1944
Rhone, France
Leo

   The bathroom was coloured with soft, muted hues that dominated the palette, with pastel-coloured tiles that frame the space. The walls bore a tapestry of patterned wallpaper, depicting delicate florals that whispered of a bygone elegance. A vintage mirror hung above the sink, its ornate frame reflecting the passage of time in its delicate patina. The sink itself, an embodiment of craftsmanship, boasted its gently curved edges and decorative porcelain fixtures.

My footsteps met the cool, reassuring touch of the floor, a patchwork of vintage tiles as I made my way to the centrepiece of the room that stood proudly on clawfoot legs. 
I held breath in anticipation, and lowered myself into the awaiting warmth. The surface of the water shimmered and rippled, dancing with the gentle undulations caused by the weight of my hand. A smile formed on my face as I adjusted the faucets, the rhythmic percussion of droplets echoing in the room like a soft, distant melody. A solitary window was veiled by gauzy, dark red curtains, shielding me from the world beyond.

 "Leo?"

That voice. It did not belong to anyone who resided here.

It was Matteo.

I felt soft hands running through my hair, touching my cheek affectionately, with a sense of yearning. A sigh escaped my lips as I closed my eyes.

"Matteo?" I whispered.

Silence lingered, heavy and unanswered.

My eyelids fluttered open, midday