For days, Evan barely moved.
Sometimes he lay on Adam's couch staring at the ceiling. Other times, he wandered the narrow streets of Perpignan like a ghost, scanning every window, every train station bench, every bookstore door—like she might just reappear from thin air.
But she didn't.
One evening, as the late sun filtered through the apartment window, Adam stood over him holding a mug of coffee.
"Bro…" Adam said, already exasperated. "Get up."
Evan groaned, pulling the blanket over his head.
"For how long are you going to stay like this?" Adam asked. "She's not here. You lost her. That sucks. But what's worse? You didn't even get her phone number. Who does that?"
Evan didn't move.
Adam leaned in closer, voice louder. "Stop being so coward, get up."
There was a long pause.
Then Evan pushed the blanket off his face and sat up, rubbing his eyes. "You're really annoying, you know that?"
Adam grinned. "I know. But you needed it."
A Few Hours Later
Freshly showered, in a black shirt and his boots, Evan walked beside Adam through the buzzing streets. Neon signs flickered. Music spilled from the doors of bars and cafes.
"The best way to forget someone?" Adam said as they entered a dimly lit bar, "Is to get absolutely wasted."
Evan chuckled dryly, the first real sound from him in days. "That's your wisdom for the night?"
"I'm full of wisdom. Like a hot drunk Socrates."
They found a booth and ordered drinks. Adam launched into a hilarious story about a girl who once chased him with a baguette in Nice. Evan gave a tired laugh, shaking his head.
Half a drink later, a girl passed by their table and gave Adam a playful glance.
Adam turned to Evan and whispered, "My man… I'm about to be in love for the next twenty minutes."
He winked, got up, and joined the girl on the dance floor, his clumsy moves already making her laugh.
Evan stayed seated smiled watching adam, sipping his whiskey, scrolling aimlessly through his phone. His reflection in the dark window across him looked unfamiliar—eyes sunken, lips set in a permanent half-frown.
Then,
A soft voice, smooth and unmistakable, cut through the air beside him.
« Encore en train de boire et danser ? »
Still drinking and dancing?
He turned his head slowly—and there she was.
Camille.
Her hair was shorter now, her presence as sharp as ever. She sat beside him, ordered a drink without asking, and crossed her legs like she belonged there.
Evan let out a dry chuckle, masking the flicker of discomfort crawling up his spine.
« Camille... quelle surprise. »
Camille... what a surprise.
She shrugged, not even sparing him a glance.
« Je ne suis pas surprise. »
I'm not surprised.
Of course she wasn't.
"What are you doing here?" he asked, already regretting the question.
She turned her face toward him, her lips curving into a smirk that once used to charm him, now only pushed him further into himself.
« Tu sais, boire, danser, me sentir libre... »
You know, drinking, dancing, letting myself feel free...
She paused just enough to make sure he was listening.
« Parce que l'amour, ce n'est pas vraiment quelque chose qui m'intéresse. »
Because love isn't really something I care about.
The exact words Evan had once told her. Word for word.
He raised his eyebrows slightly, the corner of his mouth lifting in a bitter half-smile.
Yeah... you're right.
The silence between them stretched, heavy with everything that wasn't said. Everything that didn't need to be said.
Camille's eyes narrowed, her tone dipped into bitter judgment.
What about you... I thought you didn't like staying in one place too long?
Evan took a sip of his drink, playing it cool.
I was just visiting a friend.
Camille arched an eyebrow, unimpressed.
Adam?
He nodded, gesturing toward the crowd.
Yeah, he's there.
She smirked, tilting her head slightly.
« Tu veux vraiment que je croie ça ? »
Do you really want me to believe that?
Evan laughed softly, running a hand through his hair.
« Je te jure. Je repars demain. »
I really am. I'll leave tomorrow.
Camille leaned back, her voice dripping with sarcasm.
« Et tu vas boire et danser où, cette fois ? »
Where are you drinking and dancing next?
Evan gave her a lazy grin.
« Je planifie... tu sais bien que je fais toujours les choses au hasard. »
I'm planning... you know I always do things randomly.
She rolled her eyes, tossing her hair off her shoulder.
« Exactement… Comme quand tu as "prévu" de me laisser pour aller t'amuser à Biarritz. »
Exactly... like when you planned to leave me for your drinking and dancing fun in Biarritz.
His smile faltered for a second.
« Je ne t'ai jamais quittée comme ça. Je t'avais dit que je partais, et tu ne voulais pas venir. »
I never left you suddenly. I told you I was leaving, and you didn't want to come.
She scoffed.
« C'est exactement ce que "partir" veut dire, Evan. »
That's exactly what leaving sounds like, Evan.
Evan exhaled, frustration creeping in.
I never... Look, I told you... you were my friend, and I still see you as a good friend.
Camille's voice turned sharp again.
But I don't befriend guys who leave their girlfriend just for some drinks.
