Chapter 1
Sicily, late September 1939
Location: Mondello Beach, before dawn
In these difficult times, I like to be near the sea.
I sit on the shore, let the waves brush my bare feet, and close my eyes. I hear a constant murmur, the distant cry of seagulls, the wind moving the pine needles behind me. Here everything seems smaller: the problems, the hunger that is starting to tighten, the war that you can already smell on the radio and in the adults’ conversations.
Before going to school, I always come here. It’s my moment. The only one where I can breathe without anyone watching me, without anyone asking me questions, without having to force a smile.
It’s not easy for anyone.
Not even for us, who used to lack nothing.
We had to give up the car. My father sold it two weeks ago; he said gasoline wasn’t coming anymore and it was better to save the money. Now we don’t have a driver, and Mama complains about having to walk to the tram stop in her high heels. I don’t mind walking. We pretend nothing is happening, like it’s a normal life, but it’s not normal for people to die because of dictators. Doesn’t human life matter anymore?
But even so, I try to see the world in a positive light.
I want to keep living. I don’t want to fall into sadness.
Some days it’s hard, but then I look at the sea and think: the waves keep coming even if the world breaks. So can I.
Lately there’s a boy.
He looks about my age. Tall, around 1.76 m, thin but with straight shoulders. I always saw him in ordinary clothes: an old shirt, patched trousers, a jacket that seemed to have belonged to someone bigger. But today… today he was wearing the exact same uniform as mine. The same navy blue, the same red tie. Could he have been studying at my school all this time and I never noticed?
It doesn’t matter.
I’m not allowed to talk to boys.
Forbidden by my parents, especially my father. “Girls like you don’t need distractions,” he says. “Your future is already written.”
Although I don’t lack material things —the house is still big, the table still has food (not like before, of course), the dresses are still pretty—, what I miss most is affection from my parents.
When was the last time they said “I love you” to me? I can’t remember. Maybe never. My mother hugs me sometimes, but it’s a quick, obligatory hug. My father only looks at me when something needs correcting: my posture, my grades, the way I walk.
Showing affection is for the weak. “Don’t get too attached,” my father used to tell me. “Life teaches you to be alone.”
People my age are already going out with someone. Or engaged.
I wonder when that moment will come for me.
Alone, without my parents’ affection, without real friends… what a sad social life I lead.
But my faith is always here in my heart.
God, will anyone ever love me?
Every time I come to the shore I think the same thing.
The waves answer with their eternal sound, but they never reply.
And yet, I keep coming.
Because here, at least, I can imagine that someone will one day answer my questions.
Giulia looked at the wristwatch her nonna had given her last year and felt her heart rise to her throat.
7:45!
School started at 7:50.
She needed at least fifteen minutes to get there walking fast… and that was if she didn’t stop for a single second. Professor Colombo didn’t forgive even one minute of tardiness; he noted every absence in the register and then called the parents. Just the thought of Salvatore Rossi’s disappointed look tied her stomach in knots.
“I can’t be late,” she murmured to herself, picking up her shoes with trembling hands. “They’ll kill me… not literally, but almost.”
She put her shoes on in a hurry, smoothed her uniform skirt, and started running along the sandy path toward the road. The wind whipped her hair, and the little Virgin Mary medal bounced against her chest like a reproach.
As she ran, she heard a voice behind her.
“Scusa… sai dove si trova l’Istituto Vittorio Emanuele? Sono in ritardo.”
(Sorry… do you know where the Vittorio Emanuele Institute is? I’m late.)
Giulia stopped dead, almost tripping. She turned around.
It was him.
The mysterious boy from the shore, the one she had seen every day for the past three weeks. The same one she had watched praying silently with a small Orthodox cross hanging from his neck, the same one with green eyes that seemed to hold too many stories for someone his age. Now he wore the same uniform as hers: navy blue jacket, red tie, trousers perfectly pressed though a bit worn at the edges. Tall —maybe 1.76 m—, short black hair tousled by the wind, and an old bicycle leaning against a nearby tree.
