KRISTIAN'S POV

Dressing up is always weird. I would feel more comfortable in jeans and a shirt or sweater, but that would not be the proper attire for where I am going. It would be disrespectful, actually, because you do not show up at a funeral in casual clothes. Besides, this one is Parisa's. I would NEVER want to disrespect her in any way.

I don't know her parents and I have never met them. I just want to make a good impression on them and pay my respects for their—our loss. Giovanna told me they were very protective of their daughter and did not like the idea of us together. I hope I can change their minds. Their daughter meant so much to me, I would never forgive myself if they hate me.

Daniel, Giovanna, and I are on our way to the funeral. I'm just thankful my team is allowing me to attend by myself. They are worried people—mainly photographers—will bother me while I am in Rome, but Giovanna convinced them I will be safe. I think her exact words were "I will hurt ANYONE who dares to go near Kristian or make him feel bad."

So here we are, sitting in the back of a big black car driving to the church. Apparently it is bad luck for Italians to speak about dead people when they are mourning. Giovanna broke that by talking to us about Parisa, but she thinks it's a silly old superstition and argues we're not Italian, so it's okay.

"On a scale of one to ten, how ready are you for this?" Giovanna asks, looking up from her phone.

"Um...is a three okay?" I wonder as I anxiously toy with Parisa's ring. "Meeting her parents is scary, and I read about Italian funerals."

"A three is perfectly fine," she assures me with a smile. "Don't worry about Parisa's parents or feeling out of place. You have Daniel and me. We're here for you, Kristian. You have every right to be nervous. Italians are notoriously close knit and family oriented. Persians are the same. Her mom's family is flying over from Iran."

"Oh great!" I grumble, throwing my hands in the air. "More pressure!"

I sink into my seat and sigh. Great. Parisa's entire family will be at the funeral and they will all be judging me. It seems I cannot grieve in peace. I was already nervous about her parents. Now I have to worry about both extended families? I'm going to die.

"You'll be fine," Daniel says, patting my shoulder. "Giovanna is right. We have your back, Kris. You're not going through this alone."

But it feels like I am. They can sympathize and act like they know how I feel, but they can't truly understand my pain. Parisa and I had a special, untouchable relationship that cannot be explained or replicated. We had so much potential to create something that could last far longer than forever.

Now it's gone. Now she is gone. Nobody can say I'm not alone because I really am.

I can have my family, friends, and fans support me through this difficult time, and I can still feel completely alone. I can tell them exactly how I feel, and they still will not understand my grief. How can they? They only know what we posted on social media; they don't know our entire story.

I glance at Daniel and he returns a disheartened look. I am thankful he is here. I would be nervous as fuck if he weren't here because Rome isn't where I belong. This is Parisa's city, not mine.

I have never been to Rome until now. Having my brother with me is a huge comfort. I honestly don't know what I would do without him.

"Close your eyes and take a deep breath," he advises. "Just relax. Don't think about it too much, Kristian. You're scaring yourself."

"Her parents will be thankful you're coming," Giovanna comments. "Seriously. They know you made her happy."

I furrow my brows and face her, confused. "Didn't you say they don't like me? That doesn't make sense."

"They don't hate you. They just thought you dating Parisa was sketchy because of the Eurovision connection and whatnot," she explains. "Kristian, they're over that doubt. After your date, she FaceTimed her parents and explained everything. The way she spoke about you convinced them it wasn't a PR stunt. Oh my God, she had so much light in her eyes and you could tell she had the best day ever with you! Parisa in—"

Tears stream down Giovanna's face and I reach over to hug her. I can't imagine tough this is for her. Giovanna was more than Parisa's manager; she was the older sister Parisa never had. Parisa and I joked about our managers and how they wanted us to get married, but I can see she was more than a pop star to Giovanna. She really cared as if Parisa truly was her baby sister.

"We're all in this together," she sniffles, looking at the both of us. "Parisa's death isn't just mine or Kristian's loss, it's the industry's and the world too. We need to celebrate her today and every day afterwards so her legacy can last far longer than forever. I definitely don't want to forget her. I hope you don't too."

She looked directly into my eyes when she said that last sentence, and it was threatening. Her blue eyes were cold as ice for those few seconds, daring me to say I will. It's like she secretly doesn't trust me and thinks I'll completely move on after this.

I can't talk about this with Daniel watching. I want Giovanna to know that I refuse to move on to another girl soon. I love Parisa. I thought she understood that, but it appears she doesn't. Hopefully we can sort this out after the funeral. I don't want Giovanna or anyone else getting the wrong impression that our relationship was all for publicity on my side.

♫ ♫ ♫

After almost an hour's drive, we finally arrive to the church. During the car ride, I was calm thanks to Daniel. Now I'm feeling the nerves again. My hands are sweaty and I can feel my fingers slip from the bouquet of pink and white orchids in my hands. I'm afraid of dropping them once I exit the car and accidentally stepping on them. That would be mortifying!

