Call Me By Your Name Again

Luca remembered the summer when everything changed.

He was only seventeen when he met Adrien — a visiting French artist who arrived in Luca’s small Italian town to work on a mural for the local museum. Adrien had curly hair, sun-warmed skin, and a laugh that made strangers smile. Luca never believed in love at first sight until Adrien stepped off that train.

They met by accident — or fate — in the town square.

“You sketch?” Adrien asked, seeing Luca drawing in his notebook under the olive tree.

“A little,” Luca replied, trying not to look directly into those honey-colored eyes.

Adrien smiled. “Then you’re already more of an artist than I was at your age.”

It began like that — soft, natural, unspoken. Days passed in a golden blur. Adrien would paint at the museum in the morning and wander the village in the afternoons, often finding Luca along the way. Sometimes they’d sit by the lake and say nothing. Other times, they talked for hours.

They shared music. They shared books. They shared silences that felt full, not empty.

Luca started calling Adrien mon étoile — “my star” in French. Adrien would grin and reply, “Then call me by your name, Luca, and I’ll call you by mine.”

It was their private language. A way to say more without saying it outright.

---

The first kiss happened in the vineyard. The sun had just set, and the cicadas had gone quiet.

“I shouldn’t,” Adrien whispered, voice shaking. “You’re young.”

“So are you,” Luca replied.

And then — silence, then closeness, then a kiss that changed the air around them.

It wasn’t perfect, and yet it was.

--

As summer deepened, so did their connection. They swam in secret lakes, shared gelato on rooftops, danced barefoot to old records. Adrien introduced Luca to poetry — Rimbaud, Neruda, Sappho. Luca showed Adrien how to press wildflowers into his sketchbook.

They didn’t call it love. But it was.

And then, August came.

Adrien’s mural was complete. The town threw a celebration. People clapped, drank wine, praised his talent.

But Luca stood alone at the edge of the crowd, knowing it meant Adrien would leave soon.

That night, they sat by the lake again, quiet.

“I have to go,” Adrien said gently. “Paris is calling. And… maybe I’ve stayed too long already.”

Luca looked away. “I wish I could come with you.”

Adrien touched his hand. “You will. One day. In your own way.”

They didn’t cry, not right away. But when they kissed goodbye, it wasn’t just lips — it was a promise, a memory, a last page being written.

“Call me by your name,” Adrien whispered.

“Adrien,” Luca said, voice cracking. “My Adrien.”

---

Years passed.

Luca grew up, traveled, studied architecture in Rome, then Paris. He dated, tried to move on, even found people who were kind — but no one who felt like Adrien.

One rainy afternoon in Paris, he stumbled into a small art gallery.

There, on the far wall, was a painting.

A boy under an olive tree. Sketching.

The signature at the bottom: A. M.
Adrien Michel.

Luca’s heart stopped.

He asked the gallery owner, “Is he still in Paris?”

“Sometimes,” the man replied. “He comes and goes. Never stays in one place for too long.”

---

It took Luca a week to find him — a quiet apartment near Montmartre, filled with paintings, jazz music, and the scent of old books.

Adrien opened the door.

For a second, he just stared. Then he laughed — that same warm, familiar laugh.

“Luca?”

“You still remember my name?” Luca asked.

“Always,” Adrien said. “Call me by yours?”

Luca smiled. “Welcome home, Adrien.”

Why This Story Matters

Call Me By Your Name Again is a tender exploration of first love, memory, and what it means to carry someone in your heart long after they’re gone. It's not just a love story — it's a story about how some moments live forever, even when people don’t.

Whether you’ve loved and lost or are still searching for that once-in-a-lifetime connection, Luca and Adrien’s story reminds us all: the heart never truly forgets its first