The Milano Casa apartment complex stood as a testament to modern luxury, boasting 10 floors of upscale residences. Each floor was divided into four spacious apartments, labeled from A to D.
The apartments themselves were a masterclass in sleek design, featuring high ceilings, expansive windows, and cutting-edge finishes.
Salomé and Giovanni's apartments were situated on the fifth floor, directly opposite each other. Salomé's apartment was 5B, while Giovanni's was 5A.
The symmetry of their apartments wasn't a coincidence; their fathers had deliberately arranged it, wanting them to look out for each other.
As the moving trucks pulled up, the air was filled with the cacophony of sounds that accompanied a move: furniture scraping against the floor, boxes thudding onto the sidewalk, and the occasional shout of the movers as they coordinated their efforts.
Salomé stood at the side, watching anxiously as they unloaded her belongings. She winced as a particularly fragile-looking box was jostled onto the sidewalk, silently praying that everything would make it to her apartment in one piece.
Giovanni, on the other hand, looked as nonchalant as ever. He leaned against the wall, his arms crossed over his chest, as he watched the movers with detached interest.
He wasn't the least bothered by the chaos unfolding before him, and Salomé found herself wondering how he could be so calm in the face of such upheaval.
Giovanni observed Salomé's antics from a distance with a mixture of amusement and fascination. The way her eyes widened with worry and her brows furrowed out of concern all piqued his interest.
A small smile unknowingly crept onto his lips as she chewed on her fingernails without even realizing it. He found it oddly endearing, this nervous energy of hers.
Before long, the movers had completed their task with remarkable efficiency. The trucks were empty, and Salomé and Giovanni's belongings were now scattered throughout their respective apartments.
The air was thick with the crisp scent of fresh paint and earthy smell of cardboard boxes.
The apartments, mirrored each other in layout, boasting identical expanses of hardwood flooring, sleek kitchen fixtures, and floor-to-ceiling windows that bathed the spaces in natural light.
Despite this, subtle differences emerged. Salomé's apartment was awash in warm, golden hues, while Giovanni's was characterized by a minimalist decor.
The girl unpacked the last of the boxes, and a sense of accomplishment washed over her. Her new apartment, once a white canvas, had now transformed into a warm and homey space.
The soft glow of the table lamps cast a cozy ambiance, and the plush area rug added a touch of warmth beneath her feet. With a final flourish, she opened the last of the boxes, which was labeled 'essentials'.
Her brows furrowed in confusion as she stumbled upon an assortment of kitchen utensils and gadgets. Being the only child of a well-to-do family, she was never allowed to go near a cooker, let alone cook a meal, in her life.
Her parents had always been overly protective, hiring cooks and housekeepers to handle all domestic duties. Even after they divorced and she came of age, she just never saw the need to learn how to cook.
As far as she knew, she had never held a ladle in the kitchen. Her father was well aware of this, so there was no way he could've added all these to her belongings.
Salomé's confusion deepened as she rummaged through the rest of the box, finding more unfamiliar items: an apron, a set of high-end precision knives, a marble mortar and pestle, a KitchenAid stand mixer, a Le Creuset Dutch oven in a vibrant shade of red, and a cookbook filled with recipes she had never heard of – each item was foreign to her, a reminder of her complete and utter ineptness in the kitchen.
She couldn't help but laugh at the absurdity of it all. Why would she, of all people, have a box filled with kitchen essentials? It just didn't add up.
Perplexed, Salomé searched the box for any sign of her own belongings. But everything she touched seemed to belong to someone else.
Her eyes widened a bit as she realized who the 'someone else' was.
She groaned out of frustration, wondering why everything was leading her back to him.
She had to return it to him, it was the right thing to do. But she couldn't bear to face him, not after all the tension that had built up between them.
With a sigh, Salomé arranged the contents back into the box and was about to close it, when her gaze fell on the cookbook that had been nestled among the kitchen gadgets.
She picked it up, flipping through the pages filled with recipes and cooking techniques. For a moment, Salomé felt a pang of curiosity.
Maybe, just maybe, she could learn to cook after all.
*
Giovanni placed the box, containing her set of lace underwear, by the door, rang the doorbell, and swiftly turned to leave, intending to disappear before Salomé answered the door.
Heat rose to his cheeks for the umpteenth time, remembering the contents of the box.
His movements were halted by the sudden blaring of the smoke alarm. Confused, Giovanni looked up, his eyes scanning the ceiling for any sign of smoke. And then, he caught a whiff of it – the acrid smell of burning plastic and fabric.
Giovanni's heart skipped a beat as he sighted the whiff of smoke billowing out from under the doo of Salomé's apartment.
Panic set in as he rushed to bang on the door and alert Salomé to the danger. But before he could make contact, the door swung open, and the cause of it all stood before him, looking like a disaster victim.
Soot covered her face, her hair was disheveled, and her clothes were stained with dark streaks and food bits. She held a ladle in one hand and a cookbook in the other, her eyes wide with a mixture of fear and confusion.
Of all, one thing that caught Giovanni's attention was the apron she was wearing – his Lego character apron, which was now damaged beyond recignition.
"I...cough...I think I set the kitchen on fire!" She wheezed out, her voice hoarse from inhaling smoke.