-Zoe
My fingers were still warm from the coffee cup, the rich, bitter scent lingering in my palms, when i unfolded the map. The morning in Paris was crips, sunlight spilling over the cobblestones, the city waking around me. I had just left the small cafe near the university, my leather tote slung over one shoulder. The day ahead finally seemed manageable; lectures, a meeting with my study group, maybe a quick stop at the library.
I tightened the scarf around my neck as the brisk parisian wind tugged at my coat. The city smelled like rain-soaked cobblestones, a scent that always reminded me of late-night study sessions and the slow pace of a parisian life. The life i had long dreamed of. I unfolded the map, edges flapping wildly as i tried to make sense of the streets i had already memorized. I should have known this root by now. I always did. Control is everything to me. Discipline. Order. Survival. I'd had to be that way...
My Mother had died when i was 7. My father, however, was a free spirit. The type that rolled joints and told stories of unknown folklore. Despite his ghost stories and liberated mind he worked endless hours as a line cook, and i had learned early that i couldn't rely on anyone else.
And then--a gust.
It stole the map from my grip, spinning it across the street like it had its own plans. Laughing at me as i bolted after it, boots clattering against wet cobblestones, fingers stretched, coffee spilling down the length of my arms. My chest was hammering.
And then it grazed them
They didn't stop. Didn't look back. Didn't even slow down.
A messy Bob, Tattoos catching the morning light. Two friends laughing and bumping into her, as if sharing last night's debrief. And then she was gone.
A wave. Two finger of acknowledgement. Like i made a mistake that warranted forgiving. Fleeting forgiveness. My chest tightened. My pulse skipped. I didn't know the. I didn't even know their name. But that look--the one her eyes threw at me for a heartbeat-imbedded itself into my brain altering it's chemistry.
I stood there, boots clicking on wet stone, and cursed under my breath. As i picked up the rain drenched map off the street, I noticed a shopkeeper standing next to me, hoping he didnt hear me swear. I motion a subtle "Pardon" in my silly american diluted french as i continued on my path.
-Helen
I felt the breeze before i saw it. Something fluttered past me, caught in the wind like a pigeon gone rogue. One of my friends nudged me, laughing, and i glanced up. A girl was sprinting after it, arms flailing, her curly ginger hair in a terrible state. A scarf tangles around her neck like she didn't belong in the city.
I smiled, half amused, half curious. She stopped across the street, chest heaving, and our eyes met for a second. A second that wasn't long enough to know each other, long enough for me to know she's an american tourist. I waved two fingers and kept walking. My friends laughed, unaware, and the city swallowed her behind the map and the wind.
Paris has a way of letting you notice things you shouldn't. I kept seeing her in the small cafes. in the corner of my vision, that hair was hard to miss. The thought of it made me tense in a way i didn't like but couldn't stop. She seemed... careful. Always precise. A little too serious for this city, for this life. I didn't know her. I didn't need to. And yet, everytime the map crosses my path again. In my mind, i wondered where she was going next.
-Zoe
For days, i tried to focus. Long nights in the library, notes in perfect lines. Lectures. But They lingered. That wave. That glance... The way the map brushed their sleeve. I found myself tracing streets i didn't know or need. Imagining where they might walk, how they move, how they laughed. I told myself to let it go, that it was just a fleeting moment. That it was nothing. That they were no one.
That night, the city hummed outside my apartment window. Rain-slick streets glimmered under streetlights. I leaned on the balcony, coffee long gone cold, watching the windows across the streets flicker on one by one. This was what i prayed for. The long nights studying while my friends talked about boys and parties. Paris was my dream and it's now my reality. I cannot let a glimpse of a stranger change that. The rooftops glistened as i imagined how great my life here will be. With boxes barely unpacked and a suitcase spilling over i already felt home.
Cars hummed in the distance. The city breathed around me. Then suddenly, across the street, as if a thief of my thoughts. There they were. Walking into the apartment building across from mine with a tall blonde girl, so tall she almost hovered above them. She could be a model they way her hair flowed so effortlessly through the rain as she strut slightly behind them. I wanted to look away but i couldn't stop watching, maybe out of curiosity, but certainly out of envy. A window flicked on. My heart skillet a beat. My chest felt impossibly tight. Her silhouette first, then just for a second their face dimly lit. I slammed the curtains, pressed myself to the cold wooden floor, and left my thoughts drift where they shouldn't. It became a ritual. Every night i looked for her. her silhouette gliding across the room from one corner to the other.
A few days later, my friends freed me from the shackles of the library. The shackles of trying to distract myself from the thought of them. They dragged me out one evening. A bar. Music and neon lights filled the room.
"You need to have fun" they said.
"stop reading for ten minutes"
Between beers and dancing i decide to take a breather. I find a back door and stand outside in the alleyway, cold, hands shoved into my coats pockets. I smelt a familiar scent in the wind as i heard two voice muffle words i couldn't quite catch in french. As i turned to look towards the voices and try make out their faces. there they were. Smoking a joint, leaning casually against the wall, laughing with their friends. My chest tightens, before i could turn back towards the door. In a parisian accent she mutters.
"I guess you finally found your way around the map". they kick hemselves off the wall and slowly approache me, flicking a flint into the wind.
Their voice soft but rusty, teasing, carrying the weight of a familiarity i hadn't earned. I opened my mouth, but the words got caught. They lingers next to me as they crush what's left of the joint under the heel of their black leather boot. And walked past me into the bar. Their friends soon follow suit as i stand there immobile, as if put in a trance of my own doing.
My friends emerge from the bar, singing and stumbling into the night. I looked back to steal one last glance but they had already retreated into the chaos. I turned and followed behind my friends back to our apartment, heart still thrumming, mind replaying the stomach clenching awkwardness of that moment.