On a quiet Tuesday afternoon, between the lunch and dinner service, Isabella is sitting in the restaurant reading a book when a young man comes in and asks if they are still serving food.
"I am afraid the kitchen is closed until six," says Isabella. "But I can offer you a coffee or tea if you would like."
The man — tall, with dark curly hair and a friendly smile — looks a little disappointed but agrees. "A flat white would be great, thank you."
Isabella makes the coffee and brings it over. The man is reading a notebook covered in sketches and diagrams.
"Are you an architect?" asks Isabella, noticing the drawings.
He looks up, surprised. "Almost — I am a product designer. These are ideas for a new project." He pauses. "Actually, you have a good eye. Most people think they are engineering drawings."
"I studied design in Italy," says Isabella. "Before I came to London."
His name is James. He is from Bristol but has been living in London for three years, working for a design studio in Shoreditch. They talk for nearly an hour — about design, about Italy, about London, about the strange path that brings people to unexpected places.
"You gave up a design career to work in a restaurant?" he asks, not unkindly.
"Not gave up," says Isabella. "Paused. I needed to learn the language properly first, to build a life here. The restaurant gave me that foundation. But design is still part of me."
James nods slowly. "That actually makes a lot of sense. I think people who have done something completely different always bring something extra to their work."
Before he leaves, James asks if he can come back sometime. "The coffee is excellent," he says, "and the conversation is even better."
Isabella smiles. "We are open every day except Monday."
Over the following weeks James becomes a regular. He always comes in the quiet afternoon slot, orders a flat white, and they talk whenever Isabella has a moment. Maria notices and raises an eyebrow.
"He comes in a lot," she says one evening after closing.
"He likes the coffee," says Isabella.
Maria laughs. "Of course he does."
Isabella is not sure what to make of it. She has been so focused on her training, her studies, her friendships, that she has not thought much about anything else. But she finds herself looking forward to Tuesday afternoons.
One day James brings in a design magazine and shows her an article about Italian designers working abroad. "I thought of you when I read this," he says.
Isabella reads the article carefully. It is about how living in a different culture changes the way designers think — how displacement, far from being a disadvantage, can become a creative strength.
"This is exactly how I feel," she says quietly. "I see things differently now. London has given me a new perspective."
"You should think about going back to design," says James. "Not instead of what you are doing — but alongside it. Even just sketching again, keeping that part of yourself alive."
That evening Isabella takes out a sketchbook she has not opened since leaving Rome. She sits at her kitchen table and begins to draw — not anything in particular, just shapes, ideas, impressions of the city. The canal at dusk. The geometry of the market stalls. The way light falls through the restaurant windows in the morning.
She draws for two hours without stopping.
When she finally puts down her pencil, she feels something she has not felt in a long time: the particular satisfaction of making something. Of seeing the world and translating it into a language only she can speak.
"I had forgotten about this part of me," she thinks. "I am glad it is still there."