The future came to Elio once again.
"The tragedy of the night I was born, beneath that raging storm, is something that's hard to forget. And you know, sometimes my grandfather is still haunted by Paola—my mother. He lost her so completely that night, his only child. And it was as if it reopened the wound of his wife's death too—she died giving birth to Paola. Honestly, deep in my heart, if I had even one chance, I would want to hold him again. He was so strong, so unshakable—he always showed that side of himself. I feel terribly sorry for him."
Elio paused briefly, then continued.
"Anyway, my twin brother and I grew up together. What I remember most is that we never really looked alike, even though people often had trouble telling us apart. But my grandfather could always distinguish us—by my freckles. Nino was born without freckles, while my face has them. On top of that, my hair is lighter brown, while Nino's is darker."
Elio laughed softly at the memory, though Carolina could tell his eyes were saying something entirely different.
"I also remember that my grandfather, Edoardo, gave both of us his name. It was different from our other siblings, who only carried our father's surname, Moretti. He named us Elio Edoardo Moretti and Nino Edoardo Moretti. He said it was so we would remember him—so we would know that it was he who held us the very first time we entered this world."
He fell silent for a moment before speaking again.
"As for Nino, he's very unique—brave, defiant, always hungry for adventure. When we were children, I was terribly jealous of him because I could never be like that. And he, in turn, thought I was a burden whenever we were together. As for my older siblings—the twins—they all look alike too, but not in the way Nino and I do. My childhood is filled with memories. The coastal village where I live now plays in my mind like a film whenever I think back."
He rolled his eyes lightly and looked at Carolina, who continued to write down every detail with care.
"Since I was little, my life has never been far from stitches and thread. That was inevitable—my grandfather was a tailor, sewing suits in that village. Among all my siblings, I was the one who spent the most time in the tailor shop with him. I don't know why, but I always loved being there. And every few seasons, whenever there was a festival or event in the village, my grandfather would sell flowers in front of the shop—flowers he grew himself behind the house. He was also the one who taught me that living flowers make life feel more precious."
---
The past came to Elio once more.
That year—1928—so many things happened, yet Elio and his family continued living as they always had. Little Elio, now ten years old, would come home from school and go straight to Edoardo's tailor shop. As usual, Edoardo recognized the sound of the doorbell—but it seemed as though no one had entered. That was because Elio's small body was almost completely hidden behind the front counter. Moments later, a schoolbag was tossed onto the table.
"Grandpa, I'm home," he said, stepping closer and wrapping his arms around his grandfather.
"I know you are. How was your day, Elio? Where's your brother?" Edoardo asked.
"I tried to walk him home, Grandpa, but he just left me behind. From the back, it looked like he went off to play with his friends," Elio replied, sitting down on the chair beside Edoardo's worktable.
"Why didn't you go with him? You should play too, Elio. Besides, I'm not very busy today. You don't always have to come straight here to see me," Edoardo said as he cut fabric—probably preparing to make a suit.
"I just like being here more, Grandpa. Whenever I play with Nino, I always end up being left out. I'm not as strong as he is."
He picked up his sketchbook and began to draw. This was Elio's daily routine—drawing clothes at his favorite table, surrounded by rows of tailored suits inside Edoardo's shop.
And he also had a friend—a grown-up friend—Mr. Nardo, the owner of Eleganti, the shop across from his grandfather's. Mr. Nardo owned Eleganti, a boutique that sold fashionable women's clothing. In 1928, Eleganti's style followed the trends closely. Elio adored it. Even though his grandfather made suits, Elio preferred women's fashion, and most of his drawings reflected that.
"You didn't go to Eleganti today?" Edoardo asked. "I think the shop is quite crowded right now."
"I don't think so. If it's crowded, I don't feel comfortable going there, Grandpa. I'd just get in his way. Besides, I have a lot of schoolwork today."
Edoardo glanced over—Elio was clearly not doing his homework.
"Is your homework drawing clothes, Elio?" Edoardo said. "Finish your schoolwork first, like you said. Then you can draw."
Elio snorted softly. Reluctantly, he climbed down from the chair, grabbed his schoolbag, and began working on his assignments.
That was more or less Elio's childhood routine. After school, he always went to Edoardo's tailor shop. Even though his siblings were at home, Elio never felt drawn to stay there. He felt safer, calmer, in his grandfather's shop.
Now, as he worked on his homework, his eyes kept drifting toward the front window, glancing at Eleganti from afar. The shop was bustling—of course it was. A festival was coming to the village soon. Naturally, people—especially women—wanted to look elegant.
