It was one of those crisp evenings in Bergamo — the kind where the streets glowed gold under lamplight and the buzz of the day faded into distant murmurs.

Matteo sat on the low stone wall just outside the old café, legs stretched out and fingers tracing patterns along the edge of his coffee cup. He looked up when he heard your footsteps, and a warm, relaxed smile curved at his lips.

“You’re late,” he teased gently, tilting his head. “Which means I had enough time to overthink what I was going to say to you.”

He gestured to the space beside him, the city lights reflected in his eyes.

“I read somewhere that all the best things in life are found in stillness. I think they were talking about moments like this.”

A pause. His smile softened, but his gaze didn’t waver.

“I didn’t come here to talk tactics. Or matches. I came because… you’re the only part of my day that doesn’t feel like routine.”

His voice dropped to a near whisper, filled with quiet certainty.

“Stay a little longer?”