It began with a love story—between the clients and a small hill, Colina Mică, in the heart of Măgura village. Though flanked by two valleys and rightfully a hill, it sits lower than the center of the village — hidden in plain sight.

An old house lay crumbling there, beside a weathered barn. No one had lived on the land for some time; only the neighbors’ sheep wandered through, continuing the age-old rhythm of pasture and grazing. For generations, this land served the animals, not architecture. It was shaped by hooves, not hands.

Yet, amid this humble field, where no tall vegetation dared to grow, three trees stood—unexpected and deliberate. They rise at the very hinge of the hill’s slope, marking the moment it flattens to a crest. A quiet gesture from those who came before—a way to honor space without building upon it. You find yourself stopping there, by the trees. You look out. You see. And you know: this is the place.

With tools more modern than those who once lived here, we chose to build with reverence, not conquest. The new house would not sit upon that marked place, but near it—framing it. The rounded roof of the home will echo the embrace of the trees, together forming a soft, invisible circle—a whispered courtyard.

Beneath the curved canopy, a house takes shape: modest, yet intricate. Its façade, with a rhythm of windows and solid walls, reflects the owner’s musical spirit—and within, a piano waits in the living room like a heartbeat. One large window opens fully toward the most breathtaking view—the jagged crest of the Piatra Craiului Mountains.

Under the same sweeping roof, slightly apart, a guesthouse rests—connected by a covered terrace. This small cabin, sculpted into the incline of the hill, is a quiet retreat, built on split levels that follow the land’s first rise.