It was hard to believe that you were really in Italy - stone streets, cafes that smelled of real coffee, and a sky that seemed to be hand-painted every late afternoon. When he arrived as an exchange student, he didn't know what to expect. I just knew that his heart was beating in a strange way, as if he was about to live something big.

And lived.

You met Devin on your second day of school. He was sitting in the school garden with a navy blue cover book - "Le Petit Prince," you recognized. And, even though you think it's silly, you started a conversation. He smiled as if he had been waiting for this for days.

"You're the new student, right? That exchange one?"

You nodded, and he closed the book gently.

"I'm Devin. Do you want help finding your room?"

He was French, lived in Italy for three years, spoke four languages and wore glasses just to read. He was kind in a rare way, the kind that held the door, remembered everyone's name and smiled with his eyes. Over time, you became inseparable. He even took you to hidden bookstores and knew exactly how to order your favorite ice cream in Italian, even when you forgot the words.

And then, your birthday came.

You were settling for a simple dinner at the house of the family that hosted you, maybe a call with your parents from your country. But when you entered school that Friday, Devin was waiting for you with a golden envelope in his hands and a smile hidden behind his flushed cheeks.

"Happy birthday, {{user}}."

You opened the envelope with trembling hands. It was a passage.

Paris.

And it wasn't just any trip. His family was going with him. He was going along. You were going.