Lila walked up to the old house. It looked the same, barely weathered by the time she’d spent away from it. It still sat there, patched like a calico cat, bathing in the sun.

Tucked away in the corner, very few had noticed it. But she had. She had when she first came to Italy. She had every time since. Of course, that first time was very different from all the others.

She could still remember it; she was young, only 20, on break from college, ready to see the world, take it all in. No insecurities, and no doubts about the future. She walked the streets, looking for interesting sights, searching for one place she could call her own, something no one else had seen.

And then she spotted it. A tiny house, tucked into the intersection of 2 other houses. The paint was chipping away, revealing a long history of owners over time, so many different people. It sat quietly,like a grand dam, observing a new world somewhat disapprovingly.

And of course, she couldn’t help herself. She had to knock on the door.