Lost in Paris

As the airplane touched down in Paris, Ella felt her heart pound with a mix of excitement and anxiety. It had been her dream to visit the City of Love, and now, with her sketchbook and camera tucked safely in her bag, she was here on her own. She was hoping to rekindle a spark within herself after a breakup that had left her feeling as gray as the New York winter she’d left behind.

The narrow streets and distant hum of French conversations immediately filled her with a sense of adventure. Ella checked into her tiny hotel room, threw on a scarf, and wandered into the cobblestone streets of Montmartre, clutching her guidebook. She planned to start with a visit to the famous Sacré-Cœur Basilica.

As she climbed the steep hill, her fingers brushed the cold, worn stones of the buildings that lined her way. She noticed a man on the corner, sitting at an easel, paintbrush in hand. The man looked up, meeting her eyes, and offered a warm smile. Something about the ease in his expression was instantly calming, as though he could read the weariness she'd brought with her. She nodded back with a smile and continued her climb.

Inside the basilica, Ella took a seat and closed her eyes, inhaling the scent of incense mingling with the crisp October air drifting through the open doors. She felt a gentle tap on her shoulder and looked up to see the same man from the street. He was smiling, holding out a piece of paper. Surprised, she accepted it.

"I'm sorry," he said in perfect, accented English. "I noticed you have an artist's eye."

She unfolded the note and found a beautiful sketch of herself, leaning against the church pew, eyes closed, peaceful. It was simple but lovely, capturing her far better than any selfie could.

"Thank you," she whispered, still taken aback. "It’s beautiful."

"You're welcome," he replied, slipping his sketchbook into a worn leather bag. "My name’s Luc. I was sketching near you and couldn't resist. I hope you don't mind."

"Not at all," she said, feeling herself blush. "I'm Ella."

They talked for a few moments in the soft light of the basilica, and before she realized it, they'd left the church and were wandering the cobbled streets together, wrapped up in conversation. Luc was a painter who spent most days capturing the beauty of Montmartre. His smile was easy, his laugh infectious, and something about him made her feel lighter.

Luc guided her through his favorite parts of Montmartre, from the hidden little squares to quiet cafes where the coffee was warm and the ambiance was cozy. They even stumbled upon an impromptu jazz band performing on a street corner, and Luc pulled her close to dance, her laughter echoing through the night as they swayed to the music.

The hours turned to days, and Ella soon found herself feeling more like a local than a tourist. She and Luc met every day, exploring the city and sharing quiet moments under the shadow of the Eiffel Tower, walking along the Seine, or browsing the bookstalls by Notre Dame.

One evening, as the sun set over the river, turning the city into a blur of gold and pink, Luc took her hand.

"There's something magical about Paris, isn't there?" he said softly.

Ella nodded, feeling the warmth of his hand in hers. She hadn’t planned for this—a chance to feel this close to someone so soon. Yet here she was, standing with Luc, the man who’d become her unexpected guide and companion. She could barely remember the heartbreak that had brought her here in the first place.

"It's beautiful," she replied, her voice a whisper.

They sat by the river, and Luc pulled out his sketchbook, drawing her once again as they talked about their lives, dreams, and the things that made them feel alive. Every word, every glance felt like a little step towards healing.

As she looked over his shoulder, admiring his sketch, he paused, closing the book gently.

"Would you ever stay?" he asked, his gaze intense.

Ella's heart skipped a beat. She thought about her life in New York, her job, her family, her friends. She was here to rediscover herself, but in Luc, she’d found something she hadn’t expected—a spark, a new beginning. She wasn’t sure what her answer was, but she wasn’t ready to let go just yet.

“I… I don’t know. Maybe,” she replied, feeling her cheeks warm.

In that moment, Luc leaned closer and kissed her softly, as though he’d been waiting for the perfect moment. The city around them fell away, leaving only the warmth of his touch and the gentle sound of the Seine behind them. The kiss was tender and sweet, a silent promise whispered in the language of the heart.

The following days felt like a dream. They spent every waking moment together, sharing stolen kisses under moonlit skies, painting together in the morning sun, laughing at the most ridiculous things. For the first time in months, Ella felt alive again.

But as her time in Paris drew to a close, the reality of their fleeting romance started to set in. They both knew it, yet neither spoke of it. Luc avoided the subject, and so did she, as if by ignoring it, they could hold onto their little slice of happiness.

On her last night, Luc took her to a rooftop overlooking the twinkling lights of the city. They sat quietly, hand in hand, watching the Eiffel Tower sparkle in the distance.

“Paris won’t be the same without you,” Luc murmured, squeezing her hand.

Ella felt her heart sink, the bittersweetness of the moment settling over her. She hadn’t known love could come so quickly and feel so real, but here she was, struggling with the thought of leaving Luc behind.

"I'll come back," she promised, her voice trembling slightly. "I don’t know when, but I will."

Luc smiled, pulling her close. “I’ll be waiting, then.”

They shared one last kiss under the stars, each holding onto the memory, hoping it would last until they met again.

As Ella boarded her plane the next day, she glanced back at the city she’d come to love and the man who’d helped her rediscover her heart. She didn’t know if she’d see Luc again, but a part of her believed that fate had a way of bringing people back together. With a deep breath, she tucked the memory away, feeling stronger, braver, and more alive than she had in years.

And in Paris, on a quiet corner of Montmartre, Luc sat at his easel, painting her smile from memory, waiting patiently for the day when she’d return.