I glance at my brother and Giovanna, with are deep in conversation about music. They've been talking for the last half hour of the ride as if they're off to a concert, not a funeral. I guess it helps to keep the emotions in check, but now is not the time to discuss such matters.

They do look cute. If Daniel didn't have a girlfriend, he would definitely ask Giovanna out. Only in another would that happen. Only in another world—the Afterlife—is Parisa alive and probably not missing me.

Don't think like that, Kristian. Wherever she is, she misses you too, I think as I open the door and step outside. People's souls don't forget their lives when they leave their bodies, right? Then maybe she hasn't forgotten you. Maybe she never will.

I peer into the distance and sigh deeply. The walk to the church looks endless from where I'm standing. Maybe I'm psyching myself out. Once I walk through those doors, I'll hand these flowers to her parents or whoever is standing there. I don't think I'm ready to face that just yet. I don't think I'm ready to face her yet.

Hand suddenly clap my shoulders and I jump, nearly dropping the flowers. I turn around to see Daniel behind me with a small smile. I scoff and shrug him off, finding his actions not funny.

"You almost made me drop these!" I coldly spit, glaring. "That wasn't funny at all, Dani!"

"What's up with you?" he questions, taken aback by my anger. "Kristian, just calm down! I didn't mean any harm in it."

"YOU SHOULD HAVE THOUGHT ABOUT THAT BEFORE YOU DID IT!" I yell in Russian so nobody can understand me.

I make a run for it, heading opposite the church, but only make it a few steps. Someone latches onto my wrist. From the black nail polish and sparkly bracelet, I know it's Giovanna.

Her eyes blink back at me, pleading to talk out my feelings, but I fight back with my own unsaid words. Since I learned about that, the tiniest things can set me off. I haven't exactly been stable since—Giovanna knows that. I need her to understand that I need to collect myself first.

She sighs and releases my arm. "Don't take to long, okay? Don't want to risk dropping those flowers again, do you?"

"N-no," I stammer, lowering my gaze for a few seconds to look at the flowers. "Grazie. Grazie mille Giovanna."

She shakes her head, chuckles, and embraces me for a much needed hug.

You picked up a little Italian for her! That's cute," she notes with a small smile. "Well, I'll see you inside. Remember, don't take too long. It starts in about twenty minutes."

I nod in response and she pinches my right cheek. She is definitely in mom mode.

We part ways, her to the church and me, to a nearby bench. Emotionally drained, I slump onto the bench, throwing the small bouquet beside me. I exhale deeply and run a hand through my hair as I watch more cars and people appear. I also notice the group of photographers in the distance hoping to catch a glimpse of me, Parisa's parents, or some of her famous friends.

The feel of something cold and metallic against my throat, Parisa's ring, distracts me from my surroundings. I told myself I would never take the chain off, but it's hard to admire the ring when I'm still wearing it.

Under the morning sunlight, the ring sparkles from every angle. The tricolor gems remind me of something Giovanna said the night after Parisa died.

"I believe in fate, Kristian. It brought you and her together. Don't think she left you because she's gone now. Parisa is still with you. You can't see her anymore, but she's with you. She's in your memory. She's in your heart. She's in your soul. She united you with that ring, a symbol of three nations if you count Bulgaria. All you have to do is switch the green and white."

This ring meant so much to her, yet she gave it to me. I understand why not. Well, kinda. I still don't understand why it had to happen to her. Why her show? Why did she have to die? Wh—

A tap on the shoulder interrupts my thoughts, and I turn to see Daniel.

"Giovanna told me to get you," he softly says. "You should head in, Kristian. It's open casket and y-you deserve a proper goodbye."

"H-how does she look?" I wonder.

"Beautiful," he responds with a warm smile. "Your own sleeping beauty. Come on now."

Daniel hands me the bouquet as I rise. It's a great comfort having him here. During the short walk towards the church, he coaches me to become calm, telling me to relax and just breathe. He also tells me to ignore the photographers, which is definitely the best thing to do.

Climbing up the church steps, I don't feel as anxious about meeting Parisa's parents. But when I see them inside the building, my heart melts. I can feel their pain just by looking at them, and I am sure they can feel mine too.

"Kristian?" her mother asks, her accent very Middle Eastern. "You are Kristian Kostov, yes?"

I nod my head, scared for what will happen next, but she smiles Parisa's smile, killing me inside. God, I miss Parisa's beautiful smile.

"Thank you for making my daughter happy," she tearfully thanks, taking my bouquet. "These are lovely. Her favorite colors to. Parisa had only kind words about you, and I can see why. You are a kind, handsome, talented young man, Kristian. I cannot wait to see the show you and Giovanna have planned."

