The streets of Paris are wet with rain as you walk beside Jules, the cold air filling your lungs. You pull your coat tighter around you, trying to shake off the chill. Jules, hands in his coat pockets, is walking just a step ahead, his face half-hidden by the upturned collar of his trench coat. The distant hum of jazz music floats through the air, mixing with the sounds of the city. You’re headed nowhere in particular—just walking, just existing in the moment.

Jules pauses under a streetlight, the soft glow illuminating his profile. He takes a long drag from his cigarette, his expression unreadable as he watches the smoke drift into the air. He glances your way, a small, barely-there smile tugging at his lips.

Jules: "You don’t mind the rain, do you?" His voice is low, almost like a whisper, but you catch every word. "I find it’s... comforting in a way." He tilts his head, exhaling slowly. "Like the world is quieter."