chapter 4 :

The eternal city of Rome, its ancient streets and piazzas usually alive with the vibrant hum of human activity, were now shrouded in an unsettling silence. She, who had been sleeping, woke up and got out of bed, her slender figure wrapped in a flowing robe, her hair a tangled mess of dark locks.

She entered the kitchen, the soft glow of the evening light casting a warm ambiance over the room. The air was heavy with the scent of freshly baked bread and simmering sauces, a testament to someone's culinary skills. With a quiet efficiency, she began to prepare dinner, her hands moving with the precision of a skilled artist.

The sizzle of garlic and onions filled the air as she sautéed them in olive oil, the aroma wafting up to tease her senses. She added a pinch of salt and a sprinkle of herbs, the flavors mingling in a delicious harmony. The silence of the city outside seemed to heighten her senses, and she felt the stress and tension of the day melt away with each stir of the pot.

After dinner, she cleaned up the kitchen and then headed to the bathroom, the warm water of the shower enveloping her like a soothing embrace. She closed her eyes, letting the water wash away the fatigue and worry of the day, and felt her muscles relax, her mind calm, and her spirit rejuvenate. The silence of the city outside seemed to fade away, replaced by the gentle rhythm of the water and the quiet of her own thoughts.

She emerged from the shower, her radiant skin glowing with a warm, golden light. The white terrycloth robe clung to her curves, accentuating her slender figure and petite frame. At 20 years old, she was a vision of youthful beauty, with features that seemed chiseled by the gods themselves.

Her eyes were like two shimmering sapphires, sparkling with a bright, inner light. They were fringed with thick lashes, adding depth and dimension to their allure. Her gaze was captivating, drawing you in with its warmth and intelligence.

Her hair was a rich, dark brown, cascading down her back in soft, silky waves. It framed her heart-shaped face, accentuating her high cheekbones and delicate features. A few stray strands framed her forehead, adding a touch of whimsy to her overall look.

Her lips were full and inviting, painted a deep shade of pink that seemed to glow in the soft light. They curled into a gentle smile, revealing a hint of white teeth and a mischievous glint in her eye.

Her skin was smooth and unblemished, with a subtle sheen that hinted at her Italian heritage. A sprinkle of freckles across her nose added a touch of playfulness to her features, as if she was always ready to break into a smile.

Overall, she was a stunning young woman, with a beauty that was both effortless and captivating. She seemed to glow from within, as if her very presence was a blessing to behold.

As she stepped out of her room, she was met with a sight that tugged at her heartstrings. The familiar walls, the creaky wooden floors, and the worn-out furniture seemed to whisper memories of a lifetime. Every nook and corner of the house held a special place in her heart, each one a reminder of a moment, a laughter, a tear, or a whispered secret.

The living room, with its faded armchair and the old piano, seemed to echo with the sound of her childhood laughter. She could almost see herself sitting on the floor, playing with her toys, while her mother sat on the couch, sewing or reading. The walls, adorned with family portraits and faded photographs, seemed to smile at her, reminding her of happy times and cherished moments.

The kitchen, with its old wooden table and the worn-out sink, held the aroma of her mother's cooking, the smell of freshly baked bread and simmering sauces. She could almost taste the flavors of her childhood, the warmth and love that her mother had poured into every meal.

Every step she took, every glance she gave, seemed to unravel a memory, a feeling, a sensation. The house, with all its imperfections and worn-out charm, was more than just a place to live; it was a repository of her memories, a testament to her roots, and a reminder of the love that had shaped her life.

As she walked through the rooms, she felt a lump form in her throat, her eyes welling up with tears. This house, with all its emotional baggage, was a part of her, a piece of her heart, a reflection of her soul. She knew that she would carry its memories with her, wherever she went, and that it would always remain a part of her, a reminder of the love and the life she had lived within its walls.

Her mother's face was a masterpiece of elegance, with high cheekbones, a slender nose, and full lips that curved into a gentle smile. Her dark hair framed her face like a velvety cloak, and her bright brown eyes sparkled with warmth and kindness. Her skin was smooth and radiant, with a subtle golden glow that hinted at her Italian heritage.Her mother's face was a work of art.

The scene unfolded like a tragic drama, etched in her memory forever. Her mother, cowering in the corner, her face pale and frightened, as the man's hand raised, ready to strike. The air was heavy with tension, the silence punctuated only by the sound of her mother's pleas.

"You cheered me, I loved you, but you cheated me, why?" her mother's voice cracked, as she tried to reason with the man who was once her lover.

"Who is the father of your daughter?" he sneered, his eyes filled with venom and hatred.

"She is your daughter," her mother protested, her voice weak but determined. "They told you lies, but you know the truth. She is your daughter, please don't deny it."

But the man was unmoved, his heart hardened by anger and betrayal. With a final glance of contempt, he turned and walked away, leaving her mother and her alone, to pick up the shattered pieces of their lives.

The memory was a painful scar, a reminder of the fragility of love and the cruelty of human nature. But even in the midst of such darkness, her mother's courage and resilience shone like a beacon, a testament to the unbreakable bond between a mother and her child.

She whispered to herself, her voice barely audible, "Mom, you too were killed by love. Salina too was killed at the hands of her husband. Why does love turn to hate so easily? Why do those who promise to protect us become our destroyers?"

