The girl.
Step by step, she moved closer.
Guests parted without realizing it.
Something in the air had shifted—something too heavy to ignore.
“When… when did she teach you that song?” the woman asked, her voice shaking now.
The girl wiped her cheek with the back of her hand.
“…when I was little. Before she got sick.”
The woman closed her eyes.
For a second—just one second—her composure broke completely.
When she opened them again, they were filled with something deeper than shock.
“…does she have a scar?” she asked. “On her wrist… small… like a line?”
The girl blinked.
“…yes.”
The woman staggered back as if the answer had physically struck her.
A hand flew to her mouth.
Tears spilled freely now.
“Oh my God…”
The wealthy man at the table shifted uncomfortably.
“Is this some kind of act?” he muttered.
No one laughed.
No one even looked at him.
Because the woman stepped forward again—faster this time.
“What’s your name?” she asked urgently.
The girl hesitated.
“…Lina.”
For illustration purposes only
The woman let out a broken sound—half sob, half disbelief.
“Lina…” she whispered.
Then she dropped to her knees.
Right there.
On the marble terrace.
In front of everyone.
Her hands hovered in the air, as if she was afraid to touch something that might disappear.
“…I’ve been looking for you,” she said, her voice trembling uncontrollably. “For years… I thought you were gone.”
The girl stared at her.
Confused.
Scared.
“…you know my mom?” she asked quietly.
The woman nodded, tears falling faster.
“She’s my sister.”
The world seemed to stop.
A collective breath—held—across the entire terrace.
The girl’s fingers tightened around the flute.
“…my aunt?” she whispered.
The woman broke completely then.
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