In the shadow of Naples

6.

It was early in the morning when I woke up. The sun was shining through the curtains, casting a warm glow on my bed. For the first time in a long while, I felt a flicker of calm, a rare feeling that was quickly disrupted when my phone began to vibrate. The screen lit up with a barrage of missed calls and messages. More than thirty-five missed calls. I sighed. "I really need to get a new number," I muttered, scrolling through the notifications. The messages were always the same, filled with accusations and questions from my parents and my ex, the very people I had been trying to escape.

With a deep sigh, I opened a new family group chat and sent a message that left no room for misinterpretation: "This is the last time I'll say it. I don't want anything more to do with you. Leave me alone." Without hesitation, I blocked everyone, determined not to reconnect until I was truly ready.

After putting my phone aside, I walked to the bathroom and looked at myself in the mirror. "Now it's time to focus on myself," I said quietly to my reflection. But just as I was about to start my day, my phone started buzzing again. Annoyed, I wanted to ignore it, but then I saw the name on the screen: Maria.

Maria, the woman I had met just yesterday. Curiosity overtook my irritation, and I opened the message. "Good morning, B, do you feel like having breakfast at my pavilion?" She gave the address and the name of the place.

A smile crept across my face, a welcome distraction from the chaos earlier. "That sounds lovely," I typed back. "I'll get ready and head over."

Over an hour later, I arrived at the pavilion. It was beautifully situated on the boulevard, with a wide view of the shimmering sea and the imposing Vesuvius in the background. The morning air was fresh, filled with the scent of salt water and the first coffee of the day.

Maria was already waiting for me and greeted me with a warm hug. "Good morning," she said, beaming. "I've already set something up for us."

She led me to a table near the edge of the terrace, offering a stunning view. On the table was a typical Italian breakfast: freshly baked cornetti, delicate croissants filled with sweet jam, and a jug of steaming, fragrant coffee. It was simple but perfect, exactly as I had imagined.

"This looks delicious," I said as I sat down. The smell of coffee filled my senses, and the tension from the morning began to slowly melt away. Maria poured us both a cup, and we started talking. First about the small things, the weather, the view but soon we drifted into deeper topics.

"How did you end up here?" Maria asked after a while, her eyes sparkling with curiosity. "You mentioned something about your work yesterday."

I took a sip of my coffee and paused for a moment before answering. "I worked as a trauma surgeon in London," I began. "When I got the chance to work here in Italy, I took it without much thought. It was an opportunity to escape a situation that was making me miserable."

Maria nodded, her gaze genuinely interested. "And now that you're here, how are you finding it?" she asked softly.

"It's a relief," I admitted. "London is gloomy, the people are distant. Life there sometimes feels like an endless journey without a destination. Here in Naples, everything feels different. Despite the problems here, there's always a certain lightness, a joy that I never found in London. People talk to each other, laugh, even when life is hard."

Maria smiled, her eyes warm with understanding. "I'm glad we met," she said with genuine happiness. "Do you want a mini tour? I can show you the places you absolutely need to know and the ones you should avoid. Every corner of this city has its own story."

After breakfast, Maria led me through the winding streets of Naples. Her enthusiasm and love for the city were contagious. We visited hidden squares, historic churches, and narrow alleyways filled with colorful laundry lines and flowerpots. Everywhere we went, it seemed Maria knew someone, and she was greeted with warm smiles and friendly words.

"Here, in this square," she said as we stood by an old fountain, "was once the main market of Naples. For generations, people gathered here to trade and share stories. This is the heart of the city."

We got lunch from a small bakery Maria described as the best in Naples. It was a charming place with wooden tables and walls covered in black-and-white photos of the city from times long past. The smell of freshly baked bread filled the air, and I couldn't disagree when Maria said this was the best focaccia I'd ever taste.

"Try this," she said, handing me a slice of focaccia fresh from the oven, topped with juicy tomatoes and a hint of basil. The taste was divine, a perfect balance between crispy crust and soft filling.

The atmosphere in the bakery was warm and inviting. People sat at small tables, enjoying their lunch, while soft Italian music filled the space. It felt as though time moved slower here, as though everyone had briefly forgotten the rush of daily life and surrendered to the simple pleasures of good food and good company.

After a full day of exploring the city, Maria brought me back to my apartment. "Thank you for this amazing day," I said as we said goodbye at the door. "I really enjoyed it."

"I did too," she replied with a smile. "We should do this again soon."

As I stepped into my apartment, I felt a deep sense of contentment. I reheated the rest of my meal from the previous day and decided to eat it on my balcony. While I sat there, the evening air surrounding me, I savored the sounds of Naples the hum of people below, the soft clinking of cutlery on plates, and the distant echoes of music drifting through the streets.

"Naples," I whispered to myself as I took the last bite and raised my glass of wine to the stars. "This is exactly what I needed."