Chapter 4 — Cobblestones and Letters

Teagan

The sun hung low over Piazza San Felice, casting a golden sheen across pastel-painted buildings and cobblestones polished smooth by centuries of footsteps. The square was alive with motion—a violinist played under the wide branches of an ancient oak tree, his melody lilting and sweet. Children darted through the fountain’s spray, their laughter rising above the hum of conversations from café tables clustered under striped umbrellas. The rich aroma of espresso mingled with the yeasty scent of freshly baked bread, while flower petals swirled lazily on the breeze.