My room had an east-facing view of Lake Como.

I indulged in a long, deep bath in the tub, using all the bathing essentials I had brought from Lush stores in London. I may have soaked in the water for over 2 hours, causing my fingertip skin and toes to wrinkle like prunes. 

Afterward, wearing a bathrobe, I strolled around the room, made a coffee with a complimentary coffee maker, put on my Gucci sunglasses, and sipped it like a Hollywood celebrity while reclining on the balcony. From there, I gazed at the afternoon sky over the lakeshore. I had eaten quite a bit throughout the day, few rounds of brunches, so I wasn't particularly hungry for lunch. Nevertheless, the coffee with that view made it all worthwhile.

After finishing my coffee, I closed my eyes and called the little Kaya inside my heart, wanting to know if she was enjoying the treat I was giving her. It was something I often did for myself.

8-year-old Little Kaya came into my mind with her little tip toes, stepping her bare foot gently on the hot gravel. She stood there, clutching her beloved teddy bear—an aunt's gift from the UK. Her yellow dress, decorated with small white daisies, was torn and burnt in places where it shouldn't have been damaged. There were dirty, coal-like smudges on her body from someone's cruel touch, along with bruises and scars from the violence she had endured since she was born.

Her once beautiful black hair was messy and tangled. There were slap marks on her dirty cheeks, and dried tears had left streaks on her face. A tiny cut on her lip had a small blood spot, and her pained expression revealed a missing baby tooth. Her big, brown eyes, surrounded by unusually bright whites, showed no emotion. She couldn't understand why her young life was filled with such suffering.

The world around her was aflame, and I could hear her screams, echoing all around her.

"I wanted to bring you here," I whispered to the little version of myself. She tilted her head to look at my face and followed my gaze.

Her pupils darted around, but all she could see was a world consumed by flames. The echoes of her past traumas and her lingering screams were everywhere.

"Are you happy?" I whispered, my voice quivering.

Kaya shook her head, her tear-filled eyes growing larger, her bruised lip quivering. She began crying uncontrollably, reaching out to me. However, a thick wall of glass separated us—a wall of pain and shame. I couldn't hug her. I couldn't hold her in my arms.

All she wanted was a tight embrace, but she couldn't let me in.

"I love you, isn't that enough?" 

I cried out, my voice filled with pain and agony.

Her cries intensified into a harrowing wail that gradually enveloped my mind, much like smoke filling a confined space that was slowly burning from within.

It was enough—more than enough. Her tears ignited a rage within me, like Mount Vesuvius on the brink of eruption.

I jerked myself out of the reverie, desperate to save myself.

How long had I been meditating? When had I dozed off?

Twilight bathed the lake in a crimson and sapphire hue. It was so serene, unbelievably breathtaking.

"Why can't you see all of this, Kaya?" I questioned, not knowing which version of myself I was addressing. I was weary, striving to impress all the bruised and hurt versions of myself.

A low rumble emanated from my stomach. Hunger. My body was craving food.

I thought about ordering room service while I looked over the menu next to the intercom. However, the prices surprised me. I knew I was lucky to have snagged this room at a 75% discount for a week, but the dining choices were way out of my budget. I could afford them, but I didn't want to splurge unnecessarily. I had seen how unchecked greed and extravagance could lead to a person's downfall. So, I decided to dine out and save the money for some enjoyable shopping.

I unzipped my suitcase, filled with dresses I had brought along, and my eyes fell on a red dress made from flowing fabric. It had a long, slightly fluffy skirt that ended just above my ankles. The upper part fit my body perfectly, featuring a sweetheart neckline and thin sleeves that draped from my shoulders down my arms. It was the ideal attire for a romantic date night, but since I was the most important person in my life, I aimed to look beautiful for no one but myself.

