“You’re not going by yourself to Firenze… I’ll go with you!”

That’s when I knew I was falling in love. 

He was one of the first people I met when I moved to Catania for Erasmus, and we had been living in the same building for almost four months when we decided to travel together. I had already bought my plane ticket to Rome, but that didn’t stop him. He booked a ticket on another flight for the same day, and we agreed to meet at the airport. Together, we took the train to Pisa, where we would stay for almost a week. Time flew through laughs and deep conversations, sharing our dreams, failures, and fears. We strolled around and visited Florence from edge to edge.

“I saw a great gelateria we should try next to the Duomo. And we should definitely visit the Uffizi!”

But nothing ever happened between us. It didn’t matter if the air moved easily between us as in a marigold field on a summer morning. Neither of us ever leaned in, waiting for a kiss like in the movies.

Over the years I have learnt that it’s better to regret a bad decision than an indecision. I could easily be writing about a love story that ended badly: a broken heart in despair after a divorce, a nightclub affair, a fiancé left at the altar. Instead, I am writing about a love story that never started. Is there anything worse than living a life immersed in “what if?”? We are so terrified of being rejected that we don’t allow ourselves to dive into love and enjoy the moment. We are so terrified of being rejected that rejection impersonates the fear of not being good enough for anyone else. 

Every time I travel to Italy, I wonder how things might have been. How my life would be right now if he had made a move. How fearless I could be right now if I had made one. I guess another love story could have been written.