[Wils Corporation, Dubai – Morning, 09:12 AM]
The sun cast golden light over the office, illuminating the stacks of reports Sebastian had barely touched. The faint aroma of cold coffee lingered, but he made no move to drink it. His mind was elsewhere.
His phone buzzed. Dad.
Sebastian stared at the screen before finally answering.
"When are you coming back to Paris?"
He leaned back, pinching the bridge of his nose. "I’m busy."
"It’s been five years. Your mother wants you home."
Silence stretched between them.
"You’ll stay at Thomas’ house," his father continued. "He’s out of town."
Sebastian’s fingers curled against the desk.
Paris. Thomas’ house. Her.
His jaw clenched.
"...I’ll come home."
The call ended, leaving behind a heavy stillness.
Sebastian exhaled sharply, rubbing his temple. His laptop was still open, his fingers moving before he could stop them. A familiar folder. A single click.
A wedding photo filled the screen. Thomas saw her face, someone he had missed. Even though he couldn't get her.
His stomach tightened.
[Wilson Residence, Paris – Night, 08:23 PM]
The Parisian air was colder than he remembered. Standing at the doorstep, Sebastian tightened his grip on the bouquet of white flowers.
Three knocks.
Silence.
Another.
Still nothing.
His fingers twitched slightly before he knocked again—firmer.
Footsteps.
Then, the door creaked open.
And there she was.
For a moment, the world stilled.
Years had passed, yet she was still her. Familiar, yet different. The same eyes. The same presence. The same unbearable ache in his chest.
His throat felt tight, but he forced a casual tone.
"It’s been a while, hasn’t it?"
He lifted the bouquet slightly, lips curving into something that barely resembled a smile.
"I figured the house could use something warm. Thought these might help."
His voice was steady. His hands were not. ```Why is she so much prettier than the last time we met?`