Imagine a man like Marcovaldo — a character created by Italian writer Italo Calvino — a simple, dreamy soul who sees nature and beauty hidden in the cracks of a busy, modern city. That’s exactly how he would have looked at this apartment: like a rare, gentle animal that wandered into his life by pure chance.

He was in Milan, yes, but in a corner of the city that felt almost like a promise: quiet in the morning, sky-blue in the afternoon, and scented with rain in the evening.

The living area — as the real estate agent called it — had a large window and a French door leading onto a balcony. Not just a token balcony, but a real one, wide enough for a small table and two chairs. Here Marcovaldo, like a king restored to his throne, would eat under the open sky, watching for clouds tucked between the rooftops or a flutter of pigeons adding a poetic touch to his meal.

And then there was the bathroom… with a real window! For someone used to shaving in misty, shadowy rooms, this small opening to the outside world felt like pure luxury. He would now shave bathed in sunlight, watching leaves quiver on the trees in the courtyard, feeling almost like he was on holiday.

The bedroom — though he occupied it alone — had a window so wide that waking up felt like being inside a painting. Light streamed in without asking permission, making the bedsheets shine like snow under the sun.

There were even two closets: one in the hallway, one near the bathroom. Spacious, orderly, with a scent of new wood that filled him with a quiet hope. Marcovaldo, who had once rolled his shirts into drawers, now hung them with care, as if preparing for grand events.

In this apartment, every window was a new beginning. Every closet, a promise. And every meal on the balcony, a tiny dream made real.