We were all sitting cross-legged on the cold floor, hands weaving rough jute threads into carpets.
The fibers scratched my skin, the dust made my nose sting, but I barely noticed.
I kept glancing up.
At him.
Dante.
He sat just a few feet away, working with the same threads… but he wasn't really here.
His hands moved, but his eyes were distant—like he was looking at something none of us could see.
Something far away.
Something that hurt.
I looked again.
He hadn't glanced at me once since we came back inside.
Not even once.
This morning, we laughed.
We shared flowers.
He smiled.
And now…
Now he looked like the light had gone out behind his eyes.
I didn't understand.
I wanted to ask, "Are you okay?"
But I didn't.
I just kept weaving.
The ward's voice cracked through the silence like a whip.
"Dante! Focus!"
He jolted—like he'd been yanked out of a nightmare.
His fists clenched.
His jaw tightened.
I saw it.
The hatred in his eyes. The fire.
But he didn't say anything.
He didn't fight back.
He just lowered his head… and kept working.
So did I.
But the whole time, my fingers wove the threads—and my heart pulled tighter and tighter with every glance.
What happened to you, Luca?
The day dragged on. Our fingers were sore, backs aching, eyes dry.
But finally… finally it was done.
The carpets were finished.
The bell rang for dinner, and we all moved toward the hall like ghosts.
He didn't look up.
Not once.
Still lost.
Still silent.
Like something had stolen him from the inside out.
I sighed and sat down beside my little sister, helping her with her spoon like I always did. I ate quietly, but I kept stealing glances at him.
Waiting for the Dante from this morning to come back.
But he never did.
After dinner, we stood in line to wash our plates, just like always.
The floor was slippery, our hands tired.
And then—
Crash.
The sound of ceramic shattering echoed through the hall like thunder.
Everyone froze.
Dante had tripped.
His plate lay in pieces on the floor.
He stood there, stunned, staring at the shards.
My heart leapt. I didn't think—I just ran.
"Dante!" I whispered, kneeling beside him. "Are you okay?"
But it was too late.
The ward saw.
Stormed over.
Everyone backed away. Except me.
The ward's hand cracked across Dante's face.
Slap.
I gasped—but before I could speak, he raised his hand toward me.
I flinched—
But the slap never came.
Because Dante stepped in front of me.
Took the blow meant for me.
The sound was sharp. His face snapped to the side.
My breath caught.
He didn't even cry out.
The ward's voice was cold and sharp.
"You two. Since you like to cause trouble together—you'll wash everyone's dishes tonight. Every last one."
We nodded silently.
He didn't look at me.
I couldn't stop looking at him.
And as we stood there surrounded by soap and cold water and shame—
I whispered so only he could hear:
"You didn't have to do that."
But he just shook his head, eyes focused on the dishes.
"Yes, I did," he murmured.
He smiled weakly.
Everyone else was asleep.The halls were quiet, and the lights above us flickered with that dull yellow glow we'd gotten used to.
It was just me and him now.At the sinks.Hands red from scrubbing dishes.Eyes tired.Hearts heavier than they looked.
He hadn't said a word in a while.His face was red from the slap, the bruise spreading along his cheekbone like a stormcloud.
I watched him out of the corner of my eye.He looked so sad.
My chest tightened.
Then… without thinking, I reached out and placed my cold hand gently on his bruised cheek.
He flinched.
His eyes darted to mine—surprised, unsure.I didn't pull away.
I stepped onto the little wooden stool beside the sink—so I could reach him better.So I could see him properly.
He stared at me, frozen. His eyes were wide, like I'd caught him in a secret.Then he whispered it.
"Don't… mia cara. You don't have to."
My heart stuttered."…Mia cara?" I repeated.
He blinked. "I—I didn't mean to say that. It just means… My dear. In Italian. I won't say it again."
I tilted my head."No… I think you should. That's cute."
His breath caught.He didn't move for a second. Then—slowly—he nodded."Okay… mia cara."
It sounded different this time.Softer. Sweeter. Real.
We kept scrubbing dishes together, our hands moving through the water like nothing happened.But something had.
He glanced sideways at me."Why did you help me?"
I shrugged. "Because friends help each other."Then I looked at him and added, "And… you took a slap for me too."
He let out a breathy sound—almost a laugh."You're a silly mia cara."
I smiled, not even hiding it this time."I'm happy you're smiling again."
He stopped washing for just a second. Looked right at me.
"Then I'll always smile," he said, voice low, "if you like it."
My cheeks burned.I looked down, trying to hide the heat on my face.But my heart?
It was full.