Invisible string is a story about Angelys Diaz, a model disillusioned by her glamorous life, and Franco Colapinto, an F1 driver seeking something real. Their unexpected connection reveals the power of authenticity and the invisible ties that can pul...
"Sometimes going home isn't about finding where you belong—it's about remembering who you were before the world told you who to be."
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Angelys Diáz stepped into her apartment, immediately met by her cat Cinnamon. Angelys smiled down at her fluffy beige coloured cat, scooping the little fur ball into her arms. She walked further into her Parisian home, letting the cat down to run off while she wandered the hallway of her home. Angelys traced her hand over the picture frames hanged on the walls, smiling at the sight of her and her mother.
Marian Alice Diáz, Angelys Marian Diázes beloved mother had died three years ago due to Cancer in her lungs. She missed her, she missed the woman who raised her alone after her father left them at Angelyses birth. She was her everything, her mom, her guardian, her best friend, her whole world. Angelys suffered from depression after the death of her mother, locking herself away from the world. Until she forced herself back into modelling, throwing herself into work till she was exhausted.
She knew her mother would have wanted her to continue her life and not wallow on her death. And she didn't, but from time to time her face would appear in her mind reminding her of how amazing the woman truly was. Angelys sighed, moving away from the pictures.
She walked further into her small home. The apartment felt hollow, like a shell of the life she'd once lived. The walls, adorned with carefully curated art and memories, no longer brought her comfort. The faint scent of jasmine, her mother's favorite, still lingered in the air, but instead of soothing her, it only deepened the ache in her chest.
Angelys sat on the edge of her bed, her suitcase half-unpacked beside her. She ran her hand over the soft duvet, the same one she'd bought when she first moved in. It had once been a symbol of independence, of carving out a life on her own terms. Now, it felt like a stranger's possession, as if the girl who had chosen it was long gone.
She glanced at the picture frames on the wall, her eyes landing on one of her and her mother in a sunlit garden. The smiles on their faces seemed foreign now—unburdened, carefree, full of a joy she hadn't felt in years.
This apartment used to feel like home. It had been her refuge after her mother's death, the place where she'd rebuilt herself piece by piece. But now, it was just another stage, another set where she played the part of Angelys Diaz, the successful model.
Her thoughts drifted back to Monaco, to the unassuming restaurant and Franco's steady gaze. For the first time in years, she had felt seen—not as a name or a face on a magazine cover, but as a person. He had stripped away the layers without even trying, leaving her raw and vulnerable in a way that terrified her.
Angelys stood abruptly, the silence of the apartment pressing down on her. She wandered to the window, staring out at the Paris skyline. The city had always been her dream, but now it felt like a cage, trapping her in a life she wasn't sure she wanted anymore.
She whispered to herself, "Why doesn't this feel like home?"
The words lingered in the air, unanswered.
Her phone buzzed on the nightstand. For a moment, she ignored it, but curiosity got the better of her. It was a message from Franco.
"Do you ever feel like you're chasing the wrong dream?"
Her breath caught. She sank onto the bed, staring at the screen. It was as if he had reached into her chest and plucked out the question she was too afraid to ask herself.
Angelys typed back, her fingers trembling slightly. "Every day."
Angelys stared at the screen after sending the message, her heart pounding in the silence of the room. She wasn't sure what she expected—maybe no response at all, maybe something light to brush off the vulnerability she'd just shown. Instead, Franco replied almost immediately.
"What keeps you going then?"
She hesitated, her fingers hovering over the keyboard. How could she explain that it was momentum, not passion, that kept her moving forward? That the glamorous life she led felt like running downhill—unstoppable, uncontrollable, and exhausting?
Finally, she typed, "Habit, I think. It's easier to keep going than to stop and figure out what's missing."
The dots indicating Franco was typing appeared and disappeared a few times, as if he were carefully considering his response. When his message came through, it felt like he'd peeled back another layer of her soul.
"Maybe what's missing is why you feel like you don't belong anywhere."
Angelys exhaled, her chest tightening. She leaned back against the headboard, staring up at the ceiling. He was right, of course. She had spent so long chasing after a dream—her mother's dream, really—that she'd never stopped to ask herself what she truly wanted.
"How do you find it?" she typed back before she could second-guess herself.
This time, Franco's reply was quick. "By letting yourself get lost."
She frowned at the screen, reading his words over and over. Get lost? She was already lost. Every time she looked in the mirror, she felt like she was staring at a stranger.
Before she could respond, another message came through. "I know it sounds strange, but sometimes you have to let go of the life you think you're supposed to live. That's what I'm trying to do."
Angelys felt a pang of curiosity. She had spent the entire dinner in Monaco peeling back the layers of her own façade, but she hadn't truly stopped to think about what Franco might be running from.
"What are you letting go of?"
There was a pause. When Franco's response came, it was brief but heavy with meaning. "Everything I thought I wanted."
Angelys let her phone slip from her hands onto the bed. She pressed her palms to her face, as if trying to hold herself together. His words echoed in her mind, touching a nerve she hadn't even realized was exposed.
After a few moments, she picked up her phone again and typed, "Do you think it's possible to start over?"
This time, Franco's reply was immediate. "It is. But you have to be brave enough to take the first step."
She swallowed hard, her gaze drifting back to the photo of her and her mother. Her mother had always believed in her, always told her she was strong enough to face anything. Maybe it was time to prove that she was.
For the first time in a long time, Angelys felt the faint stirrings of hope—not for the life she was living, but for the possibility of something more.
