We arrived at the Manoel early, my friend and I, thinking we would be among the first to slip quietly into Sala Isouard, Manoel Theatre to listen to Love Duets. Instead, we found the room already alive with soft chatter - some fifty Italians finding their seats, greeting one another, filling the space with that unmistakable warmth. Later I learned that some were friends of the musicians, and the thought made me smile; it explained the affectionate atmosphere that wrapped itself around the morning before a single note was played.

After the concert, one of the ladies beside me who turned out to be Carla Fontana, introduced me to the musicians, and in that gentle, unexpected way life sometimes arranges things, the tenor handed me his email address. A small gesture, but one that felt like a thread tying the night together.

Mirca Rosciani, who is both a pianist and an orchestra conductor, spoke of Malta with a sincerity that touched me. "Arriving in Malta for the first time and immediately feeling at home was a beautiful sensation," she wrote afterwards. She described the city's cultural richness, the moment before Caravaggio's masterpiece, and the way art can steady the heart. During the concert, she felt "the respectful connection with the marvellous and attentive audience," a silence that held the music carefully, followed by applause that moved her deeply. She wrote of the trust she shares with tenor Matteo Macchioni - that rare artistic freedom that allows two musicians to breathe as one - and of the long musical friendship with soprano Cristina Neri. "Meeting you was a great pleasure," she added. "Your eyes said everything."

Soprano Cristina Neri, too, carried the evening with her. "It was truly an experience I will carry in my heart," she wrote afterwards - "the charm of the island, the welcome of the theatre, the magic that rose in the hall." She felt the love for bel canto from both Maltese and Italian listeners, a synergy between hearts, voices, ears, and souls. Singing the Neapolitan classics delighted her; the Romantic arias stirred her. "It has been a real pleasure to sing in Malta," she added. "I look forward to coming again to your beautiful country."

Tenor Matteo Macchioni first of all graduated as a pianist and later as a tenor. He wrote -"It has been a real pleasure to sing in Malta. It was the first time for me to play in Valetta. The audience was very warm. I am an opera singer, but other than my operatic career I love to spread my voice also in concerts where all the colours of my art show up. I look forward to coming again to your beautiful country." Several times, Matteo accompanied himself on the piano. It felt unusual and charming. An excellent pianist too he is, if I may say so.

The programme itself unfolded like a small journey through different climates of feeling. Je veux vivre opened the evening with youthful sparkle - the soprano's voice dancing lightly, as if brushing the air with light fingertips. Rossini's Danza and Taccia il labbro brought quicksilver agility, the kind of playful virtuosity that makes singers grin at one another mid‑phrase.

Then came Una furtiva lagrima, which we all know and love.  The tenor's phrasing was tender, unhurried, as though he were letting the aria bloom petal by petal. Mirca's accompaniment wrapped around him like soft light, and for a moment the hall - and the audience - seemed to hold its breath.

The Neapolitan and modern songs - Caruso, Oltre Oceano, Albucchella, Mare chiaro, O sole mio, Mamma - warmed the room with nostalgia and that unmistakable Mediterranean glow. These were the melodies that live in collective memory, and the audience leaned in as if greeting old friends. The tenor accompanying himself added a rare charm; the soprano's lyrical lines carried sweetness and quiet strength.

O mio babbino caro was one of the evening's tender peaks - crystalline, sincere, shaped with a simplicity that made it all the more touching.

In Tu che mi hai preso l'cuor - never fails to move me and no doubt others. No matter how often I hear it, it brings a couple of tears to my eyes and ruins my mascara.

And then the operatic pillars: Nessun dorma, carried with dignity and fire rather than force; Quando me'n vo', all charm and poise, a smile hidden in the legato.

By the end, what lingered was not a list of pieces but the feeling of three artists performing with generosity and joy, and an audience receiving them with equal warmth. A Sunday morning  where music, people, and place seemed to recognise one another.

Some Italians came up to speak to me after the concert, curious as to what this old woman with a stick was doing there. So I explained to them that I was an old hack who loved all kinds of music. They were going to Mdina the following morning, their last day and asked me about  it. Carla sent me a message the following day and told me they loved it. She is taking her 18-year-old grandson to China. She speaks and writes English well. Grazie Carla for your introductions and news.

 And now, with this diary almost ready to be sent to the printers, I hope it carries the glow of that Sunday morning  - the early arrival, the unexpected introductions, the music that breathed through the hall and into our hearts, and the quiet pleasure of knowing you were part of something beautiful. I suggested to the theatre's management that the three musicians would be invited to come again... and sing other beautiful canzoni that were not on the programme such as Vivere, Non ti Scordar di me and so many others.

Who knows? Maybe it will happen.