m to her weary soul. While exploring the nearby village, she stumbled upon a quaint bookstore, its facade adorned with vintage shutters and a faded sign. "Lib

led over the spines, inhaling the musty scent of old books. Suddenly, she collided with a tall, handsome

seemed to stand still. "Mi dispiace," he said, his Italian accent melting Sophia's defenses. "I'm Ale

soothing. Sophia nodded, and together they browsed the shelves, their conversations flowing effortlessly. The bookstore became a sanctuary, a place where Sophia found solace in the writ