Aarna drifts onto the tongue like a small wave kissing the Ligurian shore—AR-nah, quick and bright—yet her roots lie far beyond the Mediterranean, in Sanskrit where she is said to mean “ocean,” “wave,” and sometimes even a glimmer of the goddess Lakshmi’s grace. In the Nordic sagas, her cousin Arna perches high like an eagle, so the little name carries both saltwater shimmer and mountain air in its travel bag. She has been quietly fluttering through American nurseries—just a handful of cribs in 2005, now more than a hundred and counting each year—proof that parents enjoy a fresh sea breeze of sound. Picture a sun-dappled Venetian canal: gondoliers humming, a baby girl named Aarna laughing as if the world were her personal opera; that is the melody she offers—brief, buoyant, unforgettable. The name feels as warm as a slice of pane fresco, as playful as a splash of limoncello on a summer evening, and when friends ask why you chose it, you may simply shrug and say, “Because it tastes of waves and wings,” then smile while they nod, suddenly a little jealous.