Rome Trip

The Coliseum appears majestic in the early morning light. Rachel and Ethan, an American couple, stand in front of the arena, hand in hand, amid a crowd of tourists. Ethan, faking a serious tone. Are you not entertained? Rachel, laughing. You used that line six times already. Ethan. And it still hits every time. They eat gelato on the Spanish steps. Rachel holds two cups, one strawberry, one pistachio. She pokes the scoop of ice cream at Ethan's face. Rachel. This is better than our honeymoon. Ethan. We're not even married yet. Rachel, winking. Exactly. They toss a coin into the Trevi Fountain. There are a lot of people around, but the moment between them is still private. Rachel. Did you make a wish? Ethan. Yup, but I'm not telling. Rachel. If it involves more pasta, I support it. They wander through cobblestone alleys, graffiti art, flower-covered balconies. They stop in front of a small, nameless pizzeria, with only a chef smiling kindly. Ethan, taking a bite of pizza. I could cry. This pizza rewired my brain. Rachel. Italy really said, eat, love, walk till your legs fall off. Sunset. They stand on Giannicolo Hill, overlooking the whole of Rome in a brilliant orange light. Church bells ring. Rachel. Rome doesn't feel like a place. It feels like a memory that never ends. Ethan hugging her from behind. Then let's make it ours. The two of them sit on the balcony of a hotel, wine sipping, city lights flashing in the distance. Classical Italian music plays softly. Rachel. Voiceover. In Rome, every street tells a story. And somehow, we became one of them.