On a
scale of dark alleys in Carson to Shangri-La, spending 8 weeks in Florence,
Italy is a high 9. After Paris, Rio de Janeiro, Athens, Melbourne and Hong Kong,
Italy was by far my favourite. Ethan and I had been traveling for over 7 months
and I was 18 now. This morning we were getting ready to go to the market.

After buying all our food we were now free to
roam the streets full of tiny stalls and blissful scents. The attractive
scarves of an older lady’s stand drew me to their fine threads. My mother had
been a collector of delicate scarves and shawls from foreign countries and I
knew I had to have one. Ethan came and sidled up to me.

“You
make a beautiful couple.” The woman spoke in Italian and smiled.

“Oh no
were not.” I was the only one out of us two who had picked up a bit of the
language.

“Nonsense!
It is clear that you two are in love!”

This
woman was just confusing me now. What did she mean? Did I really love Ethan? I
looked at him beside me and he smiled. It was there in his eyes. He loved me.
If I loved him there was only one way to be sure.

“Hey
charming which scarf should I buy?” I spoke now in English.

“Definitely
the blue one with the paisley pattern, buy that one.”

This
was an order. I picked up the blue scarf and closed my eyes. But it didn’t
happen, the light stayed and I opened my eyes. The scarf matched the colour of
the cloudless sky. And I was sure the sun beamed a vision brighter.

The end.