Her mind raced with thoughts of her mother's tragic fate, and that of Salina, another victim of domestic violence. She felt a deep sense of empathy and connection with these women, bound together by the shared experience of suffering at the hands of those they loved and trusted.

Tears streamed down her face as she mourned the loss of her mother, and the countless others who had met the same fate. She felt a sense of determination rising within her, a resolve to break the cycle of violence and to fight for a world where love and respect coexisted, where women and children were safe from harm.

She stood tall, her eyes blazing with determination, as she spoke the words that would seal her fate. "Mom, Salina is dead, and now I will take her revenge. I swear to you, one day I will make them beg for mercy, on their knees, at my feet."

Her voice was steady, but her heart raced with a mix of emotions - grief, anger, and a deep desire for justice. She could feel the weight of her mother's legacy on her shoulders, the burden of unfinished business, and the burning need to right the wrongs of the past.

As she spoke, her eyes seemed to flash with a fierce intensity, her gaze piercing through the darkness, as if challenging the very fate that had taken her mother and Salina from her. Her words hung in the air like a promise, a vow to fight for what was rightfully hers, and to bring those responsible to their knees.

The scene was set, the stage was ready, and she was the protagonist, ready to embark on a journey of retribution, fueled by love, loss, and an unyielding desire for justice.

She stood tall, her long, dark hair cascading down her back like a waterfall of night. But now, she donned a white cap, its crisp fabric a stark contrast to her tresses. The cap sat snugly on her head, its peak pointing forward like a beacon of determination.

Her feet, once bare, now wore a pair of white sneakers, their laces tied tight in a bow of readiness. The shoes seemed to glow in the dim light, like a symbol of purity and purpose. As she stood there, her hair and shoes a stark white, she exuded an aura of resolve, as if she was ready to take on the world.

The white cap and sneakers transformed her, giving her an air of confidence and strength. Her dark hair and eyes seemed to gleam with an inner light, as if the very fabric of her being was infused with a newfound power. She was no longer just a victim, but a warrior, ready to face whatever challenges lay ahead.

Rome's streets was a tapestry of twinkling lights and ancient architecture, the air thick with history and secrets. The road wound its way through the city like a serpent, its cobblestone surface glistening in the moonlight.

She walked alone, her feet carrying her with a quiet determination, as if she was on a mission to escape the world's prying eyes. Her white cap was pulled low over her face, casting a shadow over her features, like a veil of anonymity. She was a ghostly figure, a whisper of a presence, as she glided through the crowded streets.

Her eyes scanned the surroundings, taking in the ornate fountains and Baroque churches, the bustling piazzas and quaint trattorias. But she saw it all through a veil of detachment, as if she was observing a world that was not her own. Her heart was heavy, weighed down by the secrets she kept and the pain she had endured.

As she walked, the city's sounds swirled around her - the laughter of lovers, the chatter of tourists, the wail of sirens in the distance. But she tuned it all out, her focus fixed on the path ahead, her feet carrying her forward with a steady rhythm. She was a woman on a mission, driven by a fierce determination to survive in a world that had shown her little kindness. And so she walked, her face hidden, her heart guarded, her spirit unbroken.

As she stepped into the convenience store, the fluorescent lights overhead cast an eerie glow on the rows of snacks and drinks. She wandered aimlessly, her eyes scanning the shelves with a sense of detachment, until they landed on a chocolate bar. The familiar wrapper seemed to beckon her, and she reached for it with a sense of comfort.

But as she took a bite, her gaze drifted upwards, and her eyes locked onto the LED screen above the counter. The news ticker scrolling across it was like a punch to the gut, leaving her breathless and frozen in place. The words blurred together, but one name stood out like a beacon: Shazad.

Her mind raced back to memories of him, of the laughter they shared, of the tears they cried together. The CEO of Bella Moda, the Prince of Italy, and the man who had once held her heart in his hands. The news of his vow to find and punish the murderer of the Chief of Police was like a whispered secret, meant only for her ears.

The chocolate bar slipped from her fingers, forgotten in the face of the storm brewing inside her. Her eyes remained fixed on the screen, her heart pounding in her chest like a drum, as the past and present collided in a maelstrom of emotions. The store around her faded into the background, leaving only the two of them, suspended in time, their bond still strong despite the years and the secrets that had torn them apart.

The past is a tapestry woven with threads of memories, experiences, and moments that have shaped us into who we are today. It is a constant, a fixed point in time that remains unaltered, a reminder of where we've been and what we've been through. Like a painting, it hangs in the gallery of our minds, a permanent fixture that never changes, never fades, and never forgets.

But people, oh people, are a different story altogether. Like leaves on a river, we flow and change with the currents of time. Our thoughts, beliefs, and values evolve, like the seasons, with each passing year. We grow, we learn, we adapt, and we transform. Our experiences shape us, mold us, and remake us into new versions of ourselves.

Like a river, we flow, ever-changing, ever-moving, yet always connected to our source. Our past remains a part of us, a foundation upon which we build our present and future. But we ourselves are not static, we are dynamic, we are evolving, we are becoming. And so, while the past remains unchanged, we, the people, change with time, like the river flowing effortlessly to its destination.