"Elio." Edoardo said while stitching, "I'll start selling flowers tomorrow. There's a festival coming up, so it'll be good business."
"Should I be the one to carry the flowers to the boat again?" Elio replied lazily. "You never tell Nino to do it—he never wants to."
"Alright, I'll talk to him later. After all, you're the older brother, Elio. He's your younger brother—act like one," Edoardo said.
"Two minutes apart—what does that even mean?" Elio protested, stopping his writing. "I still feel like we're the same age. Javer is the real older brother."
"It doesn't matter. You're still his older brother, even if it's only two minutes," Edoardo said. "Now get back to your homework. From the way I see it, you're dying to go across the street—to Eleganti, of course."
He shook his head. Elio just grinned.
Sometimes, Elio felt that his grandfather always sided with Nino. He even found himself thinking about their birthdays. When Elio had a birthday, all his siblings had one too—and Nino always ended up eating most of the cake, while Edoardo let it happen. Even though they were born on different dates, their birthdays were celebrated on the same day every year—the day Paola was born.
That was entirely Edoardo's decision. He said it was so everyone could have a celebration without wasting money on just one person. If one child received something, then all of them should. It also made sense, he said, since most of them were twins.
It was silly, really—but perhaps it was done that way so things felt fair to Edoardo.
And that was how it felt to the sweet child himself—Elio.
Some of us may have experienced this feeling in childhood—the feeling of being treated differently. At the time, we may not have fully understood why it appeared. Perhaps our parents or caregivers, unintentionally, created differences in how they treated us compared to our siblings. But that does not mean they did not love us.
Elio thought the same way when he was young. He never asked his grandfather about what he had been feeling all this time. And his grandfather, Edoardo, never realized it either. He thought only about working and providing for his five grandchildren. Because of this, Elio never brought up the matter—he pitied his grandfather too much.
Though we may later feel upset about being treated differently, it helps to remember that one day we will grow up and have families of our own. We may unknowingly repeat the same patterns our parents once did. But we are also given the chance to reflect, to correct ourselves, and to avoid repeating mistakes that may have been made before us.
---
The next morning, just as Edoardo had said, the village festival arrived.
Elio woke up very early. School was closed, and he could help his grandfather that day. Of course, Nino was there too. Elio had sulked the night before, insisting that Nino come along this time. Not without reason—Elio felt distant from his younger brother. Nino was always busy playing with his friends and never invited him along. Their moments together were scarce, limited mostly to being at home and sleeping.
In truth, Nino avoided inviting Elio on purpose. The last time he did, Elio had ruined the game he was playing with his friends, turning it into a complete failure that ended in humiliating defeat. Ever since then, Nino made a habit of leaving Elio behind after school to go play. And Elio? Elio spent his time at Edoardo's tailoring shop.
"This time you have to come. I want you to help Grandpa. Don't keep running off with your friends, Nino," Elio said as he dragged a large pot filled with flowers. Nino looked on lazily, but he couldn't refuse—his grandfather had insisted as well.
"Yeah… yeah… yeah. I'll carry the flowers onto the boat, then wait in front of the shop until noon, until they're all sold, imagining myself drowning in boredom," Nino replied, helping Elio drag the heavy pot.
Just as Nino said, they pulled the pot toward the boats by the water. Traveling by boat made the trip to the tailor shop much faster. Besides, most paths in the village ran through water. Even when Elio and his grandfather returned home from the shop, they took the boat—it was quicker.
"It's not just you who'll be in front of the shop. I'll be there too. But don't sneak away like last time—you're so slippery," Elio said, still dragging the pot, nearly there.
"Boring work deserves to be escaped," Nino replied with a sly grin.
They finally reached the boat.
"Ohh, my dear grandchildren are helping me today! We're going to make a good profit, aren't we? The village festival will be lively, and the flowers will sell well," Edoardo said, his voice almost melodic.
The flowers were loaded onto the boat—different kinds, different colors. Their fragrance filled the air, stinging Elio's nose, yet he loved it. Soon, they climbed aboard, and the engine roared to life.
The water swayed, as if dancing to welcome Elio, splitting gently as the boat cut through it. Elio breathed in deeply, closing his eyes. He loved this moment—the scent of flowers made it even better. He inhaled eagerly, then let his hand trail through the water as they passed, letting it flow freely between his fingers.
"Nino, try doing it the way I do. It's fun," Elio said, smiling brightly.
Nino only looked at him with disdain, his hand resting on his chin. He looked utterly unwilling to do such a thing.
