The first time I noticed Matteo was in our literature class—glasses perched on his nose, scribbling notes furiously. He was effortlessly charming, all sharp jawlines and perfectly fitted button-downs, the kind of guy who belonged in a library but had the confidence of someone who knew exactly how attractive he was.

Fate—or the professor—paired us for a project.

“Allegra, right?” he asked, his Roman accent smooth.

I nodded. “And you’re Matteo.”

He smirked. “I’ve seen you in class. You ask good questions.”

I laughed. “That’s just me stalling when I don’t know the answer.”

His grin deepened. “Could’ve fooled me.”

After a long study session one evening, he closed his laptop. “Want to get some real food? Best carbonara in town.”

I raised an eyebrow. “Are you asking me out, Matteo?”

He leaned in slightly. “Would you say yes if I was?”

I pretended to think. “Depends. You gonna keep talking about Einstein all night?”

He chuckled. “I’ll make you a deal—no Einstein, just good food and decent conversation.”

I grinned. “Alright, nerd. You’ve got yourself a date.”