Chapter Six: The Echo of the Soul

The afternoon was warm in Florence. The sky was tinted with lavender tones, and the open windows of the gallery let in the scent of blooming jacarandas. Olivia was arranging some paintings for the new exhibition when Luciana walked in holding an envelope.

"This arrived for you," she said with a soft smile. "It has a seal from Rome."

Olivia took it with curiosity. It wasn't common to receive physical mail, much less from Italy itself. She sat on the wooden bench by the entrance and carefully opened the envelope. Inside, there was a letter written in blue ink, the handwriting clear and honest.

Dear Olivia,

My name is Noelia. I found your book in a bookstore hidden in Rome. I wasn't looking for it, didn't even know it existed, but that title... "Live for Me"... it found me.

I've lived through gray weeks. I lost someone I don't know how to stop loving, and I thought there was nothing left inside me. But I opened your book, and I began to read you. Or rather, it felt as though you were reading me.

Your words feel as if you're speaking directly into my ear. As if with each sentence you whispered: "You are not alone."

I cried. Not from sadness, but from relief. From knowing that someone survived love and pain. And that it's not betrayal to keep living.

Thank you for staying. Thank you for writing. For not giving up.

And if you ever doubt the impact of your words, remember this letter. I promise you, because of you, today I decided to stay one more day.

With eternal love, Noelia.

Olivia couldn't hold back the tears. She felt a warmth in her chest, something that wasn't sadness, nor nostalgia... it was gratitude. It was Tom, in some way, reaching out to her through the heart of another person. It was the echo of their story traveling farther than she could ever imagine.

She looked up at the sky, at the space that had so many times felt empty, and whispered:

"Do you see it, love? We did it. Your words... our words... they're helping."

She stood up, tucked the letter between the pages of her copy of Live for Me—right where Tom had spoken of the fear of disappearing without leaving a trace—and returned to her work. But that afternoon was different. Because now she knew that she wasn't just remembering Tom.

She was sharing him with the world.