The coordinates in my father’s letter referred to Termini Station, a simple search on the internet was enough to find out. The rest seemed more complicated, but I trusted my instincts and thought I would understand what to do once I got there. And so it was.
“One, B, eighty-two.” I read on the sign with the station plan.
It’s the central control room. I press a hand against my stomach; it's been growling for two hours now. I promise it that if I survive this, I'll stuff it until it bursts. There's no room for second thoughts. Sure, I know I'm doing something insane, but something is driving me forward. I can't name it, yet I feel like I have to keep going.
A security patrol appears at the end of the corridor. I dive behind the corner and hold my breath. They pass without noticing me, and I peek out to check for any more surprises. Just ten meters left—I can make it. I've convinced myself that once I do what my father asked, everything will go back to normal. I just need to be quick.
I sprint to the metal door and stand on tiptoe to peer inside the room. Through the peephole, I can see cold, uniform LED lights. The walls are lined with touch screens flashing detailed information about the railway lines and trains. No operators in sight—everything seems automated.
I recall the codes from the letter, but there's no keypad.
«Damn...»
Oh, wait—a small panel lifts, revealing a tiny touch screen underneath. If it reads fingerprints, I'm screwed. I brush it with my finger, and a glowing grid appears. Numbers mark the intersections of the lines.
«Don’t think, don’t think...»
I move my finger, tracing lines that connect certain nodes.
When the door unlocks, I can't tell if I'm more exhilarated or terrified.
I dart inside and slam the door shut behind me.
One, two, three breaths. Heart, please, slow down.
The center of the control room is dominated by a large, circular interactive screen, surrounded by buttons and controls managed by a sophisticated AI system. It regulates traffic, supported by a network of sensors monitoring every car and person in the station. How I figured all this out is a mystery.
«Let's see...»
Each console has a number above it. I run from one to another until I find CMD3450987. The same code from my father’s letter. Good.
«There you are, sweetheart.»
It doesn't recognize my face and won't unlock.
«Great...»
The maintenance mode button catches my eye. Probably because it's the only one I can select. I give it a try—worst case, an alarm goes off, everything explodes, and I end up in jail.
Or dead.
«Enter technical ID,» I mutter, reading the instructions on the screen.
Xant1er0984—that must be it, I remember it clearly.
I type it with a trembling hand, hoping it'll work and get me out of this mess.
«Okay, backup mode activated... Now what the hell do I do? I need...»
I spot the word «help,» press it, and a flood of technical documentation scrolls across the screen.
«Oh God, what does any of this mean... Focus, Lilia. Focus.»
My hand darts over the controls that seem right, and suddenly I'm staring at hundreds of names, birthdates, and associated codes. Even photos.
«What the hell are they doing? Why are they cataloging people?»
Maybe these people are terrorists, criminals. But when I see my brother's name and photo, I’m not so sure. In fact, I feel like I've been punched in the gut. I'm not on the list. I know it, even though those files flashed past my eyes in an instant.
Instinct, right? No time to dwell on it.
«Cancel, cancel...» There it is—the command. It takes just a second to execute. «And now, reboot. Screw it.»
I wipe my damp forehead, feeling faint.
«Step away from the screen!»
I jolt and scream, instinctively raising my hands. A security guard points a real gun at me.
«Oh God...» My arms are stiff, my whole body frozen. «I didn't...»
What prayers do people say before dying? A dozen come to mind, but my tongue is stuck to the roof of my mouth.
«What's going on here?» A graying, overweight man appears behind the guard.
I've seen him somewhere before, but I can't place it.
«Director, I found this girl with her hands on the control panel,» the guard quickly explains.
That's who he is—the guy from the station staff photo. The general director, to be exact. Lucky me.
«Kids these days, brainless rabble.» The man lunges at me, grabbing my shoulder.
I let out a whimper, bending sideways to minimize the damage, but I don’t even think about fighting back.
