The day after Valentine's Day in 2015 seemed like nothing special.
And yet, without knowing it, my life was about to change forever.
I was eighteen, still in school, carrying with me the innocence of a girl raised in a protective family. My father always reminded me that my duty was to study, not to waste time on "nonsense." I wasn't allowed to swear; I had to be polite, kind, well-mannered. I couldn't really express myself. My life was set to the rhythm of what others expected of me.
The world outside seemed vast and full of possibilities, but I was still trapped in a small cage of rules and expectations.
That afternoon, sitting next to my friend Nunzia, I was absentmindedly scrolling through my phone. It was February 15th, and social media was still flooded with hearts, flowers, and chocolate boxes. Everyone proudly showed off their happy relationships.
I, on the other hand, felt alone. Deep down—even if I never said it out loud—I longed for something special too.
And then, his name appeared: Antony.
A face of ice, dark eyes, and a sculpted body. In some photos, he was surrounded by girls; in others, he showed off his physique, radiating a cold, untouchable aura I could almost feel through the screen. He looked like someone from a world far away from mine.
Nunzia laughed, snatched the phone from my hands, and without thinking too much, typed a simple:
— Hi.
The reply came almost instantly, short and cold.
— Hi.
I took back the phone, my heart racing, and quickly typed, trying to fix things:
— Sorry, wrong person.
His answer was blunt.
— Okay. That's fine.
And that was it. The end of the conversation.
Or at least, that's what I thought.