22. Il desiderio
22
Il desiderio
The Wish
Omar
T wenty kilometres to Verona. We've made good progress today, we didn't stop much and instead just ploughed on. It was a quiet drive aside from the music coming from the radio. It's like we're both stuck in our own heads. Something is going on in Bri’s mind and I wish I knew what it is.
“So, what are your plans after this trip?” Bri breaks the silence. I give her a glance before focusing on the road.
“I meant to mention it. I received an email this morning offering me a job at our embassy in Jordan. Apparently they’re happy to keep the job for me until I get confirmation from my uni.”
“Oh, wow. Congratulations! A government job after all,” Bri replies. She doesn’t sound too enthusiastic but neither did I. My concerns about working for the government remain and I’m wondering if it’s the right step for me. But it’s a job. It’s something to build my future on.
“Yeah, well. Might be fate telling me to go for it,” I shrug.
“Jordan,” Bri mumbles but doesn’t say anything else.
“Yeah, at least I’ll be close enough to visit some of my family in Lebanon.” I shrug.
“I’ve never been,” she says without looking at me. I almost ask her to come and visit but what would the point be of that?
“What about you?” I ask instead.
“Me? Well, I’ve my son’s wedding and then Christmas and then I’m going to study, I guess.” She pops another sweet in her mouth. “You know what’s funny, Omar? When I was younger, I thought by the time I’m forty I’d have it all sorted out. I’d live the life of a housewife and mother and… wait for death, I guess. It never crossed my mind how boring that sounds.”
“When I was in my early twenties, all I heard from my mum, from my brother was that I should marry. I should have children now so I’m young when they’re grown and can enjoy life. But the way you travel when you’re in your twenties is completely different from how you travel in your forties. At least it is for me. Slumming it with a backpack in a youth hostel was an adventure back then but I wouldn’t want to do that now. It's not that I’m less adventurous, I still like adventure but I want to be able to enjoy it and that means spending a bit more money to make it worth my while. I'm glad I travelled when I was younger and I never really thought I was missing out, but it would be a lie to say it never feels lonely to be the only single person in a room of married people.”
She gives my hand a quick squeeze before falling silent again.
There we are two lonely people who weren’t quite so lonely for the last few weeks.
I’m standing next to Bri at the bus stop, bundled up in my jacket and beanie, trying to fight off the autumn chill. We’re in the north of Italy, close to the Alps, and even though the sun’s out, the wind seeps through your clothes if you’re not careful. Still, the sky’s clear, the kind of crisp blue that makes everything look sharper, and Verona feels like something out of a storybook. Cobbled streets, stone buildings, a city practically dripping with history. We decided to spend a few hours here before travelling to our next destination.
“This better be worth it,” I say, glancing at the bus timetable with a raised eyebrow. “We’ve only got a few hours here and you’re dragging me to Juliet’s balcony, of all places?”
Bri nudges me with her elbow. “Oh, don’t act like you’re not curious. You love a bit of drama and romance. Plus, it’s iconic! You can’t come to Verona and skip Juliet’s balcony.”
“Sure, nothing like staring at a bit of stone where a fictional girl supposedly stood. Very romantic.”
“Well, when you put it that way. But it’s not about the balcony, it’s about the atmosphere, the love stories.”
I smirk. “Are you a romantic, Snaily?”
The bus rumbles up to the stop and we climb aboard, heading straight for the top deck. It’s an open air bus and the wind cuts through us as we sit down, but the views of the city are worth it. Verona spreads out like a postcard: piazzas, churches, old bridges, all soaked in centuries of history.
I relax back in my seat, one arm draped casually over the backrest. Though I was moaning about doing this earlier, the truth is, I’ll take her to any sight she wants to see, as long as it means I get another opportunity to hang out with her. It feels like just yesterday when we said we still had nine days left, and now we’re on our way to Padua, where we’ll stay for two nights before heading to Salzburg for a brief stopover, and then we’re heading home. It’s going too fast and I can’t shake the feeling that I’m not ready for it to end.
“Hey,” I say, pulling Bri from her thoughts. “You alright? You’ve gone a bit quiet.”
She blinks and gives me a quick smile. “Yeah, sorry. Just taking it all in. Verona’s gorgeous, isn’t it?”
“Has there been any part of this trip you haven’t liked?”
She doesn’t hesitate. “Saying goodbye to Zucca.”
