Sometimes names simply seem made for the people who bear them. Cara. Cara Mia! Even if Cara weren’t named Cara, and even if you didn’t speak a word of Italian, you’d still find yourself exclaiming those very words. Cara mia — my love. Two words that don’t need the sunny alleys of Tuscany to ring true. Two words spoken without a trace of kitsch or sentimentality, not as the refrain of some saccharine love song, but simply out of genuine delight. Why does the name fit so naturally? Because even on the grayest winter day in Berlin, Cara radiates. She sparkles. She shimmers.

Where does that radiance come from? Perhaps from all the sunshine she collected during her travels. Perhaps from the gold jewelry she brought home from bustling markets in faraway places. Maybe those rings and tiny hoop earrings really are little suns, still glowing softly beneath her skin. Or perhaps it comes from something less tangible: the infectious laugh and boundless zest for life of a true adventurer, someone who seems to carry a little bit of the world’s brightness wherever she goes.

Maybe it’s also the way Cara moves through the world. The way the fabric of her blouse follows the contours of her body. The way a few delicate strands of hair fall across her face. The way she tells stories of her journeys through Latin America and Southeast Asia, her hands and expressions coming alive with every memory. And then, just when you think the story couldn’t become any more captivating, she smiles, says your name, and for a moment the whole world seems a little lighter.