Sunlight finally returned to Paris.
After three days of rain, mist, and near-death umbrella experiences, the city was glowing again. The rooftops shimmered, pigeons flapped around with too much confidence, and for once, the air didn't smell like wet stones and disappointment.
Noa sat cross-legged on the rooftop terrace of their host's apartment, biting into a flaky croissant and squinting at the skyline like she was judging it.
Ren arrived a few minutes later, carrying two mugs of coffee and an aura of unbrushed hair.
"You started without me," he said, mock-betrayed.
"You snooze, you lose," Noa mumbled, her mouth full of butter and crumbs. "You're lucky I didn't finish your share."
Ren sat down beside her, handing her one of the coffees.
She took it gratefully. "You're forgiven."
They ate in silence for a moment, legs stretched out, sunlight warming their faces.
It was oddly peaceful. No pigeons attacking. No tourists shouting. No wrong metros.
No chaos.
Just them.
And then Noa ruined it.
"If I moved to Paris," she said casually, "would you come with me?"
Ren choked on his coffee.
She grinned. "I'm kidding. Chill."
He wiped his mouth. "You don't ask stuff like that and then say 'kidding.' There's a social contract."
"You're so dramatic."
"You're asking about life decisions between croissant bites."
"It's the French influence."
Ren stared at her for a moment, eyes narrowing.
Then: "Yeah. I'd come."
Noa blinked.
"Wait, what?"
"If you moved here," he said simply, "I'd probably follow."
Her brain scrambled for a response. Any response.
"Ren, we're not even—"
"I know."
"We're not dating."
"I know."
"You barely speak French."
"I know that too."
Noa stared at him.
He just sipped his coffee like he hadn't just said something ridiculous.
Then he added, "I'm not saying I'd quit everything and hop on a plane blindly. I'm just saying… I'd want to be where you are."
"Oh."
That was all she could say. Just… *oh.*
Because how do you respond to something like that when your heart has already started taking notes?
She laughed, trying to shake the weight of it.
"You're insane."
"Maybe."
"This city's cursed."
"Definitely."
"But seriously," she said after a moment. "Wouldn't it scare you? Moving somewhere just because of someone?"
Ren looked at her.
And said, "It'd scare me more *not* to."
Her stomach did something very annoying.
Something fluttery and poetic.
"No one talks like that in real life," she muttered.
"You say that a lot."
"Because it keeps happening."
Another silence.
But not an awkward one.
Just… full.
She stood, walked over to the railing, and looked out at the city.
Ren joined her.
"You ever feel like you're in the middle of a movie that doesn't know what genre it is?" she asked.
"All the time."
They stood shoulder to shoulder.
No words.
No declarations.
Then she said, softly, "I'm not promising I'll move here."
"I'm not asking you to."
"But I'm also not promising I'll stay away."
Ren smiled.
"That's enough for me."
—
Later, as they cleared the dishes and got ready for their next chaotic schedule, Noa caught her reflection in the window—sleepy hair, warm cheeks, coffee in hand.
Paris wasn't perfect.
It was unpredictable, messy, overpriced, and full of too many baguettes.
But sitting next to someone who would follow her across the world without being asked?
That was something worth thinking about.
Even if she wasn't ready to say it out loud yet.