I don’t reply to that. Instead, I lean over and press a soft kiss to her forehead. We sit in comfortable silence for the rest of the ride as the bus weaves through the city, until finally we spot the sign for Juliet’s balcony. I catch a glimpse of Bri’s excitement as the bus stops and even though I’ve been mocking this whole visit, I have to admit that the excitement is contagious.
“Alright,” I say, following her through a narrow archway as we join a small crowd. “Let’s see what all the fuss is about.”
Really the whole thing isn’t particularly impressive. It’s a tiny stone ledge tucked into the side of an old building, covered in ivy and buzzing with tourists. Some people are taking selfies, others are leaving notes on the wall, sticking them in every available crack between the bricks. It’s cheesy but I guess there’s a certain charm to it.
Bri’s got a look in her eyes like she’s been waiting her whole life to see this. I snap a few photos of her, and then we wander over to the wall where people have scribbled their messages. I’m actually enjoying this more than I expected. Bri even manages to convince me to rub Juliet’s statue, specifically the right breast because apparently it brings luck in love. I’m not looking for love but a bit of luck never hurt anyone.
Bri looks up at me with a mischievous smile. “Now, where do I leave my note?”
I raise an eyebrow, curious. “You’re actually leaving one? What’s it going to say? ‘Dear Juliet, please tell Omar to stop moaning about sightseeing trips’?”
She laughs, that carefree sound I love. “That’s not what these letters are for, and you’ll never know.”
She pulls out a piece of paper, quickly writes something on it and tucks it into a little gap in the wall. I watch her, intrigued, but when she turns around she’s got that same smirk on her face.
“Alright,” I say, stepping closer. “What did you write?”
“Nope,” she grins. “It’s a secret.”
I narrow my eyes, playfully. “Come on, Bri. What was it?”
“You’ll have to ask Juliet yourself,” she teases.
I sigh dramatically. “Great. I’m going to be wondering all day.”
“Good,” she says. “Keeps things interesting. Now excuse me.” She points at the gift shop and leaves me standing alone. She loves a gift shop and the amount of little trinkets in the Beast is laughable. She even got me a little snow globe of a Roman soldier after my moment of jealousy.
My eyes drift to where Bri put her note. I shouldn’t, but if I do I’ll have to be quick. My eyes fall back to the shop and there’s no sign of her. I take a step closer. I can see her note stuck between the bricks. It’s calling for me. I take a deep breath and turn away from it.
It wouldn’t be right, even though I’m dying to know what she asked Juliet for. Maybe she’ll tell me one day, and if she doesn't, I guess it just wasn’t meant for me to know.
The sky is darkening as we head back to the bus stop and there’s a real bite in the air. I slide my arm around Bri’s shoulders, pulling her close as we walk.
“Hey,” I say, breaking the comfortable silence between us. “If I had to pick a balcony to climb for someone, it’d probably be this one.”
She laughs but there’s a little tension in her voice that wasn’t there before. “Good to know. But maybe hold off on the climbing for now. I don’t fancy having to call an ambulance when you inevitably fall.”
I grin. “Your trust in my climbing abilities is encouraging. But I’d fall gracefully, obviously.”
“Obviously,” she says, rolling her eyes.
We hop back on the bus and as we sit down she leans her head on my shoulder, the cold air nipping at our faces. The city passes by in a blur of lights and shadows, and I close my eyes for a moment to listen to the gentle voice of the audio guide.
I know time’s running out. I know this trip will end soon. But for now, I’m just going to enjoy every last second of it.
It’s our first full morning in Padua and I’ve got to admit that this city’s got a certain vibe. It’s the first time I’ve been here and I am glad we stopped. It’s not as in-your-face as Rome or as picture-perfect as Verona, but it feels more lived in, like it’s got its own rhythm. The streets are quieter and the buildings have a faded charm, like they’ve seen everything and are in no rush to impress anyone. I get it. I feel a bit like that sometimes.
Bri and I stroll through the main square, Piazza delle Erbe, looking at the market stalls and old stone buildings. Bri’s ahead of me with her hands stuffed in her pockets, her hair bouncing slightly as she walks, humming a tune I can’t quite place. She’s been in a good mood all morning and it’s been rubbing off on me.
Bri insists on finding a little café with outdoor seating, which seems ridiculous considering it’s bloody cold.
“It’s the atmosphere, Omar,” she says, like that’s supposed to make me feel warmer. But she’s already ordering croissants and cappuccinos so I just grin and go along with it.
I sit back in the chair and pull my beanie lower, watching Bri as she collects our order from the counter. She’s all wrapped up in a big coat but still looking so sexy. It might be because I know what she’s hiding under the coat. She let me explore her beautiful body again last night and I plan to do the same once more today.