"You think I want to look stupid like you? Don't be ridiculous," he replied.
Elio returned Nino's cynical stare, then simply shook his head—this was just how his younger brother was. Hearing the exchange from behind them, Edoardo lightly smacked Nino on the head with a rolled-up newspaper.
"You—where did you learn to speak so rudely to your older brother?" he scolded.
"Ow… I already helped you, Grandpa. What did I do wrong?" Nino protested.
And that was roughly how things were aboard the moving motorboat.
Soon enough, calm returned to Elio. He truly enjoyed riding the boat—one of the few routines he loved, aside from drawing. When he closed his eyes and opened them again, he would see flowers before him—so many colors, so many shapes. And it was from these sights that the ideas for the garments he imagined began to form. Sometimes, he thought how red roses paired with green could make such a beautiful combination. He would match them with patterns he had seen among Mr. Nardo's designs—the owner of the women's clothing shop. This was why Elio loved riding the boat so much.
The boat turned, then came to a stop. They climbed off quickly. Elio helped carry several smaller pots of flowers, as did Nino, while Edoardo lifted the larger ones. As usual, Edoardo asked Elio to tie the boat. Elio already knew the knot by heart—tight enough so it wouldn't drift away. Grandfather and grandchildren then walked off, each carrying the flowers in their hands.
From the moment they stepped onto the street, the market they would pass through was already bustling. Crowded—overflowing with life.
As they walked, Elio looked left and right. There were so many vendors, so many people. It seemed as though the entire village had come out. He tightened his grip on the flower pot he was carrying, afraid it might slip and fall. When he looked again, he noticed many others selling flowers just like him and his grandfather.
"Grandpa, there are so many people selling flowers like us. What if ours don't sell?" he asked.
"Why think like that? We haven't even reached the shop yet. What's wrong with trying, Elio?" Edoardo replied. He had a point. Before they realized it, the walk felt short—the tailor shop was already in front of them.
After that, Elio immediately pulled a table closer to the shop and wiped dust from the seats. He carefully arranged the flowers, displaying them beautifully at the front. Nino watched from behind, occasionally glancing over his shoulder. His friends were there, seemingly calling out to him—but he couldn't go. His grandfather and brother were right in front of him. There was no chance of sneaking away.
"Grandpa, how long are we going to sell flowers?" Nino asked.
"Why? Can't you stand helping me that much, Nino?" Edoardo turned to him.
"Ah… who said that? I was just asking," Nino replied, crossing his arms.
"Help your brother first. He's already ready to sell. Look at him—so excited, he can hardly wait for customers," Edoardo said, pointing with a proud smile.
Nino snorted. Reluctantly, he waved at his friends to signal that he couldn't come, then walked back toward Elio.
They sat there together.
Some time passed. The sky grew brighter, the air heavier with heat, yet the festival remained just as lively as it had been since morning. Elio continued serving customers, selling flowers to people who passed by again and again. Nino? Nino only watched his brother, unwilling to move, claiming he was already exhausted. And Edoardo? He was busy attending to customers in his suit shop.
"How long are we going to keep selling flowers?" Nino complained suddenly.
"I don't know. Just do it. Grandpa told us to help too, Nino," Elio replied. They sat together in front of the shop, their legs swinging back and forth. It was painfully obvious how bored Nino was.
"I mean it—how long are we supposed to sell flowers? Look across from us, that's Eleganti, the most popular shop in the village. Grandpa's shop is just… ordinary. Why doesn't he sell women's clothes like Eleganti does? Maybe we'd be richer," Nino blurted out.
"Maybe Grandpa's talent lies in suits, Nino. Not everyone has to sell the same things or earn the same amount. He told me himself—he prefers suits over dresses. You're not the only one who's questioned that," Elio answered.
"Since you've been doing nothing and lazing around all this time, you might as well dump the flower water near the boat dock and leave the bucket there. You haven't worked at all," Elio said, lifting a bucket filled with water.
With reluctance, Nino climbed down from the chair, picked up the bucket, and walked toward the boat. But when he glanced back at Elio, he saw his brother greeting a new customer. A sly smile crept across Nino's lips.
"Finally, an opening," he muttered as he headed toward the dock.
Nino hurried to the boat, tossed the water from the bucket carelessly onto it, then looked back toward the shop. And just like that, the sneaky boy ran—slipping behind the store, disappearing into the crowd, off to play with the friends who had long been waiting for him.
And Elio?
Elio didn't notice a thing.
He was standing there, attending to the customer in front of him—but all he could do was remain silent, staring straight ahead, as if the world around him had suddenly gone quiet.
