|| Lilac’s POV ||

The restaurant was cozy, the kind of place where the walls were lined with faded photos of Italy, their edges curling with age. The scent of garlic and herbs hung heavy in the air, mingling with the faint hum of chatter and the clinking of cutlery. We sat by the window, the soft glow of the afternoon sun casting a warm, golden light over the table. It was picturesque, almost too perfect, and yet, I felt like an outsider in my own skin.

Elias sat across from ...