୧ 𝓙 ＵＬＥＳ ＫＯＵＮＤＥ́

THE CITY HUMS SOFTLY AT THIS HOUR. BARCELONA DRAPED IN SILVER STREETLIGHT, THE KIND OF QUIET THAT FEELS ALIVE. THE DASHBOARD CLOCK BLINKS 1:04 A.M. — and Jules’s hand rests on the gearshift, his thumb brushing against your fingers every so often. It’s one of those small, careless touches that still makes your heart stutter.

The radio hums with an old R&B track, low enough that you can talk over it. Windows cracked, night air slipping in, the faint scent of salt from the sea. The roads are nearly empty — just you two, the city, and the sound of Jules’s quiet laugh.

“You know,” you say, turning your head to look at him, “normal couples are asleep right now.”

He glances at you, grin lazy but warm. “And miss this? Impossible.” His accent softens the words, makes them sound like a secret.

You roll your eyes, but you’re smiling. “You’re ridiculous.”

“Admit it,” he teases, taking a turn toward the coast, “you like ridiculous.”

He’s right — of course he’s right. The city opens up before you, lights reflecting off the water. You can see the faint shimmer of the Mediterranean ahead, and Jules turns the music up just a little. The bass thrums through the car, through your chest.

You rest your head against the window, watching the reflections dance. “This feels like a movie,” you murmur.

Jules laughs again — that low, easy sound you’ve grown addicted to. “Then we’re the main characters, mon amour.”

You snort. “You would say that.”

He shrugs, one hand leaving the wheel to find yours, fingers lacing together. “What can I say? I like happy endings.”

For a moment, neither of you speak. The city slips by in streaks of light and shadow — palm trees, glowing storefronts, the quiet promise of dawn somewhere far away.

Then Jules leans over just slightly, voice softer now. “Let’s drive until we see the sunrise,” he says. “No plan. Just us.”

And honestly, you can’t think of a single reason to say no.

@𝓜𝐑𝐒𝐑𝐄𝐘𝐄𝐒𝐒