Before him stood a young girl, perhaps his age, dressed entirely in red, a bright red ribbon resting sweetly in her hair. She was enjoying a strawberry lollipop—its vivid red slowly staining her small lips, making her look even more radiant. Her golden curls fluttered in the midday breeze, and her eyes… those gray eyes—if stared at for too long—felt as though they were calling out, beckoning anyone who happened to meet her gaze.
She looked lovely. Far too lovely. Like a portrait too beautiful to be real.
Elio didn't know where she had come from. All he remembered was that the girl had run straight toward his flower stall and stopped right in front of him—as if she knew exactly where she was meant to go. Elio was too afraid to ask anything. Maybe because they were the same age. Maybe because Elio was shy by nature. Or maybe… because she was simply too captivating, leaving him afraid—afraid of what might happen if he spoke.
Edoardo, who had been watching his grandson from behind the shop window, noticed Elio standing frozen—silent, staring ahead in confusion. He stepped forward slowly, trying to see who had captured Elio's attention.
And at once, a knowing smile curved across his lips.
The small bell above the door rang brightly as Edoardo pushed it open.
"Ahh, beautiful young lady… is there anything Grandpa can help you with?" he greeted warmly, a cheerful smile spreading across his face.
The blonde girl turned her head—and Elio turned with her.
"There are so many beautiful flowers here… ohhh… they're almost as beautiful as you," Edoardo continued as he stepped closer. He gently wrapped an arm around Elio, who instantly broke into a cold sweat.
"Grandpa… I can help her," Elio cut in quickly, his nervous face flushing red.
The little girl suddenly pointed at a single red rose—red as her lips.
"That one?" Edoardo said. "Ah, an excellent choice for a girl as lovely as you." He reached for the fresh rose, but before he could hand it over, a voice shouted from afar—
"Agata!!!"
The girl turned at once. A grown man came running, and within seconds he was standing right in front of Edoardo.
"I'm so sorry about my daughter… she just ran off into the crowd," he said, looking down at the girl. "Why do you love running so much, hmm?"
"The scent of the flowers caught my attention, Pa," Agata replied lightly.
The man laughed softly, embarrassed. He quickly reached into his pocket and paid for the flower his daughter had chosen.
"So your name is Agata," Edoardo said with a grin as he crouched and handed her the rose. "Well… it suits you—just as lovely as this red rose."
"This is my grandson, Elio," he added, gently pulling Elio forward. "He's… a bit shy."
"Grandpa…" Elio protested quietly, his face growing even redder.
"Elio?" the man said kindly. "Let me introduce my daughter—Agata. I hope you two can become friends. We've just moved here. I didn't realize the festival would be this crowded, so we parked quite far away. I'm sorry she ran off like that," he explained with a smile.
"Duncan," he said, offering his hand.
"Edoardo," Edoardo replied warmly as they shook hands.
While the two adults talked, Agata kept staring at Elio. Sharp. Unblinking.
Elio? He didn't dare look back. He hid behind his grandfather, yet from the corner of Edoardo's shoulder, his eyes narrowed—sneaking glances toward the girl.
Then suddenly—
"Agataa… Agata Dolce," the girl said quickly, reaching out and grabbing Elio's hand, shaking it without hesitation.
Elio froze. His body stiffened. Embarrassed. But he couldn't run.
"Ahhh… look at that, they're introducing themselves," Edoardo murmured with a laugh, joined by Duncan's chuckle.
Summoning what little courage he had left, Elio finally returned the handshake.
"Elio… Edoardo Moretti," he replied, softly but clearly.
Agata smiled crookedly. The way she looked at Elio was unusual—like she was hiding something behind her gaze.
"You know…" she said suddenly, "I've just seen someone with freckles as sweet as yours."
Elio's eyes widened. He couldn't hold her hand any longer. He quickly let go and retreated behind Edoardo once more.
The two adults could only shake their heads and laugh softly, watching the strange little dance of two children meeting for the first time—each in their own way.
Elio kept staring at Agata, even from behind his grandfather's shoulder. His eyes never left her. And Agata did the same—never once looking away from Elio.
But from the way they exchanged glances, it was clear—Agata was far braver. She didn't hesitate to speak, to greet, even to reach out first. Meanwhile, Elio, the shy one, could only stand stiff and silent, drowning in a mixture of nervousness and admiration he did not yet understand.
And perhaps…
this was where it all began.
---
The future came to Elio once more.
He was picking flowers, with Carolina standing beside him.
"So… that's where you met the girl named Agata?" Carolina asked, watching Elio crouched among the rose bushes.