«What were you trying to do, huh? Post your stunt on TikTok? You'll explain everything to the police.»
The guard lowers his weapon while the director drags me out like a sack of potatoes. No idea how much hair he's yanking out, but that's the least of my problems. He shoves me ahead, while I spout pathetic excuses no one would believe. I'm desperate, but I can't break free from his grip. He forces me down the stairs, heading for the lobby.
«Let me go! I didn't do anything!»
But he jerks me even harder. No, I don’t want to go to jail. I hammer his chest with my fists until, suddenly, he pulls me into a tight embrace.
«Calm down, it's me.»
His voice is the most beautiful sound I've ever heard.
«Ema, I can't believe it.» I squeeze him so hard my arms ache.
He strokes the back of my neck, resting his cheek against my temple. «Good thing I don’t need to breathe to live.»
I look up at his face. «What?»
But he's already scanning for an exit. «Let's get out of here.»
I don’t need to be told twice, and we run toward Via Giolitti. Emanuele hails a taxi and gives the driver an address that leads to a neighborhood outside the city, toward Ostia. I sink into the seat, and all the tension and exhaustion crash down on me. I tremble like a branch caught in a storm, clinging to him as if he’s the only thing keeping me from breaking.
He wraps an arm around my shoulders, and I rest my head against him.
«It's over. You're safe now,» he whispers.
I wish that were true. But even if I believe it deep down, I let myself be comforted by the warmth of his body. I fall asleep almost without realizing it.
«We're here,» he says after an undefined stretch of time.
I'm so disoriented I barely register my surroundings.
He reaches over to open the door. «Come on, get out.»
I nod and do as he says. The suburban street is lined with towering maritime pines. Dry needles scattered across the uneven asphalt release a sweet, woody scent. The view is almost entirely consumed by the trees' canopies, broken only by the backdrop of nondescript houses lining the road.
I shiver. The warmth of the early afternoon has given way to the cool twilight, casting a melancholic, silent atmosphere. I flinch when the taxi speeds off with a screech. If my heart doesn’t give out today, it’s a miracle.
I press a hand to my chest and clear my throat. «What was his problem?»
«He'll have a story to tell tonight. Come on.»
He places a hand on my waist, guiding me toward a small brown gate. The scent of citrus and lemon blossoms greets us, so sweet it makes me sigh. I wish I could forget everything that happened today.
We walk down a narrow path that ends at a white marble staircase beside the house wall. We climb to a landing with a weathered wooden door. But when it opens, I realize it’s just for show—it’s thick and heavy, like solid metal.
The apartment beyond is a white shell where everything seems meticulously organized. Sleek, modern furniture lines the walls. Not a single item out of place, each object serving a precise purpose, devoid of any sentimentality. The air is fresh, clean, like mountain air.
I can't help but notice the technological setup. Screens embedded in the walls like paintings, a table with elegant, geometric lines.
Emanuele approaches a panel by the entrance and adjusts the lighting, along with a series of other settings I don’t understand. Soft, harmonic tones fill the space.
«There's no bed, but the couch pulls out. Sit down; I'll find you something to eat. There's a pizzeria two blocks away.»
«No need, whatever you have is fine.»
The truth is, I don’t want to be alone for even a moment, and he must sense it.
«There’s nothing here. But don’t worry, I’ll be quick. There’s also a bathroom if you want to shower.»
I sigh and nod. There's something about this place, something that makes me feel disconnected. Almost like a human home, yet far from being one. Like him, maybe.
I approach the window but can't figure out how to open it. I don’t try much, though. I’m more interested in the bathroom. It’s amazing—white, perfect, with a huge shower and untouched towels. I spend all my time there, and when he returns, he finds me in a bathrobe with wet hair. I can’t help but notice his gaze on me. I hope the warmth I feel on my face isn’t also a blush. That would be stupid. He isn’t who he appears to be. Or maybe he is? Better to stick to the original question.
«Do you have a hairdryer?»
