Aurelia stepped off the plane just as the sun rose over Milan, painting the sky in a pale golden hue, as if the city had adorned itself in opulence to welcome her. She emerged with oversized sunglasses and a quiet weariness, the kind only heartbreak could carve. This wasn’t a vacation; it was her chosen remedy: retail therapy in the world’s fashion capital.
Via Monte Napoleone buzzed with sophistication. Women in camel coats carried bags that spoke of wealth without shouting logos, while men in tailored wool suits sipped espresso as though it were fine perfume. The air was rich with the scent of leather, pastries, and fresh starts, and Aurelia breathed it in deeply. Here, she wasn’t broken; she was a fashionista reborn.
Her first stop was a discreet boutique, its mirrored doors known only to insiders. The sales assistant greeted her not with rehearsed smiles, but with reverence, treating the clothes as sacred and Aurelia as royalty. She ran her fingers over silk gowns, cashmere coats, and supple leather handbags that felt like promises. A forest-green coat caught her eye, hugging her like an apology the world owed her. When she slipped it on, her reflection shifted—she no longer looked wounded; she looked luxurious.
Next were the shoes. Patent-leather stilettos, dark as espresso, stood like sculptures under golden lights. She walked across the marble floor, the sound of her heels echoing her returning confidence. The assistant nodded in approval. “Perfetto,” he murmured. Perfect. Aurelia smiled, letting the word settle into her heart.
Over lunch at a café, she wore her new coat, sipping Prosecco and savouring bruschetta like someone who had never known sorrow. The people around her were living stories: an elderly couple comparing silk scarves, a model debating red lipstick, a designer sketching passionately in a notebook. Aurelia realised Milan wasn’t just about fashion, it was a sanctuary for anyone who believed beauty could mend the soul.
Her last purchase wasn’t a bag or shoes but a bottle of perfume, white florals and amber, warm and sensual. The scent lingered on her skin like a memory she wished she’d had. Stepping onto the bustling street, she felt transformed. Not because of what she’d bought, but because Milan had rekindled her spirit with confidence. That evening, as the city lights turned the cobblestones into a shimmering spectacle, Aurelia returned to her hotel suite, shopping bags stacked like trophies. In her emerald coat, with her heels kicked off but her heart lifted, she stood by the window. Milan hadn’t healed her heartbreak, but it had reframed her story. She wasn’t broken, she was evolving.
Some heal with tears; Aurelia healed with beauty. And Milan, oh, Milan was the most indulgent therapy she could have ever imagined.
No comments:
Post a Comment