"Exactly…" Elio replied softly, plucking a red rose in full bloom. "That's where I met a girl with gray eyes, wind-tossed golden hair, and—of course—wearing a red, fashionable dress. For the first time in my life, I saw someone wearing something so beautiful. Or perhaps… someone who made the clothing beautiful. Maybe it isn't the clothes that wear a person, but the person who gives meaning to the clothes."
He chuckled quietly and walked toward a garden bench at the edge of the flowerbed. Carolina followed and sat beside him, while Elio held the freshly picked red rose in his hand.
"Was the dress really that beautiful, that you stared at her for so long?" Carolina asked, gazing out over Elio's vast flower garden.
"It wasn't just the dress…" Elio murmured, his eyes fixed ahead. "Like I said—the one wearing it became beautiful too. Strangely enough… I think I was the only one who saw it that way. After Agata left my grandfather's flower shop, he said she was very cute… with chubby cheeks, and that her dress almost didn't fit her. But I thought the opposite—to me, the dress fit perfectly. She was captivating, as if every color, shape, and fabric had been created just for her."
The afternoon breeze brushed gently through Elio's hair. His gaze remained forward, though it was clear he was looking into his own past.
"So… do you think no one else ever looked at Agata the way you did?" Carolina asked quietly.
Elio shook his head, a nearly invisible smile lifting his cheeks.
"Many people said that blonde girl was too wealthy, spoiled with sweets," he said softly. "It was rare for a child her age to be chubby back then… and besides, she was just a child, wasn't she?"
He paused, looking down at the rose in his hand.
"But what I never imagined," he continued, "was that I would become her friend."
---
The past came to Elio once more.
Three weeks had passed since the festival. As had become routine, the sweet child—Elio—always returned from school and went straight to his grandfather Edoardo's shop. That afternoon, little Elio was doing what he loved most: drawing in his cherished sketchbook.
By agreement, Elio was only allowed to draw after finishing his schoolwork. And that day, he had done just that. Sitting behind a small table in the corner of the shop, he sketched design after design. His drawings were not yet as perfect as those of a great artist—but Elio never stopped refining every line, constantly creating new ideas with an imagination that never ran dry.
That day, Elio did not go to Mr. Nardo's boutique, Eleganti—his mentor and his grandfather's old friend. The shop was crowded, and Elio disliked troubling anyone. He chose to stay in the tailor shop, drawing, occasionally glancing outside.
Edoardo, meanwhile, was cleaning the shop's front window, his eyes drifting toward the dock where his old boat was usually tied.
"So, how was your day, Elio? Anything interesting?" Edoardo asked as he wiped the glass.
"Nothing… as usual. Nino, my brother, left his older brother behind. And as always, Dante took over the front seat. I don't think I'll ever get to sit there," Elio replied, huffing slightly.
"Should Grandpa talk to your teacher again? So you can sit in the front?" Edoardo joked, moving to the next window.
"Nooo!" Elio exclaimed quickly, turning around. "If Grandpa talks to the teacher again, something bad will happen."
Edoardo chuckled. "Alright, alright. Try to find some friends, Elio."
Elio lowered his head. "I don't know, Grandpa… I don't think I'll ever have friends. Everyone keeps their distance from me."
He looked back at his sketchbook. Blank—not because there were no drawings, but because he didn't know what else to draw. His days were all the same: drawing, helping his grandfather, going home, seeing his siblings, sleeping, school. Over and over. Nothing changed.
"By the way," Edoardo said casually, "I've noticed that blonde girl playing at the dock, near the boat. She hasn't gone anywhere."
Elio froze.
"I've seen her there several times. She's been coming back all week," Edoardo continued, dipping cloth into water. "Yesterday, her father came by and said you're in the same class. She has trouble fitting in—she's new."
"How do you know we're in the same class?" Elio asked, confused.
"Like I said—her father came last week while you were asleep on the table and not watching the shop. He said the girl—Agata—has trouble making friends. And… why don't you try talking to her? I think she's interested in you. After all, she's waited at the dock until late afternoon several times, just to greet you."
Elio knew that. He knew Agata was often at the dock. She greeted him at school too. But Elio was too shy to respond.
"Is she… really that nice?" Elio asked softly.
"Of course. Everyone is nice, if you give them a chance," Edoardo replied. "Besides, Grandpa worries about you. You barely have any friends. And now… Grandpa wants you to meet her. Before we head back to the boat. I want you to have a friend."
Elio swallowed, tapping his pencil against the table, unsure of what to do. Finally, the sweet child climbed down from his chair.
