It was about an eight-hour trip from Roma to Venezia—appena sufficiente for the two to get a full night’s rest. But Cay couldn’t drowse off enough to sleep. Unsurprisingly, he had too much on his mind. Jenna had occupied his thoughts since their last argument, and Tanya’s departure for Florence didn’t help.
Cay was not known for resilience, nor did he have the ability to mask his emotions—at least, not as well as his friend from England. Judas had already taken notice. The signs were obvious: Cay staring out of the window, unmoving, even though there was little to see aside from the blurred streaks of scenery speeding past. Still, Judas didn’t press him. He knew from experience that sometimes the best way to help someone was to leave them alone until they asked for support.
Judas had fallen asleep shortly after the third stop, just past midnight. Earlier, they had chatted about how best to get around in Venice—famously known for its lack of land vehicles. If they ran into trouble, they could always rely on their phones.
Cay must have dozed off at some point. When Judas woke an hour before arrival, he found his friend leaning quietly against the window, his left temple bathed in golden light from the rising sun. Judas instinctively checked for their belongings—one could never be too careful while travelling. His quiet movement stirred Cay, who let out a groggy grunt—a sign he hadn’t rested nearly enough.
“I don’t usually have trouble waking up when I’ve had a proper night’s sleep,” Cay had once said at Stansted Airport.
Though they travelled light, the number of items they carried still felt excessive. Judas took mental inventory. Cay’s passport, wallet, and phone were tucked in his jeans—Judas had seen him check them earlier.
“Sorry for waking you.”
“No problem, mate.” Cay only used “mate” when he was slightly irritated.
“Where are we now?” he asked, rubbing his eyes.
“Padua. It’s the major stop before Venice.”
“Oh, that’s good. We’re still on schedule.”
“Yes, but we won’t be able to enter the dorm until 1 p.m.”
“Yeah, I know. I planned the whole thing, after all,” Cay replied, not unkindly.
After arriving at the station, they set off to find a restroom but instead ended up at the front entrance. From there, they saw the full facade of Chiesa San Simeon Piccolo. The sun was just beginning to rise, casting long shadows over the Grand Canal. The old streetlights still glowed faintly, a quiet reminder of the city's gentle embrace. The soft splashing of water echoed from the nearby stairs.
Abandoning their toilet hunt, they descended the steps and crossed the arched marble bridge to the left. They hoped to find breakfast but weren’t in a rush. Some stars were still visible overhead, and the crisp morning air filled their lungs. Hunger remained, but patience prevailed. By twilight’s birth, the city slowly awakened.
Jenna never had a troubled childhood—not compared to her classmates. Many had grown up in fractured homes: divorced parents, unhappy marriages, or being conceived at an inappropriately young age—at least, that was what her friends shared.
Jenna had a warm roof over her head and doting parents. Kuan and Dylon were gentle, nurturing, and proud. That foundation likely shaped her into the cheerful, radiant person who stood out in every classroom. During GCSEs, A-Levels, and even university, she was the confident centre of attention—welcoming to all, especially straight men and queer folk.
Cay didn’t notice her right away. In fact, they had a few tiffs early on—usually about kitchen cleanliness in their university hall. But Jenna’s quiet allure eventually cut through Cay’s guarded pride. Her confidence disarmed him, and over time, he found himself drawn in.
About a year passed. Like most young couples, they entered the inevitable power struggle phase. Cay found Jenna’s forgetfulness frustrating—her habit of leaving dishes unwashed or neglecting to vacuum his room. Jenna, on the other hand, was bothered by Cay’s lack of drive. Their frustrations boiled over into arguments—petty comparisons to other couples, jealousy, overreactions to minor missteps.
Tension rose, culminating in weekly shouting matches and occasional object-hurling fits. Their neighbours overheard everything but never confronted them. Cay and Jenna took the silence as passive permission.
Eventually, even youthful passion wears thin. The outbursts gave way to quiet reconciliation. They rediscovered intimacy—not as fiery as before, but tender and more sustainable. Jenna accepted Cay’s languid nature, understanding that he processed the world differently than her more goal-driven friends. And Cay found her most beautiful in unguarded moments: the unconscious pouting of her lips when deep in thought, the delicate flutter of her lashes when puzzled.
They began appreciating the small things—the trivialities overlooked in the rush of early passion. A deeper love emerged, though never without its threats. Temptations came in various forms: men, women, flirtatious strangers. Jenna endured vague compliments and subtle flirtation. Cay, too, had once been winked at by a waitress while working in a café. He wasn’t used to that sort of attention.
But they stayed loyal. They spoke informally of marriage—fantasizing about raising a family together while lying side by side in bed. The idea of marrying Jenna motivated Cay to finish his degree. She noticed the change. It made her proud.
Perhaps love was what Cay needed to ascend to his next stage: a man more attuned to his environment, his responsibilities, and his emotional self.
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