An Italian woman named Carianna moved in during the middle of the night while the three men were absorbed in their usual distractions. Daniel was missing in action, while the others were either watching TV shows or planning trips and booking tickets. All were using the hostel Wi-Fi, predictably unstable.
The sight of a female presence caught them off guard. They scrambled to pull on pajama trousers. Cay briskly walked to the toilet to collect his half-damp underwear and socks, excusing himself as he passed Carianna. After the brief chaos, Judas attempted a polite conversation to ease the discomfort. Carianna, slightly embarrassed, appreciated the effort. Once the moment passed, they all resumed what they had been doing while Carianna unpacked.
Seeing a new occupant, Cay introduced himself. The conversation quickly turned to travel in Italy, led by Carianna and joined by Judas, who was multitasking between the chat and his email. They debated the best place for pizza.
"Naples," both the Italian and the Japanese agreed.
They asked for suggestions on places to visit. Her advice—grounded and local—was far more valuable than anything they could have found in a brochure or tourist website. The group knew better than to trust commercial guides that only promoted overcrowded attractions.
Soon after, everyone headed to bed, keen to take advantage of the next day’s daylight.
Cay and Judas left for the Roman Forum the next morning after a simple breakfast of quick-boiled tortellini and cereal. Tortellini was Cay’s favorite quick-fix Italian dish, a nostalgic nod to his university days, especially when Jenna was still around. Like most new lovers, Cay had tried every possible gesture to impress her: home-cooked meals, spontaneous day trips, and even working out, though Jenna had no interest in the latter. Those were the good old days.
The ruins of the Forum fueled their imagination. Crumbling columns and dusty remnants offered just enough to evoke visions of ancient Rome, once the capital of an empire. Behind railings and barriers, history whispered its stories. The two men spent nearly a full day wandering the grounds, letting their thoughts time-travel.
They ended the afternoon at a nearby restaurant, ordering doughy pizzas and overcooked pasta. Still, the coffee made up for it. They talked about life before university, choosing neutral territory, emotionally safe.
“So that’s how you got into traveling the world,” Cay said, intrigued by Judas’s story.
“Yeah. My father never paid much attention to me. Mum only appeared when things went wrong.”
“Like?”
“Like when I got into a fight with a school bully in my second year before GCSEs.”
“So, she came to the school to defend you?”
“No, she scolded me in front of the principal. Totally unfair.”
“That’s a definitive answer,” Cay said, sipping his latte macchiato. “But did you win?”
“Sure. Of course I did,” Judas replied, flashing the confident smile Cay had always liked.
That smirk gave Cay a sense of relief.896Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡBHv1aRynWZ
In Myanmar, Judas had arrived at the peak of the Rohingya genocide in 2015. The world barely knew, thanks to government-controlled media.
He had been deployed to help transport medical supplies, food, and bottled water from Akyab to several refugee camps. Though he couldn’t save lives like the doctors and nurses, he felt proud to be part of something that mattered.
At one camp, while unloading boxes of syringes, a woman approached him.
“Get those to the medical tent first. Leave the rest,” she said with a light American accent.
“All of them? Now?” asked one volunteer.
“Yes. Now.”
Everyone grabbed a box or two and started walking. Judas, not wanting to appear weak, carried two without much struggle, his Western build and gym experience helping.
The doctor outside the tent handed a checklist to a nurse, who tallied the items without ever looking up. As they turned to collect the next batch, the woman appeared beside Judas again.
“I haven’t seen you before.”
“Oh? I’m new here. Just arrived,” he said, slightly startled.
“I’m Mya,” she said, extending her hand.
“Judas.”
“Biblical name. Any reason for it?”
“Maybe they thought I’d bring salvation,” he joked weakly.
“Let’s hope so.”
Whether she ignored the joke or took it seriously, Judas couldn’t tell. He rarely looked convincing when trying to be funny.
Mya showed him around. This camp held around five hundred refugees, with only a handful of medical staff. Volunteers would be staying for a few days due to a large incoming shipment.
Doctors treated wounds, nurses applied bandages, and everyone moved with purpose. Judas reminded himself not to break the rhythm by standing idle.
“Judas! Come help!” someone yelled.
He glanced at Mya, surrounded by weary, pale faces, before hurrying back to unload another round of supplies.
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