"Alright. I'll try," he said.
He opened the shop door, and sunlight immediately blinded his eyes. Elio walked slowly toward the dock. And just as Edoardo had said, Agata was there—playing, hopping from stone to stone near the water.
Elio's heart raced wildly, but he kept walking. Agata stopped when she saw him approach. She stood still, holding her lollipop. Now Elio stood right in front of her. He swallowed again, unsure of what to say.
Agata looked at him. Silent. Then she brushed aside a strand of blonde hair from her eyes.
"Is your name Elio?" she asked.
"Y-yes… I think so," Elio answered nervously.
"Good," Agata said, smiling softly. "So… are you going to stand there quietly, or do you want to play with me?"
Elio froze.
"My grandpa said… I should introduce myself to you. He said I'm a bit pitiful," Elio blurted out. "Do you… want to be friends with me?"
Agata giggled.
"Are you really that pitiful, Elio?" She stepped closer. Closer still.
"Y-yes… I think so. But… do you want to be friends with me?"
"If you accept this candy, then I suppose we'll be friends," she said, holding it out to him.
Elio hesitated—but in the end, he took the candy with trembling fingers. And the moment he did, Agata jumped with excitement. She immediately grabbed Elio's hand and pulled him toward the beach near the dock. Elio couldn't refuse. He ran along with her.
That day, the two sweet children ran across the sandy shore. For the first time, Elio truly played with a friend.
Not his grandfather.
Not Mr. Nardo.
Not his imagination.
They built little sand houses—more like shapeless mounds. They buried their feet, destroyed the piles together, then laughed and ran toward the water's edge.
Elio took off his shirt so it wouldn't get wet. He still needed it for school the next day.
"Agata, do you want to play?" he asked.
"I want to… but…"
"Are you afraid of the water?"
"No… I'm afraid of taking off my clothes. If I'm only wearing a shirt… my chubby body will show. And I'll lose my friend."
"Huh?" Elio frowned. "I don't think like that."
"Are you sure?" Agata asked. "I always cover my body with beautiful clothes. I think if I take them off, I won't be beautiful anymore."
"Agata… the clothes are beautiful because you wear them. It's not that the clothes make you beautiful—but that you give beauty to the clothes."
He gently took Agata's hand and led her closer to the water. Slowly, Agata removed her blue dress, took off the headband from her hair, and stepped onto the shore beside him.
They played under the blazing sun, which that day felt warmer—kinder.
And as we all know… when children play with a friend, the world seems to share their joy. That afternoon, even the sun seemed to smile at them.
And from there on, everything in Elio's life began to feel closer.
Everything began… when a blonde girl, wearing a red headband and dressed entirely in red, ran toward Edoardo's shop and stopped in front of Elio. From that very first glance, they might not have known it yet—but that small meeting would grow into a great story, one that would shape the life ahead of them.
The waves seemed to welcome them, pulling the two children into the warmth of a new adventure. Their skin turned red under the sharp afternoon sun, yet not a single complaint escaped their lips. They spent nearly the entire afternoon together. Even though it was their first day as friends, it already felt intimate—like something long lost had suddenly been found again.
And… all of this was because of Agata. Because the little girl was always brave, always full of strange but exciting ideas, and always knew how to make everything feel lighter. She finally felt comfortable—because for the first time, there was a friend who didn't comment on her body, didn't mock her dreams, didn't laugh at the way she dressed. Elio accepted her just as she was.
And the same was true for Elio himself. For the first time, he felt an adventurous energy surging within him—a spirit so similar to his brother Nino's, yet now embodied in a blonde girl. Softer, perhaps… but who knew? To Elio, Agata felt like another version of Nino—only more colorful. And with Agata's burning spirit, Elio caught fire too.
He knew he wasn't brave like Agata. And perhaps that was why they fit so easily—because they completed each other.
Now, the two sweet children sat at the edge of the beach, watching the sun slowly sink before them, waiting for their strength to return so they could run again. Their hair was still wet, their skin sticky with saltwater and sand.
"Do you… still want to be my friend tomorrow?" Elio asked suddenly, turning to her softly.
"Who wouldn't want to be friends?" Agata replied with a small giggle. "Of course I do. And you… I think you're already quite complete to be my friend."
"What do you mean?"
"This is the first time no one has commented on my chubby body—or laughed at my dreams," she said softly.
"Why would I laugh at you if you want to become an artist someday, Agata?"
