Right after the end of summer, Flavio would have had to stop giving private lessons to devote himself to his own university commitments as a student and a scholarship holder. Although on one hand he felt relieved to leave behind incapable students and dishonest employers, on the other hand he was sorry to stop frequenting Aziz's place.

The Maghrebi, a cynical and opportunistic businessman, had little by little shown him a sincere sympathy and affection, an attitude that for its extraordinariness gratified Flavio, making him feel special. Moreover, the couscous and green sauce prepared by Aziz were among the best things Flavio had ever tasted. Last and maybe not so least, another factor that made that rotisserie pleasant was the great variety of beautiful girls that he had been able to meet at lunchtime, despite the place not being very frequented by girls.

Aziz had a terrible curse, or perhaps a not so latent misogyny, that forced him to fire the girls he hired in the shop at an average rate of three per month.

Indeed, the girls that Flavio had seen working in the rotisserie did not show to be very reliable and were not very disciplined in showing up for work regularly.

«Aziz, don't you focus too much on the aesthetic side?» Flavio had pointed out to him.

«If I didn't need the aesthetic side to sell I would hire a man, don't you think?»

«And who knows, it could be a good idea...»

«Of course not, girls sell more. And then it would be too risky.»

«Why risky?»

«I don't trust them guys, I don't know many. I have traveled a lot and met many people, unfortunately they are not all like you...»

And so, with the beginning of the academic year, Flavio had found himself being the first male employee of Aziz. From Monday to Friday the girls continued to come and go, but on weekends the rotisserie could enjoy a reliable presence, without risks, a presence that Aziz, who had traveled a lot and met many people, could trust.

«Aziz, next Saturday I should take the evening off...» Flavio told him on his first day of work. He tried to look as regretful as possible.

«What happened?»

«I have a date... you know, that girl...»

«And you say it with that face? Come on! There's no problem...» Aziz reassured him, smiling and cheerful, then he became serious. «It's only for the evening, right?»

Flavio told him that he hadn't been able to see Flavia for the whole summer and that, suddenly, she had called him the day before. She had asked him if he was available to give her private lessons. She was in her first year of university and wanted some help with math. They had agreed, and Flavia had seemed happy about it.

«You know, I think we should see each other more often, the two of us» she had said to him on the phone with an enthusiastic voice.

Flavio was stuck by surprise, he didn't know what to say, he didn't expect such a proposition from Flavia. Of course, being Flavia, he wouldn't have known what to say anyway, regardless of the proposition.

But he had thought about it, and the first thing that came to his mind was the announcement of a classical music concert that he had seen hanging on a notice board at the faculty of medicine, that same week. He wondered what that flyer was doing on that notice board, who the hell could have posted it there and why... but the entrance was free upon reservation and, at that moment, while he was speechless on the phone, that was enough for Flavio to make it seem like a good idea.

«Uh... listen, would you like to attend a concert with me? If you want we can go to the theater together... I mean, if you feel like it... if you don't have any commitments.»

Flavia had found surprising how Flavio had managed to make something so trivial sound like such a big deal. It was his own personality from six years before, but she had never noticed it until then.

«Of course, tell me when!» she had confirmed.

«It would be Saturday night, next week.»

«I have a commitment...»

Flavio quickly fell back into his own disappointment.

«Oh... never mind.»

«But I'll get rid of it for you! Seriously, no problem, really. Let's talk on Saturday!»

Flavia had taken Fabrizio's car to meet Flavio. With the high school diploma in her pocket, certain privileges had become easier to obtain. She parked near the theater and realized she had forgotten something important. She couldn't meet Flavio without cigarettes.

It was almost time, traffic had made her late, but she knew she couldn't do without them. It would have been madness, suicide. And her death would have caused another one. Suicide homicide. Suicide suicide homicide. Flavia, Flavio and Claudia. A massacre.

