Chapter 3 Ava's Pov

The air in Italy smelled different, warm and sweet, like ripe fruit and wildflowers carried on a lazy breeze. I sat quietly in the backseat of Maria's car, watching the countryside blur past my window. It had been almost a week since I'd woken up in that small hospital, confused and terrified, with no name, no memories, and no idea who I was.

Maria had been kind. Too kind, really. She hadn't owed me anything, but she took me in, gave me a place to stay, and when the doctors said there were no records to trace who I might be, she asked me to come with her to Italy. She said she couldn't leave me alone, not like that.

I'd said yes. Not because I trusted her entirely, I wasn't sure I trusted anyone, but because there was nowhere else to go. And something about the necklace she gave me, the heart-shaped pendant engraved with the initials "N & A", tugged at something deep inside me. A ghost of a feeling. A name I couldn't reach.

Now we were here, and as we pulled through the gates of her family home, an old villa tucked behind a grove of olive trees, I felt a strange pull in my chest. Not recognition, not quite. Just a heavy ache, like my soul was remembering something my mind still refused to.

"You okay?" Maria asked gently, her hand resting on the steering wheel.

I gave a small nod. "I think so."

She offered me a soft smile. "There's no rush, cara. Take it all one step at a time."

I stepped out of the car and followed her into the villa. The house was beautiful. Old, but full of character. Stone walls, arched doorways, soft rugs, and the scent of fresh herbs and lemon drifting in from the kitchen. But none of it felt familiar. I watched Maria's family greet me with warm smiles, her cousin Luca, her aunt Giulia and I smiled back, even though I felt like I was floating somewhere outside of my own body.

The days passed slowly. I tried to settle in. Maria gave me a room with a big window overlooking the garden. I started helping around the house, folding laundry, peeling tomatoes, learning how to bake their crusty loaves of bread. It was... peaceful. But in the quiet moments, when I was alone, the silence in my head roared. My name was a mystery. My past was a fog. And every time I closed my eyes, that same voice whispered through the darkness "I'll always love you, Ava."

Ava. Was that really my name? It felt right. Familiar. But it was all I had.

One afternoon, Maria poked her head into the kitchen where I was helping slice basil.

"We're expecting someone in a bit. An old family friend. He used to visit often when I was younger. He's very sweet, you'll like him."

I wiped my hands on a towel. "Should I go upstairs?"

"No, no," she said quickly. "You're part of the family now. Stay."

So I stayed. I lingered near the stairs, unsure of what to do with myself, smoothing down the hem of the linen dress Maria had lent me.

And then I heard the front door creak open.

Soft voices murmured something in Italian. Laughter. The clink of keys on a wooden table.

I stepped down the staircase slowly, meaning to greet whoever had come. But as I reached the last step and turned the corner, everything shifted.

The woman standing in the foyer was holding a ceramic dish wrapped in a tea towel. Her eyes met mine, and she froze.

The dish fell from her hands, crashing to the floor.

Her face went ghost-white.

"Luciana...?" she whispered, her voice trembling, eyes wide.

I blinked at her, stunned. "I-I'm sorry?"