I wake up abruptly from my afternoon nap. The room is bathed in a soft, golden light—the kind that only exists during the magic hour, when reality blurs into something more ethereal. I stretch, my muscles protesting the sudden movement. The window beckons, its wooden frame creaking as I push it open.
A gust of icy wind sweeps in, ruffling the white lace curtains. They flutter like delicate butterflies, caught in a dance with the elements. The air smells of pine and distant rain—a promise of something wild and untamed beyond the walls of my room.
And then I hear it—the haunting melody. Monks, their voices ancient and otherworldly, have gathered outside the ancient monastery. Their chants weave through the air, a fragile bridge connecting the mundane to the divine. It’s as if time itself has paused, allowing me to exist in this suspended moment.
I glance at my smartwatch—it marks seven. Punctual like a Swiss watch! The monks will keep singing for an hour, and I’ll listen to them until the very end. But duty calls—I must hurry. The world awaits beyond the monastery gates.
I descend the worn wooden stairs, each step echoing with memories of generations past. The massive door looms ahead, its bronze knob cool to the touch. I turn it, and with a soft click, the door swings open.
Outside, the world is waiting—an adventure, an enigma. I step into the unknown, ready to accept the unbelievable. Who knows what wonders lie beyond that threshold? Perhaps the monks’ song holds the key, or maybe it’s the wind itself, whispering secrets only the brave can hear.
But for now, I step forward, my heart racing. The old grandparents’ house fades behind me, and I embrace the mystery that awaits. Click. 🚪
Incipit by my novel in english version, There Is alwais a tomorrow
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ANTONELLA CARULLO 