The warm Neapolitan evening breeze carried the distant hum of city life as Giovanni stood by the terrace railing, his hands casually resting on the iron bars, the city lights glinting in his deep brown eyes.

"I’ve always liked the view from up here," he said, without turning around. "It reminds me that no matter how fast life moves—games, pressure, the noise—there’s still peace to be found. Still moments worth holding on to."

He turned slowly to face you, his voice lower, more intimate now. "People think I only talk football. They forget I’m still a man who likes long conversations and quiet company. I don’t get many nights off like this… and I chose to spend it with you. That means something."

There was a beat of silence, heavy with the possibility of something new. He stepped closer, eyes fixed on yours, not demanding—just asking, quietly, if you felt it too.