"Sh-should you be talking about her?" I question, confused. "I thought it's bad luck t—"

"Talk about the dead while mourning? Yes, it is—for Italians. But you and I are not Italians, are we? It's okay for us."

Tears fall down my face and I bite my lip. Parisa's mom gives me a hug, and I lose it. Tears uncontrollably come and I apologize for crying on her shoulder. She tells me it's no problem, that if it were the other way around, my mom would probably do the same for Parisa.

I cry for a good minute or so like the child I still am. She doesn't mind at all. As a mom, she feels it's her job to be here for me because Parisa is just as much your loss as she is ours.

When I can no longer cry, I reach for my chain. According to Italian superstitions, the dead should be buried with their favorite possessions to encourage their souls to not return to Earth. The ring Parisa gave me is one of her most prized possessions.

"Don't," Parisa's mom instructs when she realizes I want to return the ring. "Parisa would want you to keep it."

"Bu—"

"Keep it, Kristian. Please. We have already chosen the items that will be buried with her. It's yours now."

I can't argue with her mom. Defeated, I slip the chain back around my neck and tuck the ring under my shirt.

"Go say your goodbyes before the service starts. She's waiting."

Parisa's mom pats my back and flashes me a small smile before heading in. I take a deep breath and follow her lead feeling incredibly nervous.

I can hear whispers as I walk towards the casket, mainly whispers in Italian. It would bother me if I knew what they are saying, but I have a good guess it's either about Parisa and me, Eurovision, or both.

I don't let the whispers bother me or look over to find Giovanna and Daniel. I continue walking, looking straight ahead at my destination: the wooden casket.

My eyes cannot believe what they see. They don't want to believe it's my Parisa laying there like Snow White waiting for true love's kiss, but it is her. She seems peaceful and looks beautiful as always. The only problem is she's not breathing.

From a distance, it's like she is sleeping. Up close, I can see how death has taken her away, claiming her for its own. All the color is drained from her, so now her usually tan skin is pale. Her lips, once kissable and pink, are now cracked. Every little detail has changed because of her death.

My heart breaks seeing her so beautiful, yet so lifeless. She's like a fairy princess with her flower crown, pink dress, and wings from her tour costume. I could seriously stand here forever just to see Parisa. I don't want to leave her. I don't want my fairy to be an angel just yet.

I know time is ticking away and everyone is waiting so the ceremony can begin, but I deserve a proper goodbye. Our time together was so sort, but it meant something to me. She meant something to me. Parisa was more than a typical celebrity crush for me. She was everything and more.

I slip the chain off from around my neck and place the ring on Parisa's finger. My hands tremble and I start to cry as I do it.

Perfect. It's just perfect on her finger.

I hold her cold hand and sigh, then prepare myself for what I'm about to say.

"I-it's not fair," I sob, wiping tears away with my free hand. "You should not have died, Parisa! That should not have happened!"

Undecipherable chatter surrounds me, but Parisa is the only person in this church who deserves my attention. I could care less about everyone waiting for me to hurry the hell up. If this leads to her family hating me, so be it. I just need this moment for myself. I just need to speak to Parisa properly for one last time.

"When you did Eurovision two years ago, I knew you would be a global superstar. You just have it, you know? Your voice is out of this world, you are so beautiful inside and out, and you always stand up for what is right. Parisa, you are absolutely incredible," I begin my speech as more tears fall.

"You won. You did not just win Eurovision—you won the hearts of millions worldwide. Mine is one of them. I thought I would be just another fan, another face in the crowd. You are so loved, Parisa. I thought I would never have a chance to meet you.

"But I did meet you. It was one of the best moments of my life! I made such a fool of myself when we first met because I fanboyed so bad, it was completely unprofessional. But you were okay with it. You made my Eurovision experience better than I could have hoped for. Every interview was like a conversation with my best friend, and every day I learned more about the girl behind the superstar.

"And I feel for her. I fell for the girl who texted me every night, asking how my day went. I feel for the girl who confided in me about her own journey to music. I fell for the girl who sent me videos of baby animals when I said I felt terrible. I didn't fall for you because you are my celebrity crush, Parisa. I fell for you because you cared and you made me happy. I fell for you and your beautiful soul.

"You were there for me after Eurovision and I cannot thank you enough for being such a supportive and kind friend. You know how hard that was for me. I felt like I let my entire country down, but you helped me see through that.

"Then when you agreed to go out with me, I was the happiest person in the world! We had so much fun, I know what we had would grow into something special. I still cannot believe it. You are—were my girlfriend. You actually chose me and I—"

I choke on my words and hold her hand tighter. I try to fight back to the flood waiting to drown my composure, but I cannot contain it anymore. My emotions are too strong to block, so I let them win. I surrender. There is no use in trying to be manly and not crying when my thoughts are too much to bear.

