The rain had not stopped, and its noise hit the large windows of the apartment in Dorobanți. Isabella stood in front of the mirror, her makeup smudged and her hair disheveled, a rare sight for her. She held her hands on the table and stared blankly. The same image kept coming back to her mind: that small crescent moon marked on the boy’s skin.
“It can’t be…,” she murmured softly. “It can’t be him… after all these years.”
And yet, her heart told her otherwise. It reminded her of the way Luca looked at her when he got lost in the garden, of his big, gentle eyes. Since then, no photographs, no clues, nothing. Just silence and a void that had torn her apart inside.
She picked up the phone and dialed a number.
— Mircea, do you know that boy from today? The one in the old town… I want you to find him. No matter what.
The bodyguard’s voice sounded confused, but she hung up. She had no patience left. She couldn’t sleep.
At first light, she left the house. No driver, no expensive clothes. Just a jacket, an umbrella, and an old photograph of Luca that she always carried in her wallet. She walked through the passage at the University, on the wet streets, asking homeless people if they had seen the boy. Most shrugged their shoulders.
After hours of searching, a woman with a wet dog told her:
— You might find him at that canteen near the train station. The street kids go there in the evening.
She ran. Her heart raced wildly. When she arrived, it was already dark. In the small, steamy room filled with the smell of soup, she spotted a thin silhouette in line. The same messy hair, the same torn coat.
— Boy! she shouted, trembling.
Everyone turned around. He stopped, spoon in hand. His eyes widened, but he said nothing. Isabella approached slowly, as if she wanted to avoid scaring a dream.
— What’s your name?
— Radu, ma’am, he replied, whispering.
She knelt down and took his hand. The crescent was there. Unmistakable. Tears fell onto his dirty sleeve.
— Radu… or Luca?
The boy looked up and shook his head.
— That’s what everyone told me… that my name is Radu.
At that moment, Isabella felt the world spinning around her. Five years of silence, of guilt, of prayers. And now, her boy was there, in front of her, hungry and lost.
She hugged him tightly.
— It doesn’t matter what your name is, my love. I found you.
The people around watched in silence. Some were crying. Others were smiling.
The rain continued to beat against the windows, but for the first time, Isabella no longer felt the cold. She held in her arms everything she had lost.
And somewhere, among the shadows of the city, a mother and son had found their way to each other — not through money, not through power, but through a small sign, in the shape of a crescent moon, on the skin of their hearts.
This work is inspired by real events and people, but has been fictionalized for creative purposes. Names, characters, and details have been changed to protect privacy and enhance the narrative. Any resemblance to real persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental and not intended by the author.
The author and publisher do not assume responsibility for the accuracy of events or the portrayal of characters and are not liable for any misinterpretations. This story is provided “as is,” and any opinions expressed belong to the characters and do not reflect the views of the author or publisher.
