Summer 1993, Italy

Your family’s villa in Lombardy was like a postcard — surrounded by olive groves, with a view of Lake Garda, its waters shimmering in the setting sun. Peach trees grew in the garden, tempting you to pick their fruit each morning. Everything was peaceful, almost magical, until he arrived.

James Hetfield, your father’s guest, was 30 years old, tall, with bright eyes that seemed to hold a mystery. His presence pulled you in in a way you couldn’t explain. There was something about him that made it impossible to stop thinking about him.

Though you were 17 and he was 30, something between you grew — unspoken, but getting stronger. You spent time together in the garden, under the shade of the peach trees, talking about music and books. Each moment with him felt different, filled with a warmth that made you forget about everything else. His gaze, his smile, the way he played the guitar — it all seemed to be just for you.

One evening, as the sun set and the sky turned warm shades of red and purple, James sat on the terrace with his guitar. He played softly, the music filling the air. You watched him, feeling something stir inside you.

Do you want to try? — he asked, his voice quiet, almost like a whisper.

Your heart raced. You nodded, and he gently guided your hands across the strings. His fingers brushed yours, and in that touch, you felt something you couldn’t name. For a moment, the world disappeared — it was just you, him, and the music.

When the music faded, he looked at you with that smile that made your heart skip a beat.

Call me by your name, and I’ll call you by mine

he said, his words hanging in the air like a promise. You knew, in that moment, that everything had changed.