Chapter 20
It's been a week, since he returned .
A week of stolen glances. A week of pretending not to notice the way his presence shifts the air around me.
A week of sleepless nights replaying the sound of his voice, the coldness in his eyes, the way he looked at me like he never once called me his.
Every morning, I tell myself I’ve moved on. Every night, I realize I’m still lying.
He hasn’t tried to talk to me since that day in the corridor. Not a single word, not even a casual greeting in the staff room. But somehow, he’s everywhere. I see his car parked outside the school sometimes, dark and intimidating.
I catch sight of him in the hallways speaking to the principal, shaking hands with teachers and every time, his eyes find me before he looks away.
It’s like he’s haunting me.
Leo has grown so much; he now barks every time there’s a knock on the door as if he still remembers him. And I hate how part of me wishes one day it really would be him at the door.
But it never is.
That evening, as I walked out of school after my extra classes, the sky was already dim.
The cold wind brushed against my cheeks, and I hugged my dupatta tighter.
The gatekeeper had already locked the side entrance, so I had to walk through the back corridor—empty, silent, except for the sound of my heels clicking softly on the tiles.
Then I saw him.
Lorenzo.
Leaning against the wall, dressed in black, like sin made real. His hands in his pockets, his head slightly bowed, but his gaze his gaze was already on me.
My breath caught in my throat. “What are you doing here?” I asked, trying to sound calm.
He pushed himself off the wall, slow and deliberate, every step toward me echoing louder than it should. “You’ve been avoiding me.”
“I’ve been living my life,” I corrected sharply, clutching my bag tighter.
He stopped in front of me, close enough that I could smell that same faint cologne I once used to fall asleep to. “And yet,” he murmured, his voice low and dangerous, “you still look at me like I’m the ghost that won’t leave you alone.”
My heart skipped. “Maybe because that’s what you are, Lorenzo. A ghost from a past I’m done with.”
He smiled just barely but it wasn’t warm. It was the kind that made my chest ache. “You think you’re done with me, piccola?” he whispered, using that old name that hit harder than any memory.
I swallowed hard, forcing myself not to break. “You left, Lorenzo. You don’t get to call me that anymore.”
He looked at me for a long moment, his jaw clenching. Then softly, like it wasn’t meant to escape, he said,
“I never stopped.”
I blinked. “Stopped what?”
His gaze softened just enough to make my heart stumble. “Loving you.”
My world tilted. The silence stretched between us, heavy and unbearable.
I wanted to scream, cry, push him away anything but let him see that one sentence had torn every defense I’d built over the last three years.
But before I could say a word, he stepped back. “You should go home. It’s getting late,” he said, his voice once again detached, as though that moment of vulnerability never happened.
And then he turned and walked away leaving me standing there in the dim corridor, clutching the pieces of my heart that refused to stay broken.
As I returned home, Leo came running, wagging his tail, his soft barks echoing through the empty house. He’s the only one who stayed. The only constant in this chaos. I bent down to scratch behind his ear, my throat tightening.
“He said he never stopped loving me,” I whispered bitterly, staring at the floor, “What a joke, Leo.”
He tilted his head, as if he could feel my pain.
“No one is that busy,” I continued, voice trembling with anger I’d buried for years. “Couldn’t he send one text? One call? Just one sign that he was alive while I was breaking apart piece by piece?”
Leo whimpered softly, and I laughed a broken, bitter laugh. “You’re right. Maybe I’m the fool for still caring.”
I fed him, showered, and tried to lose myself in correcting answer sheets, but even the red ink blurred under my eyes. His voice echoed in my head ‘I never stopped.’ Lies. Empty words from a man who vanished like smoke.
I was done believing.
The next morning, I left for school early, trying to focus on my work, ignoring the murmurs from colleagues who were still buzzing about the “handsome Italian businessman” who’d visited last week. I buried myself in lessons, in papers, in anything that didn’t have his name on it.
By the time I returned home that evening, exhaustion had dulled the ache in my chest. I unlocked the door, dropped my bag on the table, and poured myself a glass of water when Leo suddenly barked, loud and sharp.
I frowned. “Leo, calm down!”
But he wouldn’t. He ran to the window, tail wagging, whining excitedly. I followed his gaze outside only for my hand to freeze midair.
There he was.
Lorenzo.
Standing in the porch right next door, talking to a man who seemed to be showing him around. His sleeves were rolled up, hair slightly tousled, as if he’d just arrived.
No. No, no, no. This couldn’t be real.
My stomach twisted as realization hit me like thunder. He wasn’t just visiting.
He was moving in.
My new neighbor.
I blinked hard, thinking maybe I was imagining it. But then his gaze lifted, catching mine through the half-open window. Time stopped. For a moment, neither of us moved. Then his lips curved into a faint, knowing smirk the kind that always meant trouble.
I quickly shut the curtains, my heart pounding against my ribs. “No,” I muttered to myself, pacing. “He wouldn’t. He can’t.”
But deep down, I knew Lorenzo De Romano didn’t do coincidences. He never did.
That evening, when I stepped out to get the newspaper, the moving truck was gone. And there he was again leaning casually against his gate, as if he’d been waiting.
“Good evening, piccola,” he said smoothly, the corners of his lips lifting.
I froze, gripping the newspaper tightly. “Don’t call me that,” I said coldly.
His eyes glinted, amused. “You’re still terrible at pretending you don’t care.”
“Believe me,” I snapped, walking past him, “I’ve gotten really good at pretending.”
He chuckled under his breath, the sound low and maddeningly familiar. “Then we’ll see how long that lasts, neighbor.”
I stopped mid-step. Neighbor. The word rolled off his tongue like a promise.
And just like that, my carefully rebuilt world began to crumble again.