Bri brings the tray over with a smile and sets it down between us.
“Look at that,” she says, breaking her croissant in half. “This is living.”
I teasingly raise an eyebrow. “Cold croissants in November? That’s your idea of luxury?”
She rolls her eyes at me but there’s a smile tugging at her lips. “You’re impossible.”
We sit there for a bit, enjoying the peace. The market’s bustling in the background, but at our little café table it feels like the world’s slowing down just for us. Bri’s got a way of making everything feel... lighter. Less complicated.
Suddenly a little bird hops onto the pavement near us, head cocked to the side like it’s sussing us out. It hops closer, clearly eyeing up Bri’s croissant.
“How sweet,” Bri whispers, her eyes lighting up. “A little visitor.”
She tears off a piece of her croissant and holds it out, crouching down a bit with her hand extended. I watch, amused, fully expecting the bird to scarper the second it gets close. But no, the little thing hops right up and pecks at the croissant, nibbling from her hand.
Bri beams at me. “Can you believe this?”
I lean back, crossing my arms, trying to suppress a smile. “You’ve gone full Disney princess.”
“Shut up,” she laughs, still feeding the bird. “This is adorable.”
She’s down there focused on the tiny bird with cheeks flushed from the cold, and for a moment I catch myself thinking how... nice this is. Bri being Bri, making the world seem softer. I never really thought I’d enjoy something like this, but here I am watching a bird eat from her hand, and it’s one of the best moments I’ve had in ages.
She looks up at me, catching me staring. “What?”
“Nothing,” I say quickly, looking away. But inside, my brain’s running wild. What the hell are you doing, mate? I don’t do relationships. I’ve made that clear. They’re messy, complicated, and someone always gets hurt. I meant it when I gave Bri that explanation and I’m not about to change my mind. But here’s the thing—I can almost see it with Bri. Like a version of me that’s maybe... softened a bit, ready to let someone in.
I shake the thought away. Nope, that’s not me. Relationships are for people who don’t mind getting hurt, and I’m happy with my life. I have a new job waiting for me that will take me away from England. Besides, we both know the deal.
Bri’s still focused on the bird, her face lit up like she’s just found a new favourite thing to do. The bird eventually hops off, satisfied, and Bri sits back down with a grin.
“That was amazing,” she says, finishing the last bit of her croissant. “You missed your chance to feed it, by the way.”
I shrug. “It preferred you anyway,” I wink.
I’m still trying to shake off the weird thoughts in my head. How can I suddenly start thinking about relationships? What’s wrong with me? I’ve gone the last twenty years without one. Why am I suddenly considering it? I glance at Bri again and know the answer is sitting in front of me.
We finish up at the café and head towards the Basilica of Saint Anthony, one of Padua’s big landmarks. It’s domes and towers are impressive and Bri’s already pulling out her phone to take photos.
“Omar,” she says suddenly, snapping me out of my thoughts. “Look at this.”
I turn to see her pointing at a street artist, one of those guys who does caricatures. She’s grinning at me and I already know what’s coming.
“No,” I say, shaking my head.
“Yes,” she insists. “It’ll be fun! Come on, we need a caricature of us.”
“I don’t want to see my head five times its normal size.”
“That’s the point! It’ll be hilarious.”
I groan but she’s already dragging me towards the artist so I give in. Before I know it we’re sitting on a bench while the guy’s sketching away, his hand flying over the paper. Bri’s giggling next to me, probably already imagining how ridiculous we’re going to look.
I glance over at her again. She’s so full of life and it’s like every time I think I’ve got her figured out she surprises me. It’s been a long time since someone surprised me.
After a few minutes the artist holds up the finished product with a flourish and it’s exactly as bad as I imagined. My head is enormous, my hair’s sticking up in all directions, and Bri’s grinning with huge, exaggerated eyes. We look completely ridiculous and Bri’s laughing so hard she’s clutching her stomach.
“Oh my god,” she gasps. “We’re framing this.”
“No, we’re burning it.”
She wipes away a tear, still laughing. “It’s brilliant.”
I shake my head, grinning despite myself. “You’re mad.”
She tucks the caricature under her arm and leans into me, still smiling. “You love it.” She presses a warm kiss to my mouth before paying the artist.
Maybe, just maybe, she’s right. I’m realising I love this. The ridiculous moments, the unexpected fun, the way she can make something as simple as feeding a bird or getting a stupid drawing feel like the best part of the day.