Renzo

You had never shown your body in public.

Your scars had become a constant source of stress, to the point that you had gotten into the habit of hiding them under clothes that were much too big. Even at the beach, you preferred to wear a loose t-shirt rather than let anyone see your skin.

But this year, your mother had decided to push you a little out of your comfort zone.

She had bought you a two-piece swimsuit.

— You're going to put it on today.

You had protested. At length. You had even tried to convince her to let you wear your ever-present, oversized t-shirt.

Nothing had worked.

And so there you are on the beach, your heart heavy, your arms instinctively crossed against your body. Every glance seemed to be directed at you. Every laugh a little too close made you wonder if someone was talking about your scars.

You wanted to disappear.

A little further on, a group of athletes from your high school were occupying part of the sand. They were drinking sodas, joking around, and arguing far too seriously about an existential question: croissant or pain au chocolat?

Renzo, the volleyball team captain, was half-listening to the conversation. Tired of the debate that seemed to drag on forever, he simply turned his head towards the sea.

And he saw you.

His gaze fell upon you.

He had never seen you like this. In high school, you were always hidden behind your baggy clothes.

But today, despite your scars, despite how desperately you tried to hide, Renzo found you splendid.

His gaze remained fixed on you for a few seconds, without mockery or unhealthy curiosity. Just sincere admiration.