Evan raised his eyebrows, silently scanning the crowd for Adam like a lifeline.
Camille grinned, leaning closer.
But if you apologize, I might give this friendship a shot. We could even hang out.
He sighed, a defeated smile forming.
"Fine. I'm sorry" __ "for leaving you."
She beamed, victory in her eyes.
« Excuses acceptées. »
Apology accepted.
Then, without missing a beat, she stood up and winked.
« Maintenant, si tu veux bien m'excuser, j'ai de nouveaux amis avec qui sortir. »
Now, if you'll excuse me, I have some new friends to hang out with.
As she walked away, a tall man grabbed her hand and pulled her into the shadows of the bar. Camille looked over her shoulder and winked one last time before disappearing into the dark.
Evan stood still for a beat, staring blankly at the space where Camille had disappeared. Then he turned his eyes to the crowd, locking onto Adam across the room with a desperate expression like he was silently yelling, "Get me out of here."
Adam burst out laughing the second he caught the look and gestured dramatically toward the door, mouthing, "Let's bounce."
The two pushed their way out into the cool night air. The music and lights of the bar faded behind them as they stepped onto the dimly lit street.
Adam threw his head back laughing.
"Mon dieu, Evan. That was—what even was that? An exorcism or an ex-girlfriend?"
Evan groaned, rubbing his face with both hands.
"I feel like I just went through both."
Adam bumped his shoulder, still grinning.
"Are you cursed or something?"
Evan let out a breathy laugh, still recovering.
"I think I'll really leave tomorrow."
Adam arched a brow, his teasing easing into curiosity.
"Oh yeah? Where to?"
Evan shrugged, hands stuffed into his pockets.
"Anywhere. I can't lay on your couch forever."
Adam chuckled.
"Well, you could, but yeah, I get it. So what now? Off to Paris? Rome? The moon?"
Evan smiled faintly, eyes fixed on the sidewalk ahead.
"Maybe. I don't know yet. Just... away from here."
Adam gave him a nod of understanding.
"Wherever you end up—try not to let another Camille find you."
Evan smirked.
They walked off into the night, laughter echoing faintly between them, the weight of the bar—and everything inside it—slowly falling behind.
Evan lay on Adam's couch, his eyes wide open, staring at the ceiling in complete silence. No thoughts. No reasons. Just the dull throb of something he couldn't name. Something that wouldn't let him sleep.
Then—suddenly—he sat up.
Without a word, he began stuffing his clothes and camera gear into his bag with a focused urgency, as if staying still a second longer would crush him. The rustle of zippers and the clatter of boots echoed in the quiet apartment.
He zipped his bag shut, slung it over his shoulder, and marched straight to Adam's room.
Knock. Knock. KNOCK.
"Adam!" he shouted, pounding harder. "Adam—wake up!"
A groggy shuffle followed by a messy-haired Adam appeared at the door, blinking through half-shut eyes.
"Bro… what the hell? It's five in the freaking morning."
"I'm leaving," Evan said, breathless, determined. "Thanks for letting me crash here."
Adam rubbed his face, still trying to understand what was happening.
"Wait—what? Where are you even going?"
Evan smiled faintly, already backing toward the front door.
"Paris."
"Paris? Now?"
"Yeah." Evan said, grabbing his jacket. He gave Adam a quick, tight hug. "Take care."
Adam stood there, half-asleep in his boxers.
"Hey… Evan—" he called after him.
But Evan was already halfway out, turning just enough to wave goodbye before pulling the door shut behind him.
Adam blinked again, alone in the hallway light.
"What the hell was in that drink last night?" he muttered and scratched his head before shuffling back to bed.
Evan reached the station just as the sky began to blush with the first hint of dawn. This time, there was no rush, no sprinting across platforms with a wild heart. He bought his ticket with steady hands, boarded the train calmly, and found his seat by the window.
He sat down, exhaled, and opened his laptop.
The hum of the engine beneath him felt like a heartbeat syncing back into rhythm. The five-hour train ride from Perpignan to Paris stretched ahead, quiet and full of space to think. And this time—he let himself.
Emails, drafts, travel features—he tackled them all with a silent focus. The clicking of his keys a rhythm of rebuilding. But when he finished, his fingers hovered over the keyboard, uncertain.
Then, without thinking, he opened his blog.
And started to write.
**"I saw myself sinking into the same hole I had barely crawled out of once. That couch, that silence—it wasn't comfort, it was retreat. And retreat has never healed anything.
I told Camille love isn't something I really care about. I said it like a punchline. Like a scar I was proud of. But maybe it was never true. Maybe it was fear dressing up as detachment.
The truth is—I'm not running away this time. Not from her, not from myself. If she ever finds me again, I don't want her to see a ghost. I want her to see someone who kept going."**
He attached a photo—a window shot from the train, the early light bleeding gold across endless fields.
The caption?
"Off to Paris."
And he hit Post.