I debated whether to wear matching red high heels or white sneakers and ultimately settled on the latter. With my dark brown hair left loose, and its naturally rolled but semi-bombshell curls tumbling down, I completed my look with matching red lipstick, blush, and heavy mascara. Considering Italy's reputation for pickpocketing, I wore a cross-body purse and positioned it in front of me to deter potential thieves.

I was ready for my adventure.

Passing by the reception, I noticed that Julia had finished her shift and was carrying a tote bag. When she saw me, a smile played on her lips.

"Already taking my advice, Cara Mia? Did Papa Luca helped you?" Julia winked.

I shook my head. "No! I'm going out for a meal," I protested.

"Oh, nobody dines alone in this city! Why don't you order something from the à la carte menu in your room if you want to eat alone?"

"Girl, I can't afford that. Can't you see I booked the room during the 75% off sale?" I revealed my secret to her. Julia responded with a disappointed gesture and sighed,

"I guess I'm not the only broke bitch in the house then."

I burst out laughing, and Julia joined in. She laughed so hard that she even snorted. I wondered how much she had to drink before finishing her shift.

I instantly liked her. She was so lively!

"...Cara Mia, let me give you a suggestion. Take a taxi to Zafferano; they have the best lasagna—out-of-this-world taste! Go there and tell Dante that Julia sent you. He'll give you a discount." She made the famous Italian gesture with her hand, offering no further explanation of where this place was or who Dante was.

I nodded my thanks and headed towards the entrance. Hailing a taxi, I asked the driver for directions to Zafferano. Within 10 minutes, the car pulled up to the location.

Zafferano was situated within the bustling city market, teeming with both locals and tourists. The vehicle stopped on a quiet, narrow street, which resembled an alleyway. Other small shops and a few restaurants lined the road, but only Zafferano was filled with people. As I peered through the large windows of the cozy, quaint restaurant, my heart brimmed with joy.

I paid the taxi driver and entered the busy restaurant. An elderly lady came over to seat me. She asked me something in Italian, but my bilingual brain was already filled with words from different parts of the world, making it difficult to understand her Italian.

"Sorry, no Italian, only English," I shrugged. She patted my shoulder and then, at the top of her lungs screeched, 

"DANTE! DANTE!"

Ah, yes, the famous Dante. A man with a large, thick mustache and wearing a chef's apron emerged from what I presumed was the kitchen. I had never seen a man who looked so much like a character from a Pixar animation. His nose seemed to occupy half of his face's real estate.

Dante and the lady exchanged a few words before he approached me and invited me to sit at one of the tables with only two empty chairs.

"Julia sent me here," I informed him, which made his face light up.

"Cuore Mio, Julia!" he exclaimed, placing his hands over his heart. He was clearly delighted at the mention of Julia.

"She suggested I should try the lasagna, but I don't eat pork for religious reasons. Does it contain pork?" I inquired. Religious restriction was not the only reason I hated pork, I have always been a very picky eater and I don't eat anything out of my comfort zone.

"Yes, but no worries, we have a chicken option. Although it won't taste as good as the pork one, believe me!"

"Hmm, I'm sorry, but I'll have the chicken lasagna. Do you have any desserts?"

"The best tiramisu you'll ever taste!" Dante replied with enthusiasm.

"Thank you. And a bottle of water, please." I concluded my order.

"No wine?" Dante inquired, and I shook my head humbly, wearing a small smile. Even if I were not Muslim, I would not have chosen wine. I had wine before, and to me, it tasted like shite. I often wondered why people bothered drinking it, let alone enjoying it, given its flavor. Dante shook his head with disappointment and returned to the kitchen. Thank God he did not pressure me to drink anything else. I had no mood to get drunk on my first day of vacation.

Within ten minutes, he returned with a plate of steaming hot lasagna, the aroma filling my olfactory glands.

"Beautiful chicken lasagna for the beautiful Signora," he exclaimed as he placed the dish in front of me, along with a side of freshly baked bread and a glass bottle filled with water. The view and aroma overwhelmed my senses, momentarily disrupting my manners. I forgot where I was and lifted my fork to savor the deliciousness in my mouth.

