Stellina

Flecks of Gold

A smile formed across his lips. "Let me show you something." She felt his arms embracing her, wrapping around her head as his hands covered her eyes. She relaxed, her heart fluttering. "Sometimes, if I close my eyes, I can hear the music. Picture your fingers flying across the fingerboard, the smell of rosin fresh on the strings, the sweet sound of Mozart."

Lina felt as if she were inhaling the music. It transported her to a quaint coffee shop in Marseilles, where little children licked their lips clean of flaky pastry crumbs and decadent frosting. A piano and viola blended together, the notes soaring into the coffee-tainted air. Together, they formed the notes of Beethoven and Mozart, and other German composers that Luka loved.

It took her away from the decaying, cramped apartment. Away from her red-faced, bitter mother. Away from the little girl who so desperately wanted to be loved.

His hands lifted. Gradually, Lina's eyes opened. "That was beautiful."

"I could tell. I think it was one of the most beautiful sounds you've ever produced on that viola." He chuckled.

Lina rolled her eyes. Yet with the exuberance she felt came another tugging feeling on her heart.

"I think we better head home now. There's something we have to do," Lina wrote.

• • •

The journey home was slightly less daunting than the one there. Lina's step had a certain determination, mixed in with a lightness that she felt when Luka and she would trek through fields of lavender and sunflowers. With each step, she felt closer to Stella. It couldn't be that difficult to find a necklace, right? She pictured the books, lying in the attic littered with wax paper and flaky croissant crumbs. Between the pages were names and letters to Birdie's friends.

And where else would the necklace be if not with one of her dear acquaintances?

The sun warmed her cheeks as Luka led her through various meadows, along bubbling creeks, and through bustling train stations. The air smelled of the wilting lavender buds nestled in Lina's pocket, stale tobacco, and bubbling laughter.

"Hey, wait, don't throw that away!" Luka said, snatching an empty croissant wrapper from Lina's hand. A smattering of flaky crumbs tumbled from the crevices onto the cobblestone road.

Lina rolled her eyes. "And why not? I'm not going to bring it on the train with me. It leaves in thirty minutes, you know." She looked at the various passersby that strolled by, absorbed in a newspaper or occupied with a crying child. The bustling, vibrant streets of northern Italy were a stark contrast to that of a seemingly dull Marseilles, at least according to Lina.

Luka licked his lips, withdrawing something from his pocket. He playfully mussed his dark hair, gazing up at the sky as if in deep thought. "You're not the only one who carries around pens, you know."

Lina watched intently as the pen bled onto the paper, the thin lines of ink precise and thick. His fingers danced expertly like on the piano, a craftsmen producing a masterpiece. Finally, he held it up to the streaming sunlight, satisfaction in his eyes.

"There. Take a look."

Lina leaned over, breathing in the aroma of fresh spring air. It was a fairly basic sketch, an outline of a rose, the thorns prominent on the stem. From the petals dripped drops of music notes, trickling onto the ground. A few petals lay shriveled next to the music notes, lifeless.

She bit her lip, sucking in her breath. "Wow, this is... interesting. I mean, it's very beautiful, Luka. Most boys just draw a simple daisy or something."

Luka chuckled, tucking the croissant wrapper back in his pocket. "So you have lots of boys sketching flowers for you on used trash, do you?"

Lina rolled her eyes. "Come, Luka, before we miss the train," she wrote.