Yalissa drifts off the tongue like a Tuscan breeze that has wandered, honey-scented, through a lemon grove before slipping into the soft dusk of an American summer; born of blended roots—some hear the Hebrew “Ya,” a whisper of the Divine, entwined with the melodic “lissa,” cousin to Melissa’s honeybee and to Elisa’s lily—she carries in her syllables both prayer and perfume. Though she only flutters onto the U.S. charts in delicate, hummingbird numbers—never more than a handful of girls each year—the rarity only gilds her charm, the way a tiny marble angel over an ancient Venetian doorway surprises the passerby. Yalissa’s sound, yah-LISS-uh, is at once lilting and surefooted, a quick smile after a long story; and those who wear it are often imagined as painters of bright futures, spirited yet gracious, the sort to leave laughter like rose petals in their wake. In Italian daydreams she might be the girl who spins beneath hanging lights in a courtyard, her name ringing like the clink of crystal glasses; in everyday life she is simply a warm, modern choice for parents who want faith, sweetness, and a dash of Mediterranean sunshine braided into three graceful syllables.