Sofia Maren wasn’t born in Verona, but the cobblestone streets and faded ochre walls seemed to claim her as their own. She had arrived in the city five years ago with nothing but a camera, a worn leather journal, and a promise she had made to her grandmother — “Find the truth about our family.”
By day, she worked at a small artisan café tucked into a side alley, serving espresso to hurried locals and dreamy tourists. By night, she roamed the city with her camera, capturing the hidden moments — an old man feeding pigeons before dawn, a stray cat sunbathing on a church step, lovers whispering secrets in the shadows of a bridge.
But Sofia wasn’t just chasing beauty. She was chasing clues. Her grandmother’s diary had hinted at a secret love affair in Verona during the summer of 1968, a romance between a young painter and a woman whose name had been carefully scratched out. The story ended abruptly, replaced by blank pages, as if someone wanted that summer to disappear.
The more Sofia dug, the more she realized she wasn’t the only one searching. Someone else — a tall man in a gray coat who seemed to appear wherever she went — was also following the trail.
One warm evening, as the sun painted the city in gold, Sofia stood in a narrow street, her heart pounding. She had just found the final photograph in her grandmother’s camera roll — a picture of a smiling woman in front of the very café where Sofia now worked. In the corner of the image, blurred but unmistakable, was the same tall man… looking no older than he did today.
That was when Sofia understood: the truth about her family was much older — and much stranger — than she had ever imagined.
LeRoy Nellis 
You must be logged in to post a comment.