The film opens with a mother telling her sleeping son a memory from her childhood, a bedtime tale about wishes that come true when a shooting star streaks across the sky. She then recalls the summer of 1944 in a small Italian town at the tail end of World War II, and we become witnesses to the lives of several townsfolk, anchored by a young girl named Cecilia. Through her eyes, the film traces a time of fear, danger, and fragile hope as war presses in from all directions.
A newly married couple—the man and his pregnant fiancée—celebrate their union in a church, while their families exchange anxious glances, wary of the German danger that looms nearby. As defeat seems certain for the German army, they retreat, leaving behind a trail of destruction. The plan is grim: the Germans intend to blow up more buildings and order the villagers to assemble in the church. Half the town chooses to stay within the church, clinging to faith and safety, while the other half dresses in dark clothes to disappear into the night, hoping to join the rumored arrival of American liberators.
Inside the church, the bishop hopes to administer communion with whatever bread is available. Only two pieces exist, until a villager mentions she has a loaf. In an act of practicality and faith, the bishop asks the community to share what they have, blessing the gathered bread to substitute for the usual host. While this improvised communion takes place, a bomb detonates in the church, and chaos erupts as people flee, search for loved ones, and pull bodies from the wreckage. Among the trapped is the bride, whose mother and the others desperately try to help, while the groom returns only to face the heartbreaking realization that it is too late for her.
The surviving group presses on, moving toward safety with the help of partisans who are seen harvesting grain in the countryside. The partisans speak of reclaiming what the Fascists have stolen, and they offer a chance for transport to a city away from danger. The travelers join the day’s work, harvesting the fields while German planes pass overhead at midday, forcing them to lie low and stay hidden.
Cecilia remembers the night as a “San Lorenzo” night, the “night of wishes,” when shooting stars would usually bring hope, though the shadow of fear keeps those wishes from fully taking hold. The next day brings a brutal test: a small band of Fascists confronts the travelers. Casualties follow as the groups clash, and Cecilia witnesses the devastating moment when a Fascist kills her grandfather. As the danger closes in on her, she recites a rhyme her mother taught her to calm her fears; at that moment, a Roman soldier appears, delivering a fatal blow to the Fascist with spear and shield. In a dramatic flash, a line of Roman warriors appears and repels the threat, restoring a fragile sense of safety.
With the immediate danger behind them, the group finds refuge in a farm house for the night. There, the elderly leader of the caravan, Galvano, and Concetta, a woman among the older travelers, share a private moment that reveals years of unspoken feelings between them. The following morning brings news of liberation—the region has been freed by the U.S. Fifth Army. Jubilant but exhausted, the survivors decide to begin the long journey home, carrying with them the memories of what they endured and the uncertain promise of what lies ahead.
As the frame tale concludes, the mother finishes her story and tells her sleeping son to remember the rhymes she shared. It is revealed that she is the mother of [Cecilia], the child at the center of the story, tying the mythic wish of the night to a memory that endures beyond the war. The film ends with a quiet acknowledgment of resilience and the strange coincidence that memory itself can become a kind of wish fulfilled.
