Marco didn't understand the words. But he understood the shape of them—how Arta's voice softened when she translated, how his nonna squeezed his hand from the bed, how the mountains outside swallowed the darkness without fear.
He clicked it on. An old Western played—John Wayne squinting into dust. Marco understood nothing. The Albanian subtitles scrolled past like ancient runes. He felt the ground dissolve. He was falling. cado dalle nubi me titra shqip
"For you," she said in broken Italian. "American film. But me titra shqip —Albanian subtitles." Marco didn't understand the words