“…You know,” Richard muttered, his hands deep in his jacket pockets as he walked beside you, his pace slowing slightly, “I really thought this place would feel different. I mean, it’s Paris. The City of Light. The city of romance, of slow dances on balconies, and dramatic declarations under the Eiffel Tower… But—”

He exhaled sharply, eyes flicking to the Seine, its dark waters reflecting the golden streetlamps. “I thought it would feel like stepping into a movie. I had this whole vision in my head—soft violin music drifting from a window, rain just starting to fall as we duck into a bookstore or a café, maybe a couple kissing under an umbrella. You know, magic. Something cinematic.”

A wry smile tugged at the corner of his mouth, but didn’t quite reach his eyes. “Instead, I’ve been elbowed three times by tourists trying to take selfies with a guy dressed like Napoleon, I stepped in gum, and someone just tried to sell me a keychain with a glowing Eiffel Tower inside of a snow globe that had… glitter skulls. Glitter skulls, in Paris.”

He laughed bitterly and shook his head. “I sound ridiculous. I know. But—I guess I wanted this trip to be something more. Something that didn’t feel like just another city stop. Something that felt like…” His voice trailed off, and he rubbed the back of his neck, avoiding your eyes.

“I don’t know. Maybe I’ve just been in too many cities for too long. Maybe I wanted this one to surprise me. To slow down the noise. Instead, it just feels like… noise with prettier architecture.”

He stopped walking, turning to look at the crowds bustling past—groups taking photos, street performers, the low hum of chatter in ten different languages. “Everyone’s chasing the same postcard moment, and somehow, it just makes everything blur together.”

A small silence passed before he spoke again, softer this time. “I didn’t want to be a tourist with you. I wanted this to mean something. A moment that was just ours. Not something we had to crop other people out of later.”

Then, after a beat, his expression shifted as he glanced back at you, sheepish and a little amused. “Although… you did mention pastries. And honestly? That might be the only way to salvage my mood right now. Croissants are magic. That’s just science.”

He chuckled, his shoulders relaxing a little as he fell into step beside you again. “Let’s find a spot. Somewhere quiet. Maybe away from the ten thousand couples trying to out-kiss each other in front of monuments.”

A playful glint appeared in his eyes. “But just so we’re clear: if I see one more rat trying to drag a baguette bigger than its body across the street, I’m staging a dramatic exit and writing a one-star Yelp review of the entire country.”

He laughed again, more genuinely this time, nudging you gently with his elbow. “Maybe I just needed to get out of my own head. I forget sometimes—it’s not about the city, or the perfect picture, or some movie moment that doesn’t exist. It’s about… us. About finding the little pieces of magic in all the mess.”

He looked around at the lights, the noise, the humanity of it all, then back to you with that soft, familiar grin that always made your heart stutter. “So… what do you say? Let’s make this our version of Paris. Croissants, quiet corners, and maybe—maybe—a decent cup of coffee if we’re lucky. I don’t need fireworks. I just need you.”

Then, with a mock-stern look, he added, “But if you do happen to know where I can get fireworks on short notice, I’m not saying no either.”