It was a quiet Sunday morning when Elio found himself at the neighborhood market, hands tucked into the pockets of his coat, camera slung casually across his shoulder.
The air was crisp, and the scent of fresh bread and oranges wafted from the stalls. He hadn't meant to buy anything; he just needed to walk, to clear his head — and perhaps to stop thinking about her for a moment.
But of course, he couldn't.
Everywhere he looked, he saw traces of Aurélie — in the way a girl brushed hair from her face, in the soft echo of laughter from a florist's stall, even in the color of the sky that morning: a pale, hesitant blue.
Back at the apartment, Aurélie was sprawled on the couch, surrounded by open books and cold coffee. She was supposed to be reading for her design class, but her eyes hadn't touched the pages in half an hour. Her thoughts, as usual, drifted elsewhere.
She remembered Elio's voice from the night before.
> "Maybe it's time we start [thinking about after the contract]."
Those words echoed in her chest. Not because of their literal meaning, but because of the unspoken things laced between them.
Because deep down, she was starting to want something she never allowed herself to expect.
A choice.
Not an arrangement.
---
Elio returned around noon, holding a brown paper bag filled with croissants and jam. When he stepped inside, he was greeted not by music or the hum of life — but by a heavy, thoughtful silence.
Aurélie sat up, eyes flicking to him. "You went out."
"I needed air," he replied, placing the bag on the kitchen counter. "Brought breakfast. Or lunch, technically."
She nodded, rising to join him.
For a few minutes, they moved in sync — plates were taken out, coffee reheated, jam opened. It was domestic. Almost intimate. And yet neither of them spoke about what lingered in their minds.
It was Elio who finally broke the quiet.
"I saw a girl at the market who reminded me of you," he said.
Aurélie looked up, surprised. "Really? In what way?"
"She had your walk," he said, smiling. "Confident, but… like she was always thinking of something far away."
Aurélie raised a brow. "That doesn't sound very flattering."
"It was," he said. "It made me miss you even when I knew I'd see you an hour later."
She froze slightly. Her spoon paused over her coffee.
"You miss me even when I'm here?"
Elio looked at her then. "All the time."
The weight of his words pressed softly against her chest. She stared down at her drink, unsure of what to say — but feeling everything.
---
Later that day, they walked along the Seine, side by side, as if pulled by a rhythm neither of them fully understood. The city bustled around them, unaware that something quiet and extraordinary was unfolding.
Aurélie kept her hands tucked into the sleeves of her coat.
"Elio," she said, not looking at him, "what did you mean last night?"
He glanced sideways. "About the contract?"
She nodded.
"I meant I'm tired of waiting for something to be over… when maybe it doesn't have to be."
She slowed her steps. "You're saying you want… us?"
He stopped walking.
"I don't know what 'us' means yet," he said honestly. "But I know I want to find out. Not because of an agreement, or for the sake of appearances, or because people expect it. But because I feel something real. And I think you do too."
Aurélie's breath caught.
For a moment, she said nothing. Just stared at the water, the slow-moving current of the river that had witnessed too many Parisian love stories to count.
"I'm scared," she admitted.
"So am I."
---
That night, Aurélie sat alone in her room, staring at the worn contract they had signed months ago. It was tucked inside a leather folder, faded from being opened and closed too often.
She read the lines again:
> "This contract shall remain in effect for six months. After which, both parties agree to end the engagement facade and resume independent lives…"
It had all seemed so clear back then.
Now?
Now her heart ached at the thought of walking away.
She picked up a pen. For a second, she hesitated — then scribbled something in the margin of the final page:
> "Life happened. And now I don't want to pretend I don't care."
She smiled sadly at her own words.
---
The following morning, Elio found a note taped to his bedroom door.
> Meet me at the park. 10 a.m. Bring your camera.
He arrived ten minutes early. The sky was overcast, and the trees in the park danced with the wind. Children's laughter echoed from a distance, and pigeons fluttered about near a bench where Aurélie sat — dressed in a white blouse, hair flowing freely, a look of nervous determination in her eyes.
"You came," she said when he approached.
"You said to bring the camera," he replied, lifting it slightly.
"Don't use it," she said gently. "Just… look at me."
Elio paused. Then lowered the lens.
"I thought about everything," she continued. "The contract, the apartment, the lies we told, the truth we started to feel… and I realized something."
He waited.
"I don't want to go back to before," she said. "Even if I'm scared, even if I don't know what we are exactly. I want to stay in this… whatever this is. With you."
A slow, stunned smile formed on Elio's lips.
"I've never heard anything better."
She walked toward him, slowly. "You're not allowed to run away now."
"I wasn't planning to," he whispered.
And as they stood in the middle of the park, the wind tousling their hair, Paris humming around them — it was no longer a contract that bound them.
It was choice.
It was real.
And it was just beginning.