Romina and I are sitting on our lunch break in the shade of a poplar tree in one of the laziest squares in central Padua: Piazza Capitaniato.
Piazza Capitaniato is the kind of square that always seems to be on its own coffee break. Tucked between historic buildings and time-darkened porticos, you almost stumble into it by accident if you're passing the university or just looking for some shade in the heat. The pavement is uneven, worn smooth by years of footsteps, and in front of Palazzo Liviano, students are constantly on the move.
Some are chatting, leaning against a flat tire on a bike. Some are walking quickly, clutching overstuffed canvas bags of books. And then there are those at the café tables scattered around the square, busy sipping aperitifs or puffing on cigarettes.
Even today, there's a steady stream of students in front of the building, deep in their conversations. I sigh, tinged with a hint of nostalgia: a few years ago, we were like that too.
Romina and I have been friends since university. During our first Contemporary History lecture, she sat next to me and started talking as if we'd known each other forever.
Romina has always been a bundle of energy: sociable, brilliant, annoyingly positive, with a knack for making people smile—even someone as eternally grumpy as me. Of mixed Indian heritage, she carries a petite frame packed with curves. If I were straight, I'd have gone for it big time. But she figured out from the start that I wasn't her type—which, in my case, meant she instantly knew we'd just be friends.
"So, care to tell me where you were last night?" Romina snaps me out of my nostalgic daydream, giving me a look that's part mother, part sugar-coated menace.
"In what sense?" I reply vaguely.
"You've got dark circles that would terrify any beauty influencer. Did you go partying without me?" she teases, smirking. I roll my eyes, smiling.
"Oh, so my little chick decided to fly solo without mama!" she continues, melodramatic as ever.
"Yeah, okay, calm down," I huff, pretending to be exasperated. "I've just been having trouble sleeping lately."
"And why's that?" she asks suddenly, serious now.
"Saturday, I had a close call. I was climbing at the Rocca and the rope snapped," I downplay.
"What?! Are you okay?" she panics.
"Yeah, I'm fine. I was pretty high up, but I got lucky. Some guy caught me mid-fall, softening the landing… And honestly? Being scooped up like a princess was mortifying," I admit, scratching my head.
"Mamma mia, Milo. Just hearing that gives me anxiety. And I don't get how you even go climbing there, of all places…" Romina sighs, sipping her cola through the straw.
I give her a small, sad smile. She already knows everything about my parents' death.
"I know, but somehow it's… therapeutic," I say quietly. "Anyway, nothing really happened," I add, shrugging.
"Well, I wouldn't call it nothing," she says bluntly, ice clinking in her glass.
"Don't worry, I'm fine," I insist.
"I can see that, thankfully. But 'nothing' didn't exactly happen. What about the hottie who caught you?" she asks, winking.
"How do you know he was a hot?" I ask, eyebrows raised.
"See? I knew he was hot. Who is he? Did you exchange numbers?" she presses, leaning closer, clearly enjoying this.
"I d-dunno," I stammer, cheeks heating. "He set me down, stared at me without saying a word, then got up and vanished like a ghost. Honestly, asking for his number was the last thing on my mind. But… I don't know, his face seemed kind of familiar," I add, deep in thought.
"Do you know him?" Romina asks.
"Not really. Or maybe I do… who knows? Faces aren't exactly my strong suit," I shrug, avoiding her gaze.
"But what did he look like? Tell me eeeeverything. You know, I turn into a detective when there's some eye-candy involved. Describe him, and if he's on social media, I'll find him."
I pause, trying to remember.
"He was tall, really muscular. I mean, he lifted me effortlessly—and I'm not exactly a feather. Sharp features, slightly pinkish, elongated eyes, very fair skin. Wavy hair, platinum blonde with greenish highlights, almost shoulder-length."
"Wow… you're describing a K-pop idol," Romina says, eyes wide.
"What can I say? I usually can't remember a single face, but his… for some reason, it stuck."
"I won't have any trouble finding him. Guys like that aren't exactly common," she says, pulling out her phone.
"Yeah, true… though I probably won't see him again easily… wait, he's over there!" I exclaim, eyes widening.
The poster-perfect K-pop guy is standing at the far end of the square. Oversized orange tank top, dark purple basketball shorts, calf-high socks tucked into worn high-top sneakers, and a backward '90s cap. Platinum strands fall over his cheeks, framing his gaze. A lollipop dangles casually from his mouth.
"Really??" Romina squeals, practically vibrating. "Where?"
"There, leaning against that tree by the benches. The one in the orange tank top. Can you see him?" I try not to stare too obviously, so I don't draw attention.
"I don't see anyone," Romina squints.
"Come on, don't mess with me! He's there—by that poplar next to the kiosk. Don't make me point him out or he'll notice."
"Milo… there's no one by the kiosk. Are you sure you didn't hit your head when you fell?"
I glance at her, confused. Then I turn fully, no half-measures. The blond guy is still there, leaning against the poplar trunk, casually scrolling on his phone. I freeze, staring.
Suddenly, he looks up and notices me. Quickly, he shoves his phone into his pocket and starts walking away.
"He's leaving!" I leap to my feet instinctively, sprinting toward him.
"What's gotten into you?!" Romina exclaims, scrambling after me.
I reach the area around the kiosk, but he's gone. There's just an elderly woman fiddling with a bike lock in the rack nearby.
"He's gone," I mutter. "And yet he was just here a second ago."
Romina catches up, out of breath, shooting me a look like I just claimed I saw the Virgin Mary.
"Vez*… you're seriously worrying me. Come on, let's head back. Break's over."
*Vez: A friendly nickname used between close friends. Literally means "old one" in venetian dialect, but it's used affectionately, like calling someone "mate" or "buddy."