Isabel loved Italian squares.
Especially at dawn, when the sun lit up the buildings at a three-quarter angle and the cafés opened their shutters one after the other, like in the choreography of a musical.
The tables would then fill with people, cappuccinos, newspapers, and for a moment, time would pass more slowly.
Isabel was leaving, taking with her what was left of the summer. She watched all that colourful, noisy throng of people from the taxi window.
So different, yet so similar to what she was used to. It made her feel safe.
Yet, it was a whisper that kept her there forever.