And indeed, Agata had told him earlier that she wanted to become a famous Italian artist—her golden hair shining under the spotlight. She'd said it while they were swimming, with an enthusiasm that couldn't be extinguished. And Elio? He didn't mind at all. In fact, he thought it suited her perfectly. From the moment they met until now, the girl's outfits had never disappointed—always fashionable, always bold. And Agata knew exactly how to wear them.
"They say I'm too fat and more suited to be a comedian… or a circus clown," Agata added quietly.
"They're just jealous because you can always wear beautiful, stylish clothes," Elio replied, trying to soothe the anxiety hanging in her heart.
"But… you always notice what I wear, don't you, Elio?" Agata looked at him deeply. "No one ever really looks at my clothes—or the choices I make when I dress up. They only see my fat body."
Elio fell silent.
"I think… I might be a little strange," he finally said.
"No!!! That's not strange at all," Agata exclaimed quickly. "You know what? That's unique! Maybe I should dress up more often… and you can keep looking at more of my styles!"
The idea slipped out just like that. But Elio thought—there was truth in it. If he could keep seeing beautiful clothes from the city—things he'd never seen in the village—it could become a lesson. A lesson about beauty, about detail, about the art of dressing. Not like the repetitive village clothes he was used to.
"That's a good idea. But will you really wear beautiful clothes like that again?"
Agata sat up straight, eyes sparkling.
"And will you keep seeing the beauty of my outfits, Elio? Ahhh, this is going to be so much fun!"
And from there, the two complementary souls began creating small, everyday moments they found… exciting. The beginning of a long journey whose ending they didn't yet know.
And what about Elio's story—about the life he lived once a blonde girl named Agata began to appear in it?
This… is where everything truly began.
The next day—the day they agreed would mark the start of their friendship—Elio returned to school as usual. He sat in the very back row, just like he'd said the day before. He couldn't sit at the front; those seats were already claimed by Dante and his friends.
And Agata? She was late.
Her favorite headband had gone missing, and she and her mother had spent the morning searching for it. By the time the wall clock declared her officially late, she still insisted on going to school. Even though Agata was the only child of a wealthy family, she didn't attend an elite school like other rich children. Their remote countryside location meant she studied at an ordinary school—just like Elio.
Just as class was about to begin and the teacher was about to close the door, a voice rang out—
"Waiiit!!"
The shout came from the classroom doorway. Agata appeared, breathless, her face slightly flushed from embarrassment and exhaustion. She quickly bowed her head to the teacher.
"I'm sorry, I'm late," she said.
The teacher, seemingly in a good mood, merely nodded and allowed her to enter.
With sparkling eyes, Agata immediately searched for Elio, who sat in the far back corner—almost invisible because of his small frame. She waved enthusiastically. Elio startled for a moment, then returned her smile, cheeks flushing. No one had ever waved at him like that before.
Agata walked toward the back row and sat beside Elio.
"Elio, you really chose the wrong seat," Agata whispered as she sat down.
"Sshh… this was the only one left. What could I do?" Elio replied, trying to sound casual.
And the lesson began.
---
Some time had passed. Agata and Elio were still seated on the same bench—the very last one, tucked away from the bustle of the classroom.
From time to time, Agata glanced toward the window beside Elio, letting her gaze dance with the wind outside. She needed a pause. She bored easily, especially during lessons that felt far removed from her interests. At her previous school, Agata had been active in the drama club—a world full of color and imagination. But after moving to the village, all of that seemed to vanish. There was no stage, no rehearsals, no space to express herself the way she once had. Like it or not, she had to adjust.
Elio, on the other hand, was very different. He sat upright, focused straight ahead. He tried hard to understand the lesson, even though from the very back of the classroom the teacher's voice often sounded faint and the writing on the blackboard looked blurry. Still, Elio did not give up. He always wanted to study seriously—though secretly, he enjoyed drawing dresses in his notebook far more.
The afternoon sunlight slipped in through the window, falling over Elio's head. His brown hair appeared lighter, almost like warm copper. Agata glanced at him and noticed something new.
"I just realized… your eyes are brown," she said softly, then turned her gaze forward again.
"Ah… I see," Elio replied flatly, unsure how to react. Agata smirked. She was bored, and she needed a little amusement. Quietly, she nudged Elio's shoulder.
"Ah—" Elio turned, realizing who it was. Agata quickly apologized. "Sorry…" Elio merely murmured, not wanting to cause a scene. But when the teacher turned around to write on the board, Agata nudged him again—this time more playfully.
"Oops…" she whispered, holding back laughter.
Now slightly annoyed, Elio nudged her back, then followed with a stronger shove.
