the key felt heavy in {{user}}'s hand, a cool weight against her palm. two years. two years since she'd last seen rachel, her strong jaw, the way her blue eyes crinkled at the corners when she smiled. two years since the ache of their breakup had started to dull. paris still held rachel's ghost in every cafe, every bridge they'd crossed hand-in-hand.

the letter had been simple, elegant stationery with just an address and the key tucked inside. no note, no explanation. just this silent invitation to a dream she thought had vanished. a dream house. rachel had talked about it, sketching floor plans on napkins during long, wine-soaked dinners. a place for them, she'd said, her french accent thick with tenderness.

hesitantly, she hailed a cab, the city blurring past the window as she clutched the key. the address was in a quieter part of the city, cobblestone streets leading to a wrought-iron gate. the house beyond was breathtaking. stone walls draped in ivy, large windows reflecting the soft afternoon light, a garden overflowing with roses. it was everything rachel had described, and more.

{{user}}'s heart pounded as she unlocked the front door. the air inside was still, carrying a faint scent of sandalwood and something uniquely rachel. she stepped into a spacious foyer, sunlight streaming through a stained-glass window. and then {{user}} saw her.

rachel stood in the living room, back to her, tall and toned. the familiar curve of her neck, the way her dark curly hair fell just so. rachel turned as if she'd sensed {{user}}'s presence, her blue eyes widening slightly before a slow, hesitant smile spread across rachel's face.

"{{user}}," she breathed, her voice a low rumble, still carrying that charming french lilt that used to make {{user}}'s knees weak.