So she ran to the tobacconist's shop, quickly took a couple of puffs of nicotine on the street, threw away the cigarette and then went to meet Flavio who, as if caged by the reflections of the glass, was pacing with impatience around the now deserted entrance of the theater.

Feeling guilty, she threw her arms around his neck to apologize, more to comfort him than to make him forgive her, and the two hurried into the hall. When they reached their seats the musicians, an ensemble composed exclusively of string instruments, had just started playing.

It was the second time Flavia listened to that ensemble of strings, and she remembered in detail all the pieces performed, taken from Bach's suites and arranged for solo cello. The first time she had listened to it with Claudia and he was so nervous that he almost couldn't enjoy the music at all, but he had felt happy to be with her.

Now, that same music was making the old emotions resonate, grabbing her heart and making it vibrate note after note, stretching her feelings from the past, from when she was him, to the present where she was there, with him, remembering a same special girl, in a secret accord of spirit, serving as a pitiful surrogate for the first woman he had fallen in love with, motivated in part by that same unconfessable love, in part by a renewed self-love, which was even more unconfessable, for the past self that she had sat next to, for the future self that she longed to reclaim one day, and the present self that struggled to reach that future.

Time flew by, like a sigh, until the end of the not so brief program. The musicians received the ovation of the audience and the soloist granted an encore, with a sublime interpretation of a famous prelude for cello.

When the last chord faded away, Flavio stood up with the audience to applaud. From his remarkable height, he could see well the smile of the cellist. Next to him, Flavia had remained seated. Even if she had gotten up she would not have been able catch a glimpse of the stage beyond the people who were in front of her.

Flavio knew that the disco was a kind of evening much more familiar to her and he feared he had taken her to the wrong place. He turned smiling, determined to hide his date anxiety, ready to ask her if she had liked the concert, but before speaking he noticed the tears that were making their way down her cheeks and sat back down, remaining silent amid the murmur of people leaving the hall.

Flavia wiped her face with her fingers and chuckled embarrassed.

«Damn...» she said, «and to think that tonight I had plans involving earplugs.»

The huge temptation to take her hand was fighting in Flavio's heart with the fear of a clumsy and out of place gesture, when without much ado Flavia anticipated him by grabbing his fingers to pull him behind her.

«Come on, I feel like complimenting the soloist!»

They crossed the hall, dodging here and there spectators who, still reluctant to leave the theater, had disorderly started to make conversation. They reached the base of the stage where the musicians had stopped to indulge admirers and acquaintances. Flavia seized a moment of tranquility of the cellist and slipped in front of her to introduce herself.

Flavio was delighted to see his friend on cloud nine and thought that the idea of the concert, after all, couldn't have been more appropriate. The musician opened up with cordiality to the two of them, conveying a sincere gratitude for the compliments and engaging in a lively conversation with Flavia who, all of a sudden, brought a hand to her forehead. She had stopped smiling and the pallor had become visible on her face.

«Are you okay? What's wrong?» the cellist inquired.

«A bit of nausea, it happens to me often, nothing serious...»

With a gentle touch, the cellist placed her hands on Flavia's shoulders and looked around to search among the people in the hall.

«Wait a moment, I'll look for my husband. He's a doctor, maybe he can have a look at you. I'll be right back!» she assured before running towards the group of musicians.

Flavia breathed with difficulty and squeezed Flavio's arm.

«Let's go outside, I need some fresh air» she said.

«Isn't it better if we wait for the doctor?»

«Please!» Flavia insisted, sharp. Then she tried to speak with calm. «Right away, please.»

The cellist came back without seeing any trace of the two and started to scan the hall.

«They must be around here» she said to her husband, «a blonde girl with a very tall and thin boy, with glasses, can you see them?»

«But it's full of people here!»

«Come on, Valerio, look around...» she insisted.

«Francesca, please...»exclaimed Valerio Boccaccio. «I'm a doctor, not a detective!»