Tears welled up in Jahan’s eyes. He nodded at Gaetano, mouthed, Thank you, and called up the next presenter.

The next presenter was me.

I felt my heart thumping. Was it excitement? Was it nerves? I stood up slowly as Jahan introduced me. “Our next reader—he’s only been in our lives for a couple of weeks, but it feels like we’ve known him forever.”

The room was golden. It was glowing honey yellow, nectarine orange, the warmest, most inviting colors. I melted into the whole thing. Everyone looked at me so welcomingly, and I felt at home.

“Ciao. My name is Amir.” I took the sheet of paper out of my pocket and unfolded it slowly. “A lot of you don’t know me. I ended up in Rome by accident, in a way, and became friends with Jahan and Neil, and all the others. They’ve been the nicest people in the world to me. I’m really thankful for that.”

My hands were shaking. I couldn’t believe how many people were packed into this bar, listening to me.

“It really is a tribute to what an incredible person Jahan is,” I continued, “that we all get to be in this room tonight. Together. We could have been complete strangers, you know? We could have been standing behind one another in line at a bus stop. Or on a plane, filling the rows and seats, watching in-flight movies over one another’s shoulders. We could have never met. But tonight, we get to meet. Because of Jahan.”

My sweaty fingers clenched the poem I had yet to read. “You know, I just realized something,” I said. “I think, someday in the future, I’ll romanticize this moment. Standing in front of all of you. I won’t remember the sweat dripping down the back of my neck. I won’t remember how nervous I got each time Jahan called another presenter, thinking it would be my turn. I won’t dock points for those little things, even if they meant something at the time, because I don’t want them to define a beautiful moment. Life’s not about keeping score like that. It’s just not. It’s about finding people who see you—because the minute they do, everything else goes away. All the points even out.”

Suddenly, the room filled with applause. I looked over at Jahan, who nodded at me. I was still holding the Rumi poem in my hands. I folded it back up and put it into my pocket, and I went and sat down.

• • •

“That was a hell of a speech, Amir.”

Giovanni had asked if I wanted to go outside for a smoke. I didn’t, but I did want to go outside for some air, so I joined him.

“Thanks,” I said, leaning against a motorcycle. “Where’s Jahan?”

“Oh, he is going to be in very high demand tonight.”

Giovanni took out a lighter and flicked the wheel, bringing the flame close to his cigarette. He took a deep drag. “I am going to miss him,” he said.