1942

96 avenue Victor Hugo,

Paris, France

Matteo

   Le Bourget, a northeastern suburb of Paris, lay ahead as I trailed behind Renada through the bustling streets. The atmosphere was charged with an unsettling fear that gripped us all. Since the German occupation of Paris following its defeat in 1940, an ever-present unease aded the city. Renada's brisk pace conveyed a sense of urgency, a fierce determination to resist the impulse to run. Her eyes spoke volumes, a silent acknowledgment that every move we made might be scrutinized by Nazi eyes.

Paris, it seemed, was no sanctuary.

My heart ached for Leo's absence.

His absence was an ache that grew sharper with every passing moment.

I loved him.

I still do.

But the pain of knowing he concealed so much from me was deep and raw.

I wished I could cry out to the universe, "Why must I endure this suffering?"

I gazed up at the azure sky, lost in my thoughts.

"I've never seen a sky so blue," I murmured to Leo.

We lay side by side in the grass, our gazes fixed on the expanse of blue above.

"Did you know," Leo began, a playful smile on his lips, "the Chinese used to believe that rain was the tears shed by heaven, a lament for those lost who mourn our earthly trials?"

A droplet of rain landed on my shirt, staining it.

"We should head back, it might rain heavily soon," I suggested, rising to my feet. But Leo remained on the ground, letting the raindrops kiss his skin.

I recalled overhearing a conversation between Mutti and Vati a