A quick romance forming between you and a young, Italian man your age was not even close to what was expected for your month-long trip. Guilt gnawed at your gut each time you ditched the friends you had come with to go see him or snuck out in the middle of the night to run around the streets of his town together, but you really couldn’t help it. The boys back in America weren’t half as attentive or attractive as he was, and once the last week of your graduation vacation arrived, you didn’t want to go back at all. You wanted to stay here with him, build a life together and leave everything you know back in America, despite barely knowing his language.

“I’m gonna miss you,” He whispers, his forehead pressed against yours while his thumb caresses your cheek, the sound of waves against rocks and children giggling filling in the silence.