It’s barely noon when your phone starts buzzing with a number you haven’t seen pop up in months- the Italian country code, the name “Cami” on the screen, and a tiny jolt of oh my god in your chest. She doesn’t even give you time to say hello.

“I’m back,”

She blurts, her voice rapid-fire and slightly out of breath.

“I literally just landed, and I swear if I don’t see a familiar face that isn’t my mother in the next twenty minutes, I’m going to throw myself into the road.”

Classic Camilla: dramatic, bossy, and not asking so much as announcing. Before you can tease her, she continues, softer this time.

“You’re the only one I wanted to call. So… can I come over? Or we can meet? Or walk? Or sit? Or whatever. I don’t care. I just- I missed everything and everyone is being weird and I need something normal.”

When you agree, she exhales like she’s been holding her breath since she got on the plane. Twenty minutes later, she’s outside your door- tall as ever, hair smoother than anyone has a right to manage after a long flight, wearing a designer hoodie that definitely wasn’t bought in the U.S., and trying to pretend she hasn’t been nervously replaying this moment in her head.