First Lessons in Italian
It was the first day of class, and the air was thick with the nervous energy of new beginnings. That was when I first saw Angel. He was everything the other students envied: athletic, with a lean, toned build from years of swimming, and a magnetic presence that drew everyone toward him. Despite the attention, he remained mysterious, never mentioning a partner. We became fast friends, our conversations flowing easily during the breaks between periods.
A few weeks into the semester, our Italian teacher assigned us a partner project. We had to interview each other about our lives and relationship status. When it was my turn to ask, “Are you single?” in my best Italian, Angel looked at me with a playful glint in his eyes. “I am,” he replied, “but if you want, I could stop being single right now.”
I laughed it off as a joke, though my heart hammered against my ribs. As the weeks passed, the line between friendship and something deeper blurred. Every shared glance and accidental touch felt like a spark. One rainy afternoon, while studying in the library, Angel leaned in close, his voice a low murmur. He told me that he had been waiting for the right moment to tell me how much he admired my spirit. Before I could respond, he pressed his lips to mine, a kiss that tasted of longing and newfound certainty. In that moment, the language of love was the only one we needed to know.