Invisible string is a story about Angelys Diaz, a model disillusioned by her glamorous life, and Franco Colapinto, an F1 driver seeking something real. Their unexpected connection reveals the power of authenticity and the invisible ties that can pul...
"Sometimes the most real thing you can do is allow yourself to be seen, without the masks you wear for the world."
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The restaurant was tucked into a quiet corner of Monte Carlo, far from the flash of cameras and the murmur of curious onlookers. It wasn't the kind of place Angelys was used to—a far cry from the Michelin-starred places she frequented with industry elites. The walls were lined with family photos, the lighting was soft and the scent of garlic and freshly baked bread filled the air.
Franco had chosen it.
She sat across from him at the table barely big enough for the two, her legs crossed elegantly under the small cloth-covered surface. The glow of a single candle danced between them, catching the golden flakes in her soft brown eyes.
"This isn't what I expected." Angelys admitted, folding her hands on her lap.
Franco raised an eyebrow as he poured them both water from the glass pitcher. "What did you expect then?"
I don't know... Something more extravagant?" She paused, looking around the restaurant. " But it's nice. Different."
His lips quirked into a small smile. "Extravagant isn't really my thing. I like places where people talk to each other, not to their phones."
She blinked, caught off guard. "So you don't do the whole F1 driver glam lifestyle? The parties, the yachts?"
Franco shrugged, leaning back in the wooden chair. "I'll go if I have to. But I don't need all that. Honestly, I'd rather be here."
Angelys studied him, unsure whether he was being genuine or just trying to charm her. He didn't seem like the type to fake sincerity, but she had learned the hard way not to trust people too quickly.
"You don't strike me as the simple type," she spoke, her tone lightly teasing.
He chuckled, the sound warm and unguarded. "And you don't strike me as the kind of person who actually enjoys those extravagant parties."
She opened her mouth to reply but stopped. He wasn't wrong. She didn't enjoy them, not really. They were all performance, a role she played because it was expected of her.
Before she could say more the waiter appeared, placing two plates of steaming pasta and fresh bruschetta on the table. Angelys gazed down at the food, surprised again.
"You didn't order?" She whispered. "I ordered for us earlier," Franco said softly, his tone easy. "Hope thats okay. The chef here makes a cacio e pepe that'll change your life."
She raised an eyebrow. "Confident, aren't you?"
He leaned forward, his eyes locking with hers. "I had a feeling you'd like it."
And as Angelys took her first bite, she realised he was right. The flavour was simply perfect, nothing like the over complicated dishes she was used to.
"This is amazing," she mumbled, caught off guard by how much she meant it.
Franco grinned, taking a bite of his food. "Told you."
For the first time in what felt like forever, Angelys felt something shift in her chest. The world outside—the glamour, the noise, the endless expectations–seemed to fade away, leaving only the clink of their forks and the warmth of his gaze.
"So" he said after a while, his voice casual but probing. "What are you running from?"
She froze, her fork hovering mid-air above the plate. "What makes you think I'm running?"
Franco didn't answer right away, his eyes scanning her face as if searching for something. "Because you look at the world like it's a cage, not a gift." he finally said, a small smile tugging at his lips.
Angelyses cheat tightened, but she didn't look away. Maybe it was the candle light, or the fact that no one had ever spoken to her like this before, but she found herself wanting to answer.
"And what about you?" She countered, her voice quieter. "What are you chasing?"
Franco smiled lightly, but this time, there was something wishful in it. "Something real."
The words hung in the air between them like a weight, heavy but not uncomfortable. Angelys leaned back in her chair, eyes drifting to the little cracks on the candleholder. She thought about how long it had been since someone had seen her, not the polished version of her, but the cracks underneath.
Maybe tonight, for the first time in years, she didn't mind being seen.