The first bite of the lasagna was an explosion of flavors on my taste buds. The pasta was as smooth as velvet, and the tomato ragu was rich with meaty deliciousness and aromatic herbs in perfect balance. It was hard to believe it was made with chicken and tasted just like beef. Then came the cheese—crunchy, baked Parmigiano-Reggiano that coated my taste buds with just the right amount of savory goodness.

I closed my eyes to savor the moment, my toes curling inside my sneakers in sheer delight. Julia was right. It was the best lasagna I had ever tasted.

"Just shout for Dante with all your might if you need another plate," Dante laughed at me and retreated to the kitchen. I continued to savor the flavor explosion in my mouth, ready to experience it all over again.

Of course, I ordered a second plate. It, too, disappeared too quickly for my heart's content. I wanted to indulge in yet another serving, but my stomach protested.

After the meal, I sat in my chair for a few quiet minutes, trying to savor every moment. My eyes fell on the interior, the ceiling featured large stone arches and small chandeliers hung from them. I was one of the few remaining customers in the restaurant.

"Come for lunch tomorrow, Signora, and we'll serve you the freshest polenta with lavarello fish, the first catch from Lake Como. It's so good that you might leave your lover for it," Dante claimed as he handed me my bill for my early dinner.

I wanted to respond that I did not have a lover—never had one in my life. But I held back and simply grinned at him as I paid my bill. Either the prices were incredibly reasonable or sweet Dante had given me a substantial discount because of Julia's name. I promised myself that I would dine and lunch at this place as often as I could.

After stepping out of the restaurant, I found the streets filled with shops and bustling crowds. I decided to explore before returning to the hotel.

___________________________________________________________________________

As I concluded my exploration with the last shop on that street, I could barely hide my disappointment. All the shops seemed to be filled with cheap tourist trinkets that would likely lose their value within a few days. I hadn't purchased anything for myself or my colleagues back in London.

"Ugh, I need to ask Julia or Luca," I muttered to myself, feeling a bit let down as my eyes started to look for more excuses to explore the city.

At that very moment, the sound of music and the rhythmic beating of drums filled the air, capturing my attention. The sound made my heart dance with joy.

"Is it a carnival?"

I asked myself and followed the sound. I crossed another alleyway between the local malls, following the footsteps of other tourists in the cobblestoned streets, and came onto another big road on the other side.

There was a group of old ladies, perhaps local performers or regular folks, singing and dancing in a circle with a few tourists. The whole street was bustling with tourists, wearing jeans and t-shirts representing different countries, recording the scene from a distance with their vlogging cameras or smartphones. Another group of younger local men cheered for the dancers. All these tourists had backpacks and looked like they had come back from an adventure. I had a grim realization that I was the only one overdressed for the occasion among the tourists. I felt a few curious eyes watching me closely.

But the stupid feeling did not last long, as I lost myself in the rhythm of the unknown songs.

It was the carnival of life. I had no idea what they were singing in Italian, but the number of drums, the amount of rhythm, the chorus, the bass, the guitars, the macarena—everything felt like I needed to lose myself and start to dance with them.

Perhaps my body swayed slightly to the music, and my grin stretched from ear to ear as I marveled at the fun they were having. Maybe I looked out of place in my dress, or perhaps I appeared rich. An elderly woman from the dancing group noticed me, came forward, and grabbed my hand, inviting me into the circle. I hesitated.

"I don't have much cash with me!" I yelled, worried that they might expect a tip. But her wrinkly, kind smile told me not to worry, though. I had abandoned all earthly concerns and wanted nothing more than to join them in their dancing party.

All eyes were fixed on me, and it felt like nearly 200 people had gathered around in a circle. The gypsies took hold of both my hands and started dancing with me, singing all the while. I joined in, dancing without any rhythm or coordination, carefree and unburdened. Initially, it felt awkward, but not to them. They swirled around me, dancing beside me, and urged me to sing along. The whole experience was so ethereal that I couldn't help but burst into laughter now and then.