He places the bags on the table. «In the cabinet under the sink, I think.»
«You think? Isn’t this your place?» I approach, drawn by the aroma of food.
Just food. Everything else is an illusion. Even the rhythm of my heart, even the urge to close the distance, even...
«That room’s just for guests. I don’t use it.»
I widen my eyes. «Really?»
«Really. Hurry up, or it'll get cold.»
The food smells irresistible, and I grab a slice of pizza.
«I can’t wait,» I mumble with my mouth full.
Emanuele gives a faint smile. «I hope I chose well.»
«Mmm, I’d eat anything right now. Mind if I take this slice with me?»
He smiles. «I doubt it'll make it to the bathroom. By the way, I have some clothes in the closets.»
«Okay.»
He’s right—I’ve already stuffed my mouth before reaching the bathroom. I find the hairdryer and dry my hair. Then, I swap the bathrobe for a white shirt and dark shorts.
«Are these for guests too?» I ask, joining him in the living room.
«Yes.»
He has unfolded the couch and pulled out some light gray fleece blankets from a drawer.
«Do you have many? Or many guests?»
«Blankets?»
I laugh. «Guests, silly.»
I know there are more serious things we could talk about, but tonight, I just want to clear my mind of the absurd day we've had.
«No, actually, you’re the first.»
I grab another slice of pizza. «Liar, all the girls at school are crazy about you.»
He closes the curtains, and the streetlights cast yellowish halos beyond the dark silhouettes of the pines.
«Really? Good to know.»
I raise an eyebrow. «Now you’re pretending to be clueless.»
«Let’s just say I’ve had other things on my mind.»
«I guess it doesn’t matter, since you can take any form you want. Right?»
I say it lightly, but a shadow crosses his face, and he looks away.
«Yes... it's true.»
«Sorry, I didn’t mean to upset you.»
He shrugs, and the tension fades behind the half-smile he gives me. «No, it's fine. But if you're asking me to spend the evening as your favorite singer, I’ll have to decline.»
I burst out laughing. «I hadn’t thought of that, Emanuele is perfect.»
He looks into my eyes in a way that makes me forget how to swallow, and I almost choke.
He steps closer. «Are you okay?»
I raise a hand and swallow. «Yeah, just too hungry. I need to chew more slowly.»
He offers an uncertain smile and hands me a glass of water.
«Why did you choose this form?» I ask him after drinking almost all of it.
«I don't know... It's the first time I haven't copied someone, to be honest. It wasn't easy; I'm not even sure I pulled it off.»
«And why this choice?» I insist.
I don't know what answer I want—maybe some justification for the emotions that overwhelm me when I'm with him. Are they as false as his appearance? Baseless illusions, just an image with the same reality as a dream. He sits on a chair and stretches his legs. Only then do I notice he's now wearing a gray hoodie instead of the black clothes he had at school.
«I wanted... well, I wanted it to be just me. For people to appreciate me, or rather...» He sighs. «I can't explain it without sounding stupid.»
I sit on the couch. «I think I get it. But just so you know, you look like a famous actor.»
«You're kidding?» His eyes widen in shock.
«I swear.» I can't hold back my laughter at his expression.
He sighs and shakes his head, defeated. «Nothing ever goes right for me.»
«We all look like someone else anyway.»
«You..."
«Me, what?»
«No, nothing.»
«Really?»
«Yes, yes. Really.»
I decide to accept that answer, but only because I haven't known him long enough. Part of me wants to know everything about him, to uncover every thought he has. Instead, all I seem capable of is finding and remembering codes. What a useless power.
I sigh and lower my gaze. Where am I? Why am I here? How did I end up like this? What will happen next? My mind is a whirlwind of questions, and my heart is a stormy sea of emotions. I want so many things right now, but they all feel impossible. Loneliness brushes against me like a cold wind, and I wrap my arms around myself. If a storm had a name, tonight it would be mine.
Editing : Priscilla Gullotta
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