Chapter: Echoes of Tom

The days in Florence were starting to feel more like hers. Olivia wrote every morning in the studio, and every afternoon, she wandered the streets as if trying to find the invisible threads that Tom had left behind on purpose.

One Tuesday, while browsing books in a small second-hand store, a soft voice called out to her from behind the counter.

"Are you Olivia?"

She turned, surprised. A woman in her fifties looked at her with a warm smile and slightly misted eyes.

"Yes... do we know each other?"

"Not personally. But I know who you are. Tom spoke a lot about you."

Olivia felt that knot in her chest, the one that came every time someone said her name in the past tense.

The woman stepped out from behind the counter and offered her a cup of tea that she had already prepared.

"My name is Francesca. I'm a retired teacher... and Tom was my student during his exchange. The brightest, the kindest. He came to this store every Friday, and we talked about books, art, and life. He would tell me about you like you were a character from a novel: brave, curious, a little stubborn... his favorite."

Olivia smiled with misty eyes.

"He was always like that," she whispered.

Francesca nodded.

"He left something for you. He told me that if you ever came, I should give it to you."

She went to the back room and returned with a small wooden box. Inside, there were postcards... all from places in Italy, all written by Tom, with old dates.

But these were no ordinary postcards. Each one had a story.

"Here, I want to see you eating pasta and smiling like crazy."

"This sunset needs your laughter."

"If you reach this bridge, leave a note under the smoothest stone. I did the same."

And at the bottom of the box, a photograph. Of Tom. With a ten-year-old boy. They were smiling in front of a hospital.

"He knew him too," said Francesca softly. "This boy's name is Matteo. Tom was his reading volunteer while the boy was recovering from cancer. He would read to him every afternoon. He gave him hope. He told me you would have done the same."

"Is he... okay?"

"Healthy. And he lives here with his mother. When I told him you were in Florence... he wants to meet you. He says he has something to tell you."