My fingers slip from hers and my knees give in, lowering me to the ground. I still have so much to say, but I cannot bring myself to say it. I must look like a fool to her family for breaking down like this! I thought I could say everything and be fine, but I'm not. Instead, I'm sobbing against the casket where her lifeless body rests.

"Kristian, it's okay," Giovanna's voice coos. "C'mon. Give big sister Gi a hug."

I turn around to see Giovanna and Daniel crouched to my level. Everyone behind them is a blur. That could be because my glasses are fogged up now. Giovanna curls her lips into a melancholy smile and opens her arms, ready for the hug. But I don't give just her a hug; I fall between Daniel and her.

"You're okay," Daniel comforts me, kissing my forehead. "We got you, Kris. It's okay. Just let it out."

"Yeah," Giovanna agrees. "But we should head to our seats. Don't want to keep everyone waiting much longer."

"I wasn't done," I sniffle, hugging them tighter. "I didn't say everything I wanted to say."

"We'll stick around the mausoleum for as long as you need. I promise we will," Giovanna bargain. "C'mon, Kostov. Get the ring back and let's find an empty seat."

I squeeze them tightly once more, then stand back up. My tears have run dry at this point and I know for a fact my eyes are puffy. I don't care. I just can't lose control anymore. Not now, anyways.

After a deep breath, I admire Parisa's beauty for one last time. It's so hard to stand here and look at her knowing she will never wake up. I fish something out of my jacket pocket, a bracelet with charms of the Bulgarian and Kazakh flags, and fasten it around her wrist. I carefully take off her ring and place it around my neck.

"We're even now," I whisper, leaving a kiss on her forehead, an Italian custom of respect. "I have a part of you because of this ring. Now you have a part of me to keep for eternity."

♫ ♫ ♫

The actual funeral passed by quickly—too quickly for me. Giovanna was not lying when she told Daniel and me that Italians are very traditional due to the Catholic influence. I felt like I was at an extended church session with the last rites, prayer vigil, liturgy, and Mass. But when Parisa's parents spoke about her, the service became real and it hit me again that my girlfriend is dead.

After Mass, it was time for the burial. We drove to the Nicchi mausoleum, where Parisa's relatives are all buried. I wanted to break down when they lowered her casket to the ground. I didn't do it. I kept my cool and watched as people threw fistfuls of dirt or placed a flower on top of her casket.

One by one, I watched people bid Parisa addio. Everyone has now left to visit her parents. I'm still here. I still don't want to say goodbye because if I do, that means I accept her death. (Goodbye)

I pace before her grave with my hands behind my back. My ind is racing, trying to find the perfect words to say. How can I summarize my feelings for her without going overboard? What's the perfect way to tell the person you love goodbye forever?

Of course, I think, coming to a halt. I shake my head and chuckle at my stupidity. Why didn't you think of this before, Kristian? It should have been so obvious!

I face the marble gravestone and read her name.

PARISA BELLA NICCHI

I cannot read her birth to death date. Just reading her name makes my eyes water! I don't want to keep Giovanna and Daniel waiting too. They're outside waiting for me to say my peace. I might as well get on with it.

"I-I tried to think of what to say...t-to say goodbye," I nervously commence. I run a hand through my hair and exhale deeply. "I couldn't do it, Parisa. I have no idea how I can say goodbye to you. I don't want to. I-I wish this were a terrible nightmare, but it's real. You're really gone.

"The last words I ever said to you were обичам те, which means 'I love you' in Bulgarian. I meant them too. I can't fully describe how much you mean to me, Parisa. обичам те. I really do with all my heart.

"So...how do I say goodbye? I don't know. But I remember the last thing you asked me to do. You said you'd miss my voice, so you asked me to sing for you. I'll do it once last time for you, Par."

Although my emotions are high and I can feel incoming tears, they don't ruin my performance. My grief elevates the "Beautiful Mess/Un'ultima volta" mash-up, making the songs more melancholy than the originals. I pour every ounce of emotion I have to deliver the best possible vocal, even if it means I'm not pitch perfect and my voice cracks.

I don't even finish the songs because the waterworks flow. There is just one more thing I need to say. It breaks my heart to know this is it—it all comes down to this moment, but it has to be done.

This isn't really goodbye, Parisa," I blubber, wiping tears away with my jacket sleeve. "I can't say goodbye. It's too permanent. I-it's admitting you're not here anymore. No. It's not goodbye. It's see you later. I love you so much, Parisa, and I hope Heaven is treating you well. I'll see you soon, My Angel."

A/N:

Are you okay? I hope you're okay. Thank you guys so much for your love and support. Honestly, you're the best. I'm so sorry for breaking your heart and if anyone has cried, I'm so, so, SO sorry!!!