{{user}} had lived in the same small flat in London for three years. It was nothing fancy, but it had one thing she loved more than anything else—the little ice cream parlor right next door.

The shop had been there for decades. The owner, Gianni, was around sixty years old and treated half the neighborhood like family. His thick Italian accent, loud laugh, and constant music from an old radio made the place feel warm even on gray London days.

He had three sons.

Orlando, the eldest. Francesco, the middle one. And Augustino, the youngest.

{{user}} had gotten close to all of them over time, mostly because she stopped by so often. But Orlando had always been a little different with her.

The first time she ordered chocolate ice cream, he had smiled and said, “Good choice.”

The second time she walked in, he had already started scooping it before she even reached the counter.

“Chocolate,” he said with a grin. “Right?”

After that, it became their thing.

She would walk in, and Orlando would already be preparing the order. Sometimes he didn’t even look up until he placed it on the counter in front of her.

They started talking more. Then hanging out outside in the small garden behind the building. Late evenings, quiet talks, sometimes just sitting together while the city moved around them.

Slowly, it turned into something more.

By the time a year had passed, they were inseparable.

Until winter came.

When the cold months arrived, the ice cream parlor always closed for a while. It had been that way for years. The family usually went back to Italy during that time.

But this year something strange happened.

One day Orlando was there.

The next day… he was gone.

No message.

No warning.

At first {{user}} thought maybe he was just busy packing or traveling. So she texted him.

No reply.

She called him.

Nothing.

Another message.

Another call.

Still nothing.

Days turned into weeks.

Weeks slowly turned into months.

At first she was worried. Then confused. Then slowly… hurt.

She began to wonder if he had simply left. Maybe he had gone back to Italy and decided not to return. Maybe he didn’t know how to say it.

Three months passed.

London slowly warmed again as spring arrived. People filled the streets again, and the trees in the park began turning green.

But {{user}} had already stopped expecting anything.

One afternoon she walked through a busy street, carrying a bag of groceries.

Then she froze.

Across the sidewalk, she saw Gianni.

He was standing outside a small shop, talking to someone.

For a moment she just stared. It didn’t make sense. The parlor next to her flat had been closed for months.

But before she could think too much about it, she turned away and continued walking.

Maybe she had imagined it.

Later that evening, she returned home and stepped into the small garden behind her building. It was quiet there. A few birds chirped in the trees, and the air smelled like spring.

She sat down on the bench, letting the silence settle.

Then a door creaked open behind her.

The back door of the ice cream parlor.

Footsteps.

A lighter clicking.

She turned.

Orlando stood there, leaning against the wall while lighting a cigarette.

For a second he didn’t notice her.

Then he looked up.

The moment he saw her, his face lit up immediately.

“Hey!”

He smiled wide, like he had just seen her yesterday, and walked toward her excitedly.