My flowing red skirt twirled and swayed in the air with each of my wild movements. My hair, damp with sweat, stuck to my face as I continued to dance without a single worry on earth. My dance was a stark contrast to theirs, and I made it even more bizarre with occasional claps and fits of laughter as if a happy ghost had possessed me. My cheeks started to ache from smiling so intensely, and if someone had been close enough, they could have counted all the teeth in my mouth.

I had never felt that much freedom.

Freedom was all I wanted my whole life.

I couldn't quite tell how long I had been dancing, but I started to feel a slight heaviness in my lower abdomen. The lasagna I ate almost 30 minutes ago reminded me to take a break. I was drenched in sweat from head to toe. My hair around my neck was wet with my neck sweats, and I felt like I just showered. I was sweating in places where I thought I could not sweat at all. The cool breeze of the Italian spring night kept me from noticing how sweaty I had become. I expressed my humble gratitude to the gypsies and offered them some money, but they declined. So, I stepped out of the dancing circle. I had danced enough for one night!

Oh, how I was going to remember this happy moment forever!

As I was dripping in sweat, I felt sort of disgusted with myself.

"Does anyone have a small cloth or towel? Or some wipes?" I mumbled to the crowd to wipe my face and neck. Nobody listened; nobody cared. As if my query was the stupidest thing they had heard. I felt disappointed in their friendliness.

So, I started to search for a shop where I could find a bottle of water and some tissues. I was panting, and I could feel my cheeks flushing as I was getting tired. My almost 30-year-old knees started to hurt as well.

"I can give you my shirt to wipe, but I think you'd enjoy it if I licked your sweat away, Mia Amore."A raunchy male voice with the thickest accent spoke from behind.

My body automatically turned back to see, and I saw a group of four local men swarming around me. They had a wicked smile gracing their faces.

"...or you can go home with me, and I will show you the best thing in Italy: that you can suck all night like a hungry babe. And then, we can shower off our sweat......" Another man flirted.

A low, ominous buzzing sound started to play in my head that muffled the sound of the dancing Gypsy music. This humm, a harbinger of impending danger, merged with the pounding of my heart, creating a sinister rhythm. My entire being was on high alert. A shiver ran down my spine, fueled by both fear and anger.

I turned my back on them, pretended that I did not listen, and started to walk away. I started looking for a taxi to the hotel as I knew taxi drivers were safe in this place; Luca had already told me that this morning. But I made a grave mistake and almost entered a dark alley to run away from them.

A strong grip grabbed my upper arm from behind.

It was one of the men, perhaps their leader, who had captured me. He pulled me closer to him and used his index fingertip to trace a path around my face, brushing it gently, and stopping at my lips. My whole body squirmed in disgust.

 "Sorry, Signora, but I can't let go of such a beautiful face like yours all alone. Some people would enjoy fucking you all night," he explained with malicious intent. His breath reeked of alcohol, and my heart was racing, drowned out by the violent buzzing in my head, urging me to escape as quickly as possible. My face must have displayed sheer terror, and the thugs were reveling in it, relishing every ounce of fear they could extract from me.

Then, a calm, low-pitched, masculine voice, smooth as velvet, interrupted my sinister encounter. 

"There you are, I've been looking for you."

My captor's gaze shifted to the source of the voice, and his wicked smile slowly dissolved. Before I could turn around, another hand reached out, grabbed my other arm, and gently pulled me toward him. My captor released me without a fight, and I felt myself being drawn closer to someone behind me. As I was pulled closer, my back met the chest of the person who had come to my rescue. I caught a whiff of a seductive scent, like oud, which graced my senses.

The low, masculine voice continued in its velvety purr, 

"Thanks for finding her for me."

I inclined my head to catch a glimpse of the face that belonged to the captivating voice.

He was the most beautiful man I had ever seen.