprised very surprised to see Pedro sitting on the steps, leaning against the railing like he had been waiting for someone to walk by.
He looked up when he heard her keys.
"Long day?"
"Yes," Élise said, smiling despite herself. "But… good."
He stood and walked with her up the stairs, hands casually in his pockets. He smelled faintly of citrus and something warm, and Élise wasn't sure if he always smelled like that, or if her brain was just tired.
"You look more relaxed," Pedro observed.
"Zara showed me around."
"That explains the sugar high in your eyes."
Élise rolled her eyes. "Please."
He laughed softly, and she caught that same feeling again that strange pull, like he was familiar even though she knew nothing about him.
At her door, he paused.
"You know… Milan grows on you if you let it."
"Did it grow on you?" she asked lightly.
Pedro's expression shifted just for a moment. Something unguarded, something almost sad flickered in his eyes.
"…Eventually," he said. "Goodnight, Élise."
Before she could reply, his phone rang. He checked it, frowned, and walked away quickly, disappearing down the stairs with long, urgent strides. She watched him leave, confused, but too tired to question it.
The next morning, work hit her again like a wave of cold water.
She arrived early, determined to avoid unnecessary stares. The hallways were quiet, still waking up, and she took comfort in the silence.
But just as she walked past the glass corridor toward the elevators, a door opened behind her smooth, quiet, unmistakably expensive.
She turned instinctively, and her breath caught.
Adriano Moretti stepped out of his office.
He was dressed in a charcoal suit that fit him like it had been stitched onto his skin. His dark hair was fixed neatly, his shoulders straight, his expression unreadable. He looked like a man carved from marble and authority.
Their eyes collided.
For a heartbeat, no one moved.
Élise felt her chest tighten. She lowered her gaze, but not fast enough he had already seen the small stain of gelato on her sleeve, evidence of her night out.
He walked toward her slowly, his gaze not cold this time… but studying.
She pressed her arm to her side, embarrassed, wishing she could disappear.
When he reached her, he didn't stop immediately.
He slowed.
And for the first time since she'd seen him, his voice softened deep, quiet, almost intimate in the silent hallway.
"You look tired."
Élise's heart skipped.
Why did he notice that?
Why would he care?
She didn't know what to say. She didn't know if speaking would even be wise.
Adriano looked at her sleeve again, then at her eyes. Something unreadable flickered across his face.
"Don't let this place consume you," he said quietly.
Then he stepped past her, the faint scent of his cologne brushing her skin lightly crisp, subtle, expensive.
Élise didn't breathe until he was gone.
And when she finally did, her pulse was racing.
Why had he spoken like he knew her mood?
Why had he looked so closely?
Why had his voice sounded gentle?