"Ahhkk—!"
Elio tumbled sideways, pushed by a force he hadn't expected from the girl beside him. The entire class turned to look. Agata froze in panic. Elio himself hadn't realized that Agata was actually stronger than he thought. Instead of Agata being pushed, he was the one who went flying.
Agata quickly stood up, trying to help. But unfortunately, her shoelace caught on her own clothes.
Thud!
The sound of a body hitting the floor echoed through the classroom. Now both children were sprawled on the floor, laughing uncontrollably.
The teacher at the front let out a sigh and shook their head gently. "Agata… Elio…" they scolded, half-exhausted.
But the two of them only laughed—without a trace of guilt. Perhaps this was indeed the beginning of many small troubles they would create together.
Soon, it was time to go home. The teacher closed the lesson with a farewell—along with homework, of course. Elio and Agata, who had been busy whispering to each other at the back of the class, hadn't noticed a word the teacher said. They only realized class was over when the noisy scraping of chairs filled the room—students packing up and hurrying out.
"Is it over already…? Will we play again later, Elio?" Agata asked, half-excited.
"If you want to… I'll be at the shop later, like usual," Elio replied.
Agata smiled. She quickly gathered her books, about to stand up—when her steps suddenly halted. A large boy approached from the front of the classroom, followed by several others behind him. Agata turned her head. She recognized him. Her expression instantly tightened.
Quietly, she gripped the edge of Elio's shirt. Elio followed her gaze, and when he saw who it was, he let out a faint snort. He knew exactly who that was.
"Elio… Elio… the little one," the boy mocked. Dante. Elio and Agata fell silent.
"So you've got yourself a new friend?" Dante continued with a sneering laugh. "This chubby girl? Aren't you afraid she'll slam you to the ground?"
Elio bit his lip. His voice was barely audible when he answered, "What… what do you want, Dante?"
Agata clenched her fists. She kept staring at the boy, anger burning in her eyes, but Elio grabbed her arm, signaling her not to move.
"Nothing. I just wanted to say… your place is in the back. You'll never be in front. Because the front belongs to me." He slapped Elio's desk hard, making Elio's body tremble slightly. "And congratulations. You finally have a friend after being alone for so long."
Dante laughed, satisfied. He shot Elio one last glare before turning away, walking off with his gang. Their mocking laughter echoed as they left the row of desks.
"Why did you just stay quiet, huh? That kid is so arrogant!" Agata muttered angrily. "I'm just as big as him! I could take him on, Elio!"
"Didn't you see? He came with friends. It's just the two of us. Forget it… let it go. You need to go home, right?" Elio changed the subject, his face gloomy, but his voice calm.
Agata sighed. She knew Elio didn't want to talk about it. She only nodded and went back to packing her things.
But Elio? He didn't move.
As Agata was about to leave, she saw the boy still sitting at his desk, now pulling out his stationery and books. Slowly, Elio stood up, dragged a chair forward, and sat in a row closer to the blackboard. He began to take notes.
Agata raised one eyebrow, puzzled. "You're only taking notes now?" she asked, pulling a chair over and sitting beside him.
"I think so. You should just go home. Didn't we agree yesterday? You'd come play with me in your pretty clothes, remember?" Elio said, still writing.
"I know the plan… but why are you only writing now?"
Elio paused for a moment, then pointed at the blackboard. "I sit in the back. It's impossible to see clearly. My eyes aren't very good."
Agata fell silent.
Only then did she realize. Elio—the quiet, focused boy—couldn't even see properly from where he usually sat. And the front seats? They were Dante's territory. There was no way Elio could sit there.
"Tomorrow, I'm going to take that front seat!" Agata declared, staring at the empty chair with blazing eyes.
"Doooon't—!" Elio turned quickly, panicked. "If you take that seat, Dante and his gang might gang up on us."
Agata went quiet. She didn't know what to say. But… we know Agata. A girl with a thousand ideas and a thousand times the courage.
"Why don't you just borrow my notes?" she said at last. "You can see mine."
Elio turned to her skeptically. "You? I didn't even see you write anything earlier."
Agata chuckled softly. "If you need them, I'll start taking notes from now on. For you."
Even though she didn't really like taking notes, maybe this was one small thing she could do for her new friend.
And so, in the end, the two children sat side by side. Agata began to write—in her own unconventional way—and Elio started copying. They talked, discussed the lesson, and soon their conversation drifted elsewhere. About dress ideas, about Mr. Nardo's shop, about drama, about sweets, even about Dante.
And that day, they walked home from class together.