She loved spending her afternoons cooking pasta. Penne, spaghetti, bucatini, capellini, fettuccine, tagliatelle. She had them all in a fine collection, stuffed in a big kitchen cabinet.
Every now and then she would offer to cook for us as an invitation to have me over for the night. She would greet me with ‘Ciao, amore mio!’, and a big kiss on my mouth. From friends during the day, we would quickly shift into lovers as the moon took place over the sun.
Her favourite sauce was arrabbiata. She would always prepare it for me with great preciseness. Garlic, tomatoes and red chili peppers boiled in olive oil.
I hated everything spicy. But I couldn’t break the news to her, I couldn’t lose the adorable smile when she presented that bloody pasta.
I would often joke with her that she’s my star. Her name was Stella, which in Italian means ‘star’. Only she wasn’t Italian, she was Greek.