An agonizing hour later, Luca finally calls.
"I'm below your window," he says.
I don’t know how the hell he knows which window is mine, but I pray he's right. I’ve never snuck out before, not like this. And the second I crack the window open and peer out, my stomach flips.
It’s far. Like, break something far.
I lean out just enough to spot him—there he is, standing casually beneath my building in a black hoodie, hands in his pockets like he’s got nothing better to do. No fear. No nerves. Just still and calm.
Doesn’t he care that my parents might see him? Or is he just built differently? I stare, uncertain. He stares back, expression blank.
I grab my phone and text him:
Me: How do I get down?
He reads it. Looks up. Shakes his head.
I wait for a response—but instead, he raises his v
