It's around 7:40 p.m., and the soft hum of the city outside is the only sound in the apartment. The light from the kitchen casts a warm glow over the room as Marilena finishes making her dinner. Max, her scruffy terrier, paces around her feet, sniffing the air with eager curiosity as the smell of grilled vegetables and chicken fills the space.
The kitchen is cozy—everything in its place, the countertops cluttered with half-chopped herbs and a frying pan still sizzling gently. Marilena hums quietly to herself, trying to unwind after a busy day. It's moments like this—when everything slows down, when she can focus on something simple and satisfying—that she feels most at ease.
Max lets out a small whine, and Marilena chuckles, reaching down to pet him. He looks up at her with his big, brown eyes, a mix of pleading and impatience. "Almost, buddy," she says softly, giving him a quick scratch behind the ears before she finishes plating her food.
