They had met at a crowded beach club, the kind where the air smells like coconut oil and cheap Aperol. He remembered her standing by the shoreline, her hair windswept and her eyes fixed on the horizon as if she were looking for something the rest of them couldn't see. When the chorus of Tommaso Paradiso’s anthem swelled through the speakers, he had found the courage to walk up to her. "Don't be afraid," he had joked, nodding toward the lyrics.
He closed his eyes and whispered the words along with the track. "Non avere paura."
The sun was beginning to dip behind the pines of Fregene, casting a long, amber glow over the cluttered patio where Luca sat with his guitar. In the kitchen, the radio was a low hum of chatter until a familiar, synth-heavy melody cut through the static. It was "Non Avere Paura."