“Feels like a fever dream,” she said. I voiced my little “Umm hmm.” Didn’t give it a thought that day. Then when I woke up the next morning, I looked around me—she’s asleep. Some light is coming from the complex double-layered window. I’m in Florence, and it’s 2024. I go towards that window and light one up. I take the first puff and glance at the beautiful landscape of the mountains and the Duomo. “It does feel like a fever dream,” I whispered to myself.

I have maintained an opinion that you only get to know a person truly if you travel with them. As I sit here reminiscing about our New Year’s trip to Florence, I can’t help but smile at the whirlwind of memories that come flooding back. We were sleep-deprived, I was a bit feverish, drying clothes at an ungodly hour. There was a certain charm in the ordinary, a shared task that marked the beginning of something special. I could tell she was excited. That made me happy.

The magic of the trip unfolded as we sipped coffee at 5:30 in the morning, our spirits lifted by the caffeine and the anticipation of the adventure ahead. On the train, we talked about everything and nothing, our words blending with the passing landscapes outside. Arriving in Florence, our first order of business was coffee, a shared ritual that set the tone for our days in the city. We laughed about how expensive that coffee was.

We took a bus to that hotel. That dreamy hotel. Secluded in the mountains, an escape from the city. We settled down in that little room with yellow lights. Took a nap, of course. We had a lot of ideas about what to do for New Year’s Eve after we roamed the city (well, at least a part of it). It’s funny to think how nothing went according to plan. There were no buses, no taxis. So we got dressed up and went to the bus stop in the hope of catching the bus. It didn’t arrive, and thank the universe it didn’t. We decided to celebrate our new year there, on that beautiful, oddly yellow, mountainous street.

We went on the middle of the street and kissed, hoping a double-decker bus would take us both out. I couldn’t stop kissing her. She was struggling with her heels. But there would’ve been no other scene I would have desired there than kissing her on that road, amidst the fireworks.

We roamed around in the same 1 Km area in those days. The farthest we went was a trip to NYU Florence. An unsuccessful one for her, an enjoyable one for me. I got to walk and smoke with her. Who doesn’t want that. We went to a few churches. I found myself meditating in a church. I was at peace. I was in love. After we came out of the church, we took a random turn, and there it was.

That sad river bridge. “Later,” she said. I hesitated, “Later? Are you sure about etching this in stone?” I found the randomness charming and uniquely hers. I grabbed something, wrote on the sad river bridge, “Later, 3/01/2024.” Uncertain if we’ll revisit that spot, the memory of that gloomy day remains etched in my heart.

Coffee. The kisses, the fights, and elevator rides, the McD visits. The fresh air in the morning from the window. The love of my fucking life (and Vamika). The cigarettes. The ruining of her makeup (My fault). The bookstore. Her getting surprised that I read. Indian food. Failed attempt to get that Fotobooth working. That vinyl and collectable shop. Flag. Scarf. Nirvana. Coffee. Full circle. A Fever dream. Damn right it feels like a fever dream my luv.

I look back, and the memory that stands out the most is that little dance under the Christmas Tree near the main church, singing our song. I am so glad that I didn’t record that moment. I buried it deep down my soul. I will never forget it for the rest of my life. A core fucking memory.

There is a light that never goes out. She is my light. And I hope it never goes out.