He spoke with an accent that wasn’t entirely Sicilian. A particular accent, as if Italian wasn’t his native language. Giulia felt the air catch in her throat.
How embarrassing.
If her parents saw her running wildly along the beach… if they saw her talking to an unknown boy…
She was supposed to be refined. Elegant. Worthy of being a Rossi.
But she was late.
And he was staring straight at her, with those green eyes that seemed to see beyond the rush and the uniform.
“Wait…” he said, taking a step closer as if he didn’t quite understand personal space. “You have the same uniform as me. So we go to the same school?”
Giulia blinked. Her heart was beating so hard she thought he might hear it.
This boy… he’s too close to me. WAY too close.
“Yes… but it starts in four minutes. I can’t be late. Professor Colombo… he’ll scold us…”
He smiled, a small, slightly crooked smile that unexpectedly lit up his face.
“It’s fine. I have a bicycle. Get on and we’ll go together.”
Giulia’s eyes widened.
“What? No, I can’t… a boy and a girl… it wouldn’t look right.”
He tilted his head, as if he didn’t fully understand her concern.
“But we’re going to school. We’re not doing anything wrong. Just two students who want to get there on time. Or would you rather walk and risk being late?”
He looked straight into her eyes.
Direct. Fearless. Without mockery.
And in that instant, Giulia felt something she had never felt before: a warm current rising from her stomach to her cheeks. His green eyes held her, and for a second the world stopped. The sea stopped sounding. The seagulls went quiet. There were only those eyes and the way they looked at her, as if he truly saw her.
She swallowed.
“No… wait. I can’t be late.”
He shrugged, already getting on the bicycle.
“Then get on. Otherwise, I’ll find the way alone.”
Giulia hesitated one more second.
But the clock kept ticking.
“Okay,” she said, almost breathless. “But… fast.”
She climbed on behind him with trembling legs. The bicycle was old, dirty, with a worn seat and rusty handlebars. She had never ridden one before. She didn’t know where to put her hands.
“Hold on tight to me,” he said, his voice calm but firm. “If you fall, it’ll be bad for your delicate face and hands.”
“What did you say?” she asked, as if wanting to confirm what she had heard.
He laughed softly, without turning around.
“I said you could get hurt. So hold on.”
With the greatest embarrassment in the world, Giulia wrapped her arms around his waist.
Her first time touching a boy.
And on a bicycle.
She could feel the warmth of his back through the jacket, the rapid beating of his heart —or maybe it was hers—, the effort of his legs pedaling hard against the wind.
“Keep going straight,” she told him, her voice close to his shoulder. “Right here in two streets and we arrive.”
He pedaled hard, leaning forward. The wind hit their faces.
“Sorry if I’m going fast,” he said, breathing a little heavily. “But we’re short on time.”
Giulia held on tighter.
“Yes… two minutes left. If you push harder…”
“I won’t go any faster, you know?” he replied with a soft laugh. “Sorry, I’ve always been anxious about schedules.”
As they moved through the cobblestone streets, some people looked at them as they passed.
A boy and a girl on the same bicycle.
She hid her face against his back, mortified.
“Did they see us?” she whispered.
“Sure they saw us,” he said to no one in particular, still pedaling. “We’re not doing anything wrong. Just two students who want to study, right?”
Giulia didn’t answer.
She only tightened her arms around his waist, feeling how his heart beat strongly against her chest.
Was he tired from pedaling?
Or was it because of her?
They arrived at the institute just as the bell rang.
He braked sharply. Giulia got off unsteadily, legs shaking and cheeks burning.
“Thank you,” she said, without looking him in the eyes.
“You’re welcome. You okay? Sorry, I’m usually more gentle,” he replied, and for the first time he looked at her differently. Longer. Softer.
“By the way, my name is Alexandro.”
“Giulia,” she said, almost in a whisper.
They looked at each other for one more second.
Something invisible passed between them, like an electric current neither of them knew how to name.
Then they ran toward the building, each going their own way.
But Giulia knew, deep in her chest, that something had just changed forever.
And that, even though her parents would never allow it